“Yes, millions; you may safely say it--and perhaps ten, perhaps twenty millions too.” “Then all the more reason why there should be something going on here. What does he do with himself alone, all the blessed day?” “Nothing. He reads in the library, or wanders about the garden. Sometimes, in the evening, he drives with Mademoiselle Marguerite to the Bois de Boulogne in a closed carriage; but that seldom happens. Besides, there is no such thing as teasing the poor man. I’ve been in the house for six months, and I’ve never heard him say anything but: ‘yes’; ‘no’; ‘do this’; ‘very well’; ‘retire.’ You would think these are the only words he knows. Ask M. Casimir if I’m not right.” “Our guv’nor isn’t very gay, that’s a fact,” responded the valet. The footman was listening with a serious air, as if greatly interested in the character of the people whom he was to serve. “And mademoiselle,” he asked, “what does she say to such an existence?” “Bless me! during the six months she has been here, she has never once complained.” “If she is bored,” added M. Casimir, “she conceals it bravely.” “Naturally enough,” sneered the waiting-maid, with an ironical gesture; “each month that mademoiselle remains here, brings her too much money for her to complain.” By the laugh that greeted this reply, and by the looks the older servants exchanged, the new-comer must have realized that he had discovered the secret skeleton hidden in every house. “What! what!” he exclaimed, on fire with curiosity; “is there really anything in that? To tell the truth, I was inclined to doubt it.” His companions were evidently about to tell him all they knew, or rather all they thought they knew, when the front-door bell rang vigorously. “There he comes!” exclaimed the concierge; “but he’s in too much of a hurry; hell have to wait awhile.” He sullenly pulled the cord, however; the heavy door swayed on its hinges, and a cab-driver, breathless and hatless, burst into the room, crying, “Help! help!” The servants sprang to their feet. “Make haste!” continued the driver. “I was bringing a gentleman here--you must know him. He’s outside, in my vehicle----” Without pausing to listen any longer, the servants rushed out, and the driver’s incoherent explanation at once became intelligible. At the bottom of the cab, a roomy four-wheeler, a man was lying all of a heap, speechless and motionless. He must have fallen forward, face downward, and owing to the jolting of the vehicle his head had slipped under the front seat. “Poor devil!” muttered M. Casimir, “he must have had a stroke of apoplexy.” The valet was peering into the vehicle as he spoke, and his comrades were approaching, when suddenly he drew back, uttering a cry of horror. “Ah, my God! it is the count!”