M. Fortunat could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. Chupin, who was as eager for gain as an old usurer--Chupin, as grasping as avarice itself, refuse money! This was something which he had never seen before, and which he would no doubt never see again.

Victor had become very much excited; his usually pale cheeks were crimson, and in a harsh voice, he continued: "It's a fancy of mine--that's all. I have eight hundred francs hidden in my room, the fruit of years of work. I'll spend the last penny of it if need be; and if I can see Coralth in the mire, I shall say, 'My money has been well expended.' I'd rather see that day dawn than be the possessor of a hundred thousand francs. If a horrible vision haunted you every night, and prevented you from sleeping, wouldn't you give something to get rid of it? Very well! that brigand's my nightmare. There must be an end to it."

M. de Coralth, who was a man of wide experience, would certainly have felt alarmed if he had seen his unknown enemy at the present moment, for Victor's eyes, usually a pale and undecided blue, were glittering like steel, and his hands were clinched most threateningly. "For he was the cause of all my trouble," he continued, gloomily. "I've told you, sir, that I was guilty of an infamous deed once upon a time. If it hadn't been for a miracle I should have killed a man--the king of men.

Ah, well! if Monsieur Andre had broken his back by falling from a fifth-floor window, my Coralth would be the Duc de Champdoce to-day. And shall he be allowed to ride about in his carriage, and deceive and ruin honest people? No--there are too many such villains at large for public safety. Wait a little, Coralth--I owe you something, and I always pay my debts. When M. Andre saved me, though I richly deserved to have my throat cut, he made no conditions. He only said, 'If you are not irredeemably bad you will be honest after this.' And he said these words as he was lying there as pale as death with his shoulder broken, and his body mangled from his fall. Great heavens! I felt smaller than--than nothing before him. But I swore that I would do honor to his teachings--and when evil thoughts enter my mind, and when I feel a thirst for liquor, I say to myself, 'Wait a bit, and--and M. Andre will take a glass with you.' And that quenches my thirst instantly. I have his portrait at home, and every night, before going to bed, I tell him the history of the day--and sometimes I fancy that he smiles at me. All this is very absurd, perhaps, but I'm not ashamed of it. M. Andre and my good mother, they are my supports, my crutches, and with them I'm not afraid of making a false step." Schebel, the German philosopher, who has written a treatise on Volition, in four volumes, was no greater a man than Chupin. "So you may keep your money, sir," he resumed. "I'm an honest fellow, and honest men ought to ask no reward for the performance of a duty. Coralth mustn't be allowed to triumph over the innocent chap he ruined. What did you call him? Ferailleur? It's an odd name. Never mind--we'll get him out of this scrape; he shall marry his sweetheart after all; and I'll dance at the wedding."

As he finished speaking he laughed a shrill, dangerous laugh, which revealed his sharp teeth--but such invincible determination was apparent on his face, that M. Fortunat felt no misgivings. He was sure that this volunteer would be of more service than the highest-priced hireling. "So I can count on you, Victor?" he inquired.

"As upon yourself."

"And you hope to have some positive information by Tuesday?"

"Before then, I hope, if nothing goes amiss."

"Very well; I will devote my attention to Ferailleur then. As to Valorsay's affairs, I am better acquainted with them than he is himself.

We must be prepared to enter upon the campaign when Mademoiselle Marguerite comes, and we will act in accordance with her instructions."

Chupin had already caught up his hat; but just as he was leaving the room, he paused abruptly. "How stupid!" he exclaimed. "I had forgotten the principal thing. Where does Coralth live?"

"Unfortunately, I don't know."

According to his habit when things did not go to his liking, Chupin began to scratch his head furiously. "That's bad," growled he.

"Viscounts of his stamp don't parade their addresses in the directory.

Still, I shall find him." However, although he expressed this conviction he went off decidedly out of temper.

"I shall lose the entire evening hunting up the rascal's address," he grumbled, as he hastened homeward. "And whom shall I ask for it?--Madame d'Argeles's concierge? Would he know it--M. Wilkie's servant? That would be dangerous." He thought of roaming sound about M. de Valorsay's residence, and of bribing one of the valets; but while crossing the boulevard, the sight of Brebant's Restaurant put a new idea into his head. "I have it!" he muttered; "my man's caught!" And he darted into the nearest cafe where he ordered some beer and writing materials.

Under other circumstances, he would have hesitated to employ so hazardous an expedient as the one he was about to resort to, but the character of his adversaries justified any course; besides, time was passing, and he had no choice of resources. As soon as the waiter served him, he drained his glass of beer to give himself an inspiration, and then, in his finest hand, he wrote:

"MY DEAR VISCOUNT--Here's the amount--one hundred francs--that I lost to you last evening at piquet. When shall I have my revenge?

Your friend, "VALORSAY."

When he had finished this letter he read it over three or four times, asking himself if this were the style of composition that very fashionable folks employ in repaying their debts. To tell the truth, he doubted it. In the rough draft which he penned at first, he had written bezique, but in the copy he wrote piquet, which he deemed a more aristocratic game. "However," said he, "no one will examine it closely!"

Then, as soon as the ink was dry, he folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope with a hundred franc-note which he drew from an old pocketbook. He next addressed the envelope as follows: "Monsieur le Vicomte de Coralth, En Ville," and having completed his preparations, he paid his score, and hastened to Brebant's. Two waiters were standing at the doorway, and, showing them the letter, he politely asked: "Do you happen to know this name? A gentleman dropped this letter on leaving your place last evening. I ran after him to return it; but I couldn't overtake him."

The waiters examined the address. "Coralth!" they replied. "We scarcely know him. He isn't a regular customer, but he comes here occasionally."

"And where does he live?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"So as to take him this letter, to be sure!"

The waiters shrugged their shoulders. "Let the letter go; it is not worth while to trouble yourself."

Chupin had foreseen this objection, and was prepared for it. "But there's money in the letter," he remonstrated. And opening the envelope, he showed the bank-note which he had taken from his own pocket-book.

This changed the matter entirely. "That is quite a different thing,"

remarked one of the waiters. "If you find money, you are, of course, responsible for it. But just leave it here at the desk, and the next time the viscount comes in, the cashier will give it to him."

A cold chill crept over Chupin at the thought of losing his bank-note in this way. "Ah! I don't fancy that idea!" he exclaimed. "Leave it here?

Never in life! Who'd get the reward? A viscount is always generous; it is quite likely he would give me twenty francs as a reward for my honesty. And that's why I want his address."

The argument was of a nature to touch the waiters; they thought the young man quite right; but they did not know M. de Coralth's address, and they saw no way of procuring it. "Unless perhaps the porter knows,"

observed one of them.

The porter, on being called, remembered that he had once been sent to M. de Coralth's house for an overcoat. "I've forgotten his number," he declared; "but he lives in the Rue d'Anjou, near the corner of the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque."

This direction was not remarkable for its precision, but it was more than sufficient for a pure-blooded Parisian like Victor Chupin. "Many thanks for your kindness," he said to the porter. "A blind man, perhaps, might not be able to go straight to M. de Coralth's house from your directions, but I have eyes and a tongue as well. And, believe me, if there's any reward, you shall see that I know how to repay a good turn."

"And if you don't find the viscount," added the waiters, "bring the money here, and it will be returned to him."

"Naturally!" replied Chupin. And he strode hurriedly away. "Return!"

he muttered; "not I! I thought for a moment they had their hands on my precious bank-note."

But he had already recovered from his fright, and as he turned his steps homeward he congratulated himself on the success of his stratagem.

"For my viscount is caught," he said to himself. "The Rue d'Anjou Saint Honore hasn't a hundred numbers in it, and even if I'm compelled to go from door to door, my task will soon be accomplished."

On reaching home he found his mother engaged in knitting, as usual. This was the only avocation that her almost complete blindness allowed her to pursue; and she followed it constantly. "Ah! here you are, Toto,"

she exclaimed, joyously. "I didn't expect you so soon. Don't you scent a savory smell? As you must be greatly tired after being up all night, I'm making you a stew."

As customary when he returned, Chupin embraced the good woman with the respectful tenderness which had so surprised M. Fortunat. "You are always kind," said he, "but, unfortunately, I can't remain to dine with you."

"But you promised me."

"That's true, mamma; but business, you see--business."

The worthy woman shook her head. "Always business!" she exclaimed.

"Yes--when a fellow hasn't ten thousand francs a year."

"You have become a worker, Toto, and that makes me very happy; but you are too eager for money, and that frightens me."

"That's to say, you fear I shall do something dishonest. Ah! mother! do you think I can forget you and Monsieur Andre?"

His mother said no more, and he entered the tiny nook which he so pompously styled his chamber, and quickly changed the clothes he was wearing (his Sunday toggery) for an old pair of checked trousers, a black blouse, and a glazed cap. And when he had finished, and given a peculiar turn to his hair, no one would have recognized him. In place of M. Fortunat's respectable clerk, there appeared one of those vagabonds who hang about cafes and theatres from six in the evening till midnight, and spend the rest of their time playing cards in the low drinking dens near the barrieres. It was the old Chupin come to life once more--Toto Chupin as he had appeared before his conversion. And as he took a last look in the little glass hanging over the table, he was himself astonished at the transformation. "Ah!" he muttered, "I was a sorry looking devil in those days."

Although he had cautiously avoided making any noise in dressing, his mother, with the wonderfully acute hearing of the blind, had followed each of his movements as surely as if she had been standing near watching him. "You have changed your clothes, Toto," she remarked.

"Yes, mother."

"But why have you put on your blouse, my son?"

Although accustomed to his mother's remarkable quickness of perception, he was amazed. Still he did not think of denying it. She would only have to extend her hand to prove that he was telling a falsehood. The blind woman's usually placid face had become stern. "So it is necessary to disguise yourself," she said, gravely.

"But, mother----"

"Hush, my son! When a man doesn't wish to be recognized, he's evidently doing something he's ashamed of. Ever since your employer came here, you have been concealing something from me. Take care, Toto! Since I heard that man's voice, I'm sure that he is quite as capable of urging you to commit a crime as others were in days gone by."