I had now plenty to occupy me. My first visit was to a solicitor, to entrust him with the execution of the plan I had laid down with respect to my wife--before doing which I had devoted some time to a careful survey of my pecuniary position. There had been much waste and extravagance on Barbara's part, and my little fortune had dwindled. I decided to allow her £300 a year, quite sufficient for her to live upon in comfort. That I should have to encroach upon my capital for the payment of this sum and for my own expenses did not cause me anxiety. I did not go beyond the next few years in my calculations; meanwhile I might be able to earn money. Whatever was my income, Barbara should have an equal share of it; she could not reasonably ask for more, having only herself to support. If a court of law were called upon to decide the matter she would probably have less. Upon £300 a year the house in Kensington could not be kept up, and I determined that it should be sold. All household debts contracted to date were to be discharged, and so much of the furniture as Barbara would not need in her new quarters was to be disposed of by auction. The solicitor undertook the management of this troublesome business, and I bound him down to absolute secrecy. Upon no consideration whatever was the slightest clue to my movements, and to the name I had assumed to be given to inquirers. I left him to prepare the necessary documents, and proceeded to my house, armed with written discharges of the servants in my employ. A cab I had engaged stood at the door, and a porter accompanied me into the house. All the evil crew were there--Maxwell, my stepmother, Louis and Barbara. Her bloated face filled me with loathing. She gave me a sullen look. "The prodigal son has returned," said Maxwell. "Where's the veal?" I rang the bell, and the parlor-maid entered the room. "Send all the servants up," I said to the girl, "and tell that woman, Annette, I wish to see her." "What do you want the servants for?" demanded Barbara. "You will see." I heard them in the passage, and I opened the door for them, Annette coming in last. "You sent for me madame?" she said in her smooth voice, gliding with catlike motion to Barbara's chair. "I sent for you," I said. "At your service, monsieur." "It is like a scene in a drama," said Maxwell, with an attempt at jocularity. "Get to the action, John." I handed the women their written notices of discharge, and gave them to understand that after the expiration of their month I would be no longer responsible for their wages. "Take no notice of him," said Barbara, flushing up. "He is out of his senses." With a nod she dismissed them, and they trooped out. I turned to Annette and held out the discharge. She refused to take it, and it fluttered to the ground. "I am in madame's service, monsieur."