“The object of your affections was an actor, I believe, the handsome Stevenson?” “Yes, Richard Stevenson, the rival of Irving.” “You were madly in love with him, but he played you false. Accordingly, one evening you found means to entice your rival on board a yacht you had hired, lying at anchor on the Thames. Since that time she was never heard of.” “Ah! You are acquainted with that anecdote? Indeed you have been well informed. Do you also know that Stevenson, to whom in a fit of madness I had said that he would never see her again, beat me with his cane, and left me almost dead on the spot?” “The stick presented to him by the Prince of Wales, doubtless. You must have felt highly flattered. It did not prevent you two days later from going to the Empire, and cheering your brutal persecutor.” “Yes, I loved the wretch; but now, luckily, all that is over.” Lichtenbach burst into a laugh. “What have you done with the handsome Cesare Agostini?” “Ah! He forms a mere pastime for me. I must interest myself in some one or other. That is no passion at all.” “All the same, he costs you a great deal, I suppose?” “Enormous sums! These Italians are terrible spendthrifts. This one knows one good way of making money, and ten better ways of spending it. In the first place, he is a gambler, and then, he cannot see a fine ring without buying it. But then, he has a few good qualities. He is no novice at either pistol or sword.” “He is simply a bravo.” “At your service, if there is any one you wish to be rid of.” “Is he bold and intrepid?” “Yes; but, above all, to be relied on. Try him, you will be well satisfied.” Lichtenbach’s countenance grew dark, as it always did every time a subject was mentioned which did not please him, and he said in arrogant tones— “Much obliged, but I do not deal in drama; comedy is sufficient for me.” “Ah! You’re fond of a joke. You are still one of those good apostles who insinuate a crime, have it executed, and then exclaim in candid tones, ‘I have had nothing to do with it!’ Have you had nothing to do with this affair at Vanves, I should like to know?” This time Elias became quite angry. “Silence! What are you thinking of to cry out in such a loud voice? Are we the only ones in the house?” She burst into a laugh. “Well, well! You amuse me! For an hour you have been telling me my own history, without the slightest precaution, and when I make the slightest allusion to your’s you tremble with fear. You do not mind compromising me, but not yourself. Very kind of you.” “My daughter is here, and I have no wish—”