There was such a ring of fury in his voice that the crystals of the candelabra vibrated; and Madame Dodelin, in her kitchen, heard it, and shuddered. “Some one will certainly do M. Fortunat an injury one of these days,” she thought. It was not by any means the first time that M. Fortunat had found himself at variance with clients of a sanguine temperament; but he had always escaped safe and sound, so that, after all, he was not particularly alarmed in the present instance, as was proved by the fact that he was still calm enough to reflect and plan. “In forty-eight hours I shall be certain of the count’s fate,” he thought; “he will be dead, or he will be in a fair way to recovery--so by promising to give this frenzied man what he desires on the day after to-morrow, I shall incur no risk.” Taking advantage of an opportunity which M. de Valorsay furnished, on pausing to draw breath, he hastily exclaimed, “Really, Monsieur le Marquis, I cannot understand your anger.” “What! scoundrel!” “Excuse me. Before insulting me, permit me to explain----” “No explanation--five hundred louis!” “Have the kindness to allow me to finish. Yes, I know that you are in urgent need of money--not by-and-by, but now. To-day I was unable to procure it, nor can I promise it to-morrow; but on the day after to-morrow, Saturday, I shall certainly have it ready for you.” The marquis seemed to be trying to read his agent’s very soul. “Are you in earnest?” he asked. “Show your hand. If you don’t intend to help me out of my embarrassment, say so.” “Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, am I not as much interested in your success as you yourself can be? Have you not received abundant proofs of my devotion?” “Then I can rely upon you.” “Absolutely.” And seeing a lingering doubt in his client’s eyes, M. Fortunat added, “You have my word of honor!” The clock struck three. The marquis took his hat and started toward the door. But M. Fortunat, in whose heart the word scoundrel was still rankling, stopped him. “Are you going to that lady’s house now? What is she called? I’ve forgotten her name. Ah, yes, I remember now. Madame d’Argeles, isn’t she called? It’s at her place, I believe, that the reputation of Mademoiselle Marguerite’s favored lover is to be ruined.” The marquis turned angrily. “What do you take me for, Master Twenty-per-cent?” he rudely asked. “That is one of those things no well-bred gentleman will do himself. But in Paris people can be found to do any kind of dirty work, if you are willing to pay them for it.” “Then how will you know the result?” “Why, twenty minutes after the affair is over, M. de Coralth will be at my house. He is there even now, perhaps.” And as this subject was anything but pleasant, he hastened away, exclaiming, “Get to bed, my dear extortioner. Au revoir. And, above all, remember your promise.” “My respects, Monsieur le Marquis.”