Monsieur Tellier was even more effulgent than usual. There was upon his face a smile of supreme self-satisfaction. He had reason to believe that he had achieved a good stroke, and he was resolved to make the most of it. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions--one vision in particular which included within the same circumference himself and a certain frail fairy of the Robinière who had always regarded him with disdain. Now all that was to be changed! So he greeted Collins with a self-assurance and aplomb quite removed from his ordinary manner. Collins confronted him with the card still between his fingers, and returned his greeting with the utmost coldness. "You wished to see me?" he asked. "Pardon," corrected Tellier, "it is Lord Vernon I wish to see." "Lord Vernon is ill and sees no one." Tellier gave his mustachios a supercilious twirl. "You still maintain that farce?" he queried. "I assure you that for me it has long since lost its novelty." Collins took a step toward the door. "Shall I show you out?" he asked. "No--not yet," and Tellier smiled provokingly. "You would really better let me show you out," said Collins, quietly. "In another moment, I shall probably kick you out." Tellier's face turned a deep purple and his white teeth gleamed behind his moustache. "Have a care!" he said, hoarsely. "That expression will cost you dear!" Collins smiled contemptuously. "Oh," he retorted; "so it's blackmail! I might have known from your appearance. Well, my dear sir, you have mistaken your men. You have nothing which we care to buy. You would better go." A purple vein stood out across Tellier's forehead, as he came a step nearer. "Do not be too sure, monsieur," he said. "You play a bold game, but it does not for an instant deceive me. Lord Vernon is no more ill than I. It is useless to deny it--I have that here which proves it--written with his own hand--yes, pardie, written in my presence!" and with trembling fingers he took from his pocketbook a folded slip of paper. "Indeed?" said Collins, with mild curiosity. "This is truly wonderful," and he held out his hand. But Tellier drew back a step, unfolded the note and held it open between his fingers. "You may read it," he said, his eyes flashing with triumph. "But come no nearer." Collins leisurely got out his monocle, polished it with his handkerchief, adjusted it, and scanned the note. "Really," he said, "unless you can hold it a little steadier, I fear I can't read it." Tellier steadied his hand by a mighty effort, and watched him, his eyes shining. But the face of the Englishman did not change--not in a single line, not by the merest shadow. "Very interesting, no doubt," said Collins, dropping his glass, "to those who care for backstairs intrigue. Is it this note that you wish to sell?"