The waiter appeared, panting for breath, and cried:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for being so long, but we didn't have the change for a hundred francs here, and I had to go a long way to get it.

Lord! what a nuisance change is! Count it, monsieur."

"And the time? Sacrebleu! tell me what time it is, will you?"

"Oh! I didn't think to look, monsieur."

"Then go and look now, villain! beast!"

"Look first and see if the change is right."

"I don't care a d.a.m.n about my change. The time, you rascal, the time, at once!"

Cherami pushed the waiter out of the room and impatiently awaited his return, muttering again:

"Ah! how well I understand Nourjahad's feeling!"

"Monsieur, it has struck the half-hour; it's three minutes past," cried the waiter.

"At last! that's very lucky! Off with you, then!"

"But is monsieur's change all right? I want to be sure."

"What's that? yes, blackguard, it's all right; here are two francs for you; and now, clear out!"

"Shall I come back and tell monsieur the time again?"

Cherami half rose from his seat; only half, but the waiter understood, and fled.

The two letters were on the table; having thrown away the end of his cigar, Cherami took the one which was for himself, saying:

"It's very strange; I really feel a sort of emotion. Come, no nonsense; let's see what there is inside!"

He opened the letter and read:

"'My dear Monsieur:--When you read these words, I shall be dead---- '

"Dead!" cried Cherami, striking the table violently with his clenched fist. "Nonsense! it isn't possible; I must have read it wrong! but, no; that's what it says: 'I shall be dead.' Let's go on:

"'I had a very respectable little fortune, but it wasn't enough for me; I speculated on the Bourse, and I had bad luck; I married, hoping that a woman's love would change the course of my ideas, and that an attractive home would satisfy my ambition. Unluckily, I was mistaken. The person whom I married has one of those emotionless hearts with which it is impossible to give play to one's feelings; after a week of wedlock, I found that she had not the slightest love for me, but that she desired to cut a figure in society, and to eclipse all other women. Thereupon I speculated more wildly than ever, in order to gratify my vanity, if nothing more. Ten days ago, I gave a great party, to try to disguise my condition. I still hoped to extricate myself; I risked all that I had! I lost, and I am ruined!--and, as I haven't your philosophy, as I could not determine to live in poverty after having tasted the pleasures of luxury, I am going to blow out my brains. Be good enough to call upon my wife and prepare her gently for the news; I do not think, however, that her heart will suffer most.

"'I ask your pardon for the trouble I cause you, but I have formed this judgment of you: that you are a man and will keep the promise you made me. Receive my last adieu.

"'AUGUSTE MONLeARD.'"

For a few moments after reading this letter, Cherami was speechless with dismay. He even put his hand to his eyes to wipe away a tear; then muttered:

"What! that handsome young dandy who sat there just now! But, sacrebleu!

perhaps it's not too late yet!"

Springing to his feet, he seized his hat and cane, put the letters in his pocket, and left the room. Below, he inquired which direction his late companion had taken; they told him, and he hastened away toward the loneliest part of the Bois. But he soon saw a crowd of people, and, marching toward them, some gendarmes who had been sent for, and who plunged at once into the underbrush.

"What has happened?" he inquired of a peasant woman who pa.s.sed him; "what are those gendarmes here for?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, because someone has killed himself in the woods--a young man--very well dressed, too, I give you my word. I can't understand why people who are rich enough to dress like that should do such things! That little boy there found him."

"It's all over then; he's dead?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur.--And his nice new overcoat!"

"In that case," said Cherami to himself, "I have only to execute the commission he intrusted to me."

x.x.xVI

A STRONG WOMAN

As he returned to Paris, Cherami's reflections took this turn:

"Well, here's something that changes the state of affairs very materially. That young f.a.n.n.y's a widow--she's free--her husband is dead.

I trust that Gustave won't say now that it was I who killed him! At all events, I have the letter he wrote me, and I will keep it carefully; otherwise, people would be quite capable of believing that I shot him in a duel; but, after all, that young woman, whom Gustave still adores--and who is the cause of his going away from Paris because he's afraid of meeting her--that f.a.n.n.y for whom he has a pa.s.sion such as we seldom see nowadays; I might say, such as we never see!--However, since she is a widow now, and since she greeted Gustave so kindly the last time he met her--for I remember that he told me she even urged him to call--now, then, or _ergo_, as we used to say at school, since that young woman did not look upon Gustave with an unfavorable eye when she was married, it seems to me that she should look upon him even more favorably now that she's a widow. She gave poor Monleard the preference, because he offered her everything that attracts a woman. To-day, when she is ruined, it seems to me that she would be very glad to fall in with my young friend, who gives me the impression of occupying a very satisfactory position in life. I really believe that the thing can be arranged--not instantly, because we must give the little woman time to weep over her husband; but I foresee that hereafter Gustave's love and constancy will be rewarded.

Ah! I like to think of that; for then Gustave will cease to travel, he will stay in Paris; and a man is very glad to have such friends as he is, always at hand. What a pity that he isn't here now! I would have lost no time in telling him the great news. Oh! but I will find out where he is, I will find him. Meanwhile, I must think about performing my mission to the young wife, with all proper precautions. It isn't precisely an agreeable errand; but if one did only agreeable things, it would become monotonous."

f.a.n.n.y was in her boudoir, trying on some morning caps, and leaving her mirror from time to time to go to look at the last bulletin from the Bourse, which was on her toilet table, when her maid appeared and told her that a gentleman desired to speak to her.

"A gentleman! What gentleman? Do you know him? Did he give his name?"

"No, madame; I have never seen him here."

"Are you sure that he wants to see me, not Monsieur Monleard?"

"It is certainly you, madame; and he says that it's on very important business."

"Is the man respectable? Does he look like a gentleman?"

"Why, yes, madame."