We have to recollect that, on the recommendation of the new candidate, the brother-in-law of Lesourd had been appointed agent to the Marquis de Coucy. He had quitted the notarial office in which he had been previously employed, and for several weeks had discharged the duties of his new and important function. He had laboured with great zeal to establish the claims of the recent comer, and omitted no opportunity of furthering his cause. This man, Romain Ladaille, possessed a spaniel, an extremely sagacious and gentle animal. The Marchioness became fond of the dog, and allowed it into the apartments of the mansion, where it became a complete pet. One morning Romain was engaged with the Marquis on some business of importance. A manuscript was wanting. After a slight delay the agent found it, and laying it before the Marquis, he casually observed, "If I had not found the paper, Fidele would have relieved us of the difficulty; he is so intelligent a dog, he finds anything that is lost." Upon this he paces round the chamber, conceals his portfolio beneath the cushions of a sofa, and then returning to his seat, calls the dog, pretends to lament the loss of something valuable, and makes a gesture to Fidele to search for the missing article. The animal at once betakes himself to the task, as if he fully comprehended a glance of his master; he smells about the apartment, and presently drags the portfolio from its place of concealment. The Marquis was highly amused; he called the dog, and disengaging the portfolio from his teeth, a letter drops from it. The superscription is in his own name. He opens it, and as he reads an indescribable agitation pervades his frame; his hand trembles, the blood forsakes his cheeks, and his strength scarcely suffices to ring the bell. A servant appears, and receives an order. In a few moments an exempt of the Police enters, and respectfully requires to know for what purpose he has been summoned. "To arrest this villain," cries the Marquis, pointing to his agent; "and to affix your signature to the margin of this letter, which I have just received from his portfolio, and which I must request you to peruse." The Marchioness having been apprised of some extraordinary discovery having been made, hastens to her husband. "Ah, beloved wife," he says to her, "God has had pity on our misery; the imposture is unveiled. Listen, it is Heaven itself that succours us." And he reads-- "MONSEIGNEUR,