"Moreover, as I have told you, we shall not only make money, but perform a most commendable action," he remarked after a little. "We will purchase some of those fine houses on the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which have been confiscated by the government in their masters' absence. We will take good care of them. In some hands, they would soon fall to ruin; but in ours they will increase in value, and when their former owners return, they will find their homes in the same condition as when they left them. They will buy them from us, and they will be ever grateful to us. Come, my boy, make up your mind. Will you become my partner in this enterprise?" "I accept your offer," replied Coursegol. He saw his fortune assured in a few years, and Dolores forever out of the reach of want. "Do you know how to write?" Vauquelas inquired. "Not very well." "That is bad. We must keep an account of our business operations; it will not do to take any one else into our confidence, and I cannot do the work myself. My eyesight is not very good." "I will do my best," replied Coursegol, mentally cursing his ignorance. Suddenly another plan flashed through his brain. "Ah! now I have it," he exclaimed, eagerly. "This work that you cannot do and that I should do so badly can be entrusted to my daughter." "Your daughter! You have a daughter! You have never told me that you were a married man." Coursegol was silent for a moment; he seemed to hesitate. "I will return confidence for confidence," he said finally. Then he related the history of Dolores, and his own. When it was ended, Vauquelas rubbed his hands joyfully. "She will not betray us," said he. "Ah well! Everything is for the best." He covered the box in which his gold was concealed with earth, and then the two men returned to the drawing-room. They remained in earnest conversation for some time, Vauquelas disclosing his plans for the future, the other listening and proffering occasional but judicious suggestions. It was after midnight when they separated. Coursegol walked home. Twice he was stopped by the patrols, but, thanks to the credentials he carried with him, he was allowed to pursue his way unmolested. A week later, Dolores and Coursegol left Bridoul's house to take up their abode in that of Vauquelas. The parting was a sad one. Cornelia Bridoul loved Dolores as fondly as the latter loved her; still they would have frequent opportunities to see each other, and this thought greatly alleviated their sorrow. CHAPTER VIII. AN EPISODE OF THE EMIGRATION. On the first Sunday in the month of September, 1793, about ten o'clock in the morning, a young girl clad in mourning emerged from the doorway of a pretty cottage in the suburbs of London. She slowly descended the broad and handsome steps that led up to the dwelling, passed through the garden, and having opened the gate, gazed anxiously in the direction of the city.