"A short time ago I did not know anything further, seigneur, but chance has put me in possession of all that you would know, thanks to a visit which I paid to the barber, for it was at his house that I found the clew to the mystery." "At my house?" said Touquet, looking at Julia in surprise. "Yes, at your house, in the closet hidden at the back of the alcove in Marguerite's chamber." Pale and trembling, the barber muttered,-- "You have been in that closet--but there was nothing there; no, I am very certain of it." "You are mistaken, for in disturbing, by chance, a chest which stood on the floor, I found this portfolio, which probably had been hidden by the person whom you lodged there, who, not knowing how to dispose of these important papers, had deemed it wise to put them in this secret place during the time that he stayed at your house." The barber looked with terror on the portfolio which Julia had drawn from beneath her cloak, while the marquis exclaimed,-- "Do these papers come from Blanche's father?" "They come, in fact, from the person who brought that young girl to the barber's house. Seigneur, read first that one." Julia gave a paper to Villebelle, who uttered a cry of surprise as he read,-- "Certificate of the birth of Blanche, daughter of Estrelle Delmar." "O my God!" said the marquis, breathing with difficulty, "can it be?" "Wait, seigneur, do you know Estrelle's writing?" "Yes, that is it, I recognize it." "Read this note." The marquis took the letter and eagerly read it,-- I feel that I am about to die, but, at least, my father has forgiven me. He had forbidden me to make Blanche's existence known to her father, and, as long as he lived, I respected his orders; but he is no more, and I am about to follow him to the tomb. Villebelle, Blanche is your daughter, the fruit of our love. Good-by. Love her more than you have loved her mother. I forgive you. ESTRELLE DELMAR. "O Blanche, O my daughter!" exclaimed the marquis, abandoning himself by turns to his joy and his remorse, "I am your father and I have made you unhappy." "Finish this letter, seigneur," said Julia, "there is something there which concerns your confidant." The marquis saw some lines added by Estrelle's hand and read,-- I have no relations; my daughter will be presented to you by a worthy friend in whom I have every confidence, and who goes to Paris under a fictitious name to try to obtain some information about a son who has dishonored him. I have confided to him the fortune which I have left Blanche; my daughter needs nothing but her father's friendship, but if he repulses her, the old Touquet will take his place. "Touquet," cried the marquis, looking at the barber. The latter appeared thunderstruck. He looked at the letter, a cold sweat stood out on his forehead; he could not utter a word.