We may imagine how bitter and desolating were Saint-Remy's thoughts as he returned to his house. At the moment when he reached it, Boyer, who awaited him at the portico, said to him: "M. le Comte is above, and waits for M. le Vicomte." "Very well." "And there is also a man whom your lordship appointed at ten o'clock,--a M. Petit-Jean." "Very well. Oh, what an evening party!" said Florestan, as he went up-stairs to see his father, whom he found in the salon on the first floor, the same room in which their meeting of the morning had taken place. "A thousand pardons, my father, that I was not awaiting you when you arrived; but I--" "Is the man here who holds the forged bill?" inquired the comte, interrupting his son. "Yes, father, he is below." "Desire him to come up." Florestan rang, and Boyer appeared. "Desire M. Petit-Jean to come up." "Yes, my lord," and Boyer withdrew. "How good you are, father, to remember your kind promise!" "I always remember what I promise." "What gratitude do I owe you! How can I ever prove to you--" "I will not have my name dishonoured! It shall not be!" "It shall not be! No, it shall never be, I swear to you, my father!" The comte looked strangely at his son, and repeated: "No, it shall never be!" Then he added, with a sarcastic air, "You are a prophet." "I read my resolution in my heart." Florestan's father made no rejoinder. He walked up and down the room with his two hands thrust into the pockets of his long coat. He was very pale. "M. Petit-Jean," said Boyer, introducing a man of a mean, sordid, and crafty look. "Where is the bill?" inquired the comte. "Here it is, sir," said Petit-Jean (Jacques Ferrand the notary's man of straw), handing the bill to the comte. "Is this it?" said the latter, showing the bill to his son. "Yes, father." The comte took from his waistcoat pocket twenty-five notes of a thousand francs each, handed them to his son, and said: "Pay!" Florestan paid, and took the bill with a deep sigh of the utmost satisfaction. M. Petit-Jean put the notes carefully in an old pocket-book, made his bow, and retired. M. de Saint-Remy left the salon with him, whilst Florestan was very carefully tearing up the bill. "At least Clotilde's twenty-five thousand francs are still in my pocket, and if nothing is revealed, that is a comfort. But how she treated me! But what can my father have to say to the man Petit-Jean?" The noise of a door being double-locked made the vicomte start. His father returned to the room. His pallor had even increased. "I fancied, father, I heard you lock the door of my cabinet?" "Yes, I did." "And why, my dear father?" asked Florestan, greatly amazed. "I will tell you." And the comte placed himself so that his son could not pass out by the secret staircase which led to the ground floor.