“By the merest chance, I assure you. As I don’t like folks to meddle with my affairs, I never meddle with theirs. As I have just said, it was entirely the work of chance. One April afternoon I came to invite you to a drive in the Bois. I was ushered into this very room where we are sitting now, and found you writing. I said I would wait until you finished your letter; but some one called you, and you hastily left the room. How it was that I happened to approach your writing-table I cannot explain; but I did approach it, and read your unfinished letter. Upon my word it touched me deeply. I can give no better proof of the truth of my assertion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, even now. ‘DEAR SIR,’--you wrote to your London correspondent--‘I send you three thousand francs, in addition to the five thousand for the regular quarterly payment. Forward the money without delay. I fear the poor boy is greatly annoyed by his creditors. Yesterday I had the happiness of seeing him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale and careworn. When you send him this money, forward at the same time a letter of fatherly advice. It is true, he ought to work and win an honorable position for himself; but think of the dangers and temptation that beset him, alone and friendless, in this corrupt city.’ There, my dear lady, your letter ended; but the name and address were given, and it was easy enough to understand it. You remember, perhaps, a little incident that occurred after your return. On perceiving that you had forgotten your letter, you turned pale and glanced at me. ‘Have you read it, and do you understand it?’ your eyes asked; while mine replied: ‘Yes, but I shall be silent.’” “And I shall be silent too,” said Madame d’Argeles. M. de Coralth took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I knew we should understand each other,” he remarked, gravely. “I am not bad at heart, believe me; and if I had possessed money of my own, or a mother like you----” She averted her face, fearing perhaps that M. de Coralth might read her opinion of him in her eyes; but after a short pause she exclaimed beseechingly: “Now that I am your accomplice, let me entreat you to do all you possibly can to prevent last night’s affair from being noised abroad.” “Impossible.” “If not for M. Ferailleur’s sake, for the sake of his poor widowed mother.” “Pascal must be put out of the way!” “Why do you say that? Do you hate him so much then? What has he done to you?” “To me, personally? Nothing--I even feel actual sympathy for him.” Madame d’Argeles was confounded. “What!” she stammered; “it wasn’t on your own account that you did this?” “Why, no.” She sprang to her feet, and quivering with scorn and indignation, cried: “Ah! then the deed is even more infamous--even more cowardly!” But alarmed by the threatening gleam in M. de Coralth’s eyes, she went no further.