The felon's bequest : a novel of the prison and the boudoir

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THE FELON'S BEQUEST.

A TTOYEL OF THE PEISOH AID THE BOUDOIR.

BY

FORTUNE DUBOISGOBEY,

AuTHOB OF "Pabisian Dktectivb," Ac., &0,

NEW YORK:

HUEST & CO., PUBLISHEBS,

122 NASSAU ST,

CONTENTS,

CHAP. PAGE

I. A FiBST Glimpse of the Bequest, . - 3

II. Thk Stricken Deer, - - - - 10

m. A Gleam of Sunshine, - - - - 17

IT. The Queen of the Lions, - - - - 27

Y. A New Monte Ckisto, - . - - 34

VI. The Brazieb of Charcoal, - - - 40

VII. A Millionaire's Perplexities, - . - 48

Vm. A Rough Wooing, - - - - 52

IX. Poverty's Banker, - - - - 59

X. Plans for the Future, - - - - 65

XI. A Stumble on the Threshold, - - 78

XII. An Unholy Compact, - - - - 86

Xni. A Slighted Woman, . _ . . pc

XIV. A Forced Sale, - - - - 103

XV. " Halves, " - - - - - 114

XVI. The Lube of the Fowleb, - - 121

XVn. A Parisian Seraglio, - - - . 126

XVIII. In the Tiger's Cage, ... 129

XIX. "Can We not Trust Each Other?" - - 135

XX. A Pennt-a-Lineb, .... 146

XXI. The Murder at Mgntmabtbe, ... 154

XXII. " And Slander -with Her Venombd Tongue, " 164

XXIII. A First Xight, .... 170

XXIV. A Scene from Antique Rome, - - - 181
XXV. A Scene in Modern Pakis, - - 188

XXVI. What They Caught in the Trap, - - 199

XXVII. "A Skeleton Form Lay Mouldering There," 208

XXVni. Pierre Tbouillard Speaks, - - 214

XXIX. Hunted Down, .... 223

XXX. A Woman's Devotion, ... 233

XXXI. Trouillard's Daughter, ... 243

Epilogue ...... g50

THE FELON'S BEflllEST.

CHAPTER I.

A FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE BEQUEST.

A BRIGHT December day, a clear blue sky overhead, and
a cold, invigoratiug breeze blowing, one of those days
on which the Parisians love to walk ou the boulevards.

The men bury their hands iu the pockets of their over-
coats, and with their sticks tucked away under their ai*m,
mo-ve along briskly, in order to promote circulation. The
women make the heels of their little boots ring on the
asphalte, and as they gaze in at the shop windows cast
sly glances at the passers-by through their veils. There
is nothing more pleasant in life than to be able to go
wherever one's fancy leads one, and to have no given duty
to perform.

The pi'isoners in Mazas are taking exercise, too, but in
rather a different manner. In this age of progress, prison
arrangements have been brought to a pitch of perfection;
and the difficult problem has been solved of enabling
many different persons to take exercise at the same time,
and in the same plot of ground, without catching a
glimpse of each other, and this, too, is done without cov-
ering the prisoner's head with a hood, as is done in the
Belgian Penitentiaries. The plan upon which the prison
of Mazas is built somewhat resembles an open fan, which
has six sticks, represented by six long three-storied gal-
leries, all converging to one common point, which forms

2129408

4 THE FELON S BEQUEST.

the button at the handle of the fan. Outside, in the space
between the galleries, exercise grounds have been formed.
Each of these is in the form of a wheel, the nave of which
is a tower, upon the summit of which stands a warder,
whilst the spokes are the exercise grounds, separated one
from the other by high walls. They run from the central
tower to a gate at which another warder is posted. Dur-
ing the hour allotted for exercise, the prisoners are fdaced
in these open passages hke bears in a pit, without any
possibility of communicating with their next door neigh-
bors. They are brought from their cells, and taken back
again after the expiration of the hour, without crossing
each other on the way. The poor caged birds march
backwards and forwards in these triangular spaces, in
which they cannot take more than fifteen steps in the
same direction, with melancholy faces, trampHng the
gravel under foot, and seeking for the shade in summer
and the sun in winter. Some smoke; those, that is, that
have a few pence to buy tobacco, whilst others talk to
themselves. They do not shout out or sing, for it is for-
bidden, and they have besides no incHnation to do so.
They drag themselves slowly along, with their backs bent
as though carrying some ponderous burden. The whole
enormous weight of the prison seems to be placed on their
shoulders. Many of them do not even attempt to think,
but live mechanically, Uke wild beasts in a cage. But
there is no rule without an exception, and one day,
towards the end of last year, the warder was sur-
prised to see, from his post of observation, one of the
prisoners walking in his exercise ground with an easy,
careless step. He was smoking a cigar, and every now
and then he would stop to watch the spiral curls of smoke
float away in the air. He looked more like a gentleman
who had just eaten an excellent breakfast, and was stroll-
ing about to promote digestion, than a prisoner.

This contented prisoner wore a comfortable great coat
with a fur collar; he had a travelling cap on his head, and
looked like a Russian prince on his travels.

" He must be some financier who has ruined his poor
dupes of shai'eholders, or a cashier who has robbed the
till; the poor devils on the other side, shivering in their
blouses, are worth a dozen of him," thought the warder,

THE felon's bequest. 5

as he every now and again caught sight of the man in the
fur-collared coat.

But the prisoner had never been either a cashier or a
rich financier, although he made a good deal of money.
George Cransac was simply an outside operator on the
Stock Exchange, and an unfortunate event had caused him
to be arrested and remanded. His employer's signature
had been imitated on a check, and the forgery had been
detected the day after it had been paid. It Avas no use
for Cransac to protest that be had been mistaken for
some one bearing a resemblance to him; he was given in
charge at once, and for the last ten days had been in
Mazas prison. But his last examination had turned out
favorable to him, and he had been able to prove to the
magistrate that at the time when the unknown forger
was cashing the check at the Credit Lyonnais, he, Cran-
sac, was taking instructions from one of his employer's
clients who resided in the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne.
An alibi being thus proved, the order for his release
might be expected at any moment. He had good reason,
therefore, to feel comfortable, for it is easier to enter
Mazas than to leave it.

He had not really suffered much, for knowing that he
was quite innocent, he never believed that he would
remain in prison for long. He had even seized the oppor-
tunity of his stay in the grim precincts of the prison to
take various mental notes, with which he made up his
mind to regale his friends when he should be once again
outside the walls; for he imagined that he would be
received by them on his release like a shipwrecked
mariner cast upon some unknown coast.

At twenty-five years of age a man always looks on the
bright side of things, and George Cransac had been
twenty-five, six weeks ago. He was clever, good-looking,
and a favorite with the fair sex, and earned money
enough to satisfy all his pleasures. Why, then, should
he not look on the rosy side of life ? As he walked quickly
backwards and forwards, thinking of the manner in which
he would employ his first day of liberty, a pebble thrown
over the wall fell at his feet. A second, and then a third
followed.

" Halloa ! " said he, in a low voice; " here is my next
door neighbor asking for a cigar." He had a good stock

6 THE felon's bequest.

of tobacco in his cell, and he had been in the habit of
throwing one or two over to the unlucky fellow who
signified his presence in the way described.

Prisoners pass some objects, and even letters, to each
other by this means. All they have to do is to w^atch for
the moment when the warder's back is turned. Cransac
had learned from notes written without the slightest
regard to either grammar or spelling, that his neighbor
was going to be tried at the sessions. But he did not
know of what offence he had been guilty, nor did he care
to do so. The day before, however, he had thought
proper to send a message by the same route, and had
thrown over a piece of paper wrapped round a pebble,
upon which he had written before leaving his cell : *' Do
not throw anything more over. I shall not be here, and
your letters might fall into the hands of another prisoner,
who would possibly report you."

This time Cransac threw over a packet of cigars as a
farewell gift.

The message arrived in safety at its destination, and the
manoeuvre escaped the vigilance of the warder at his post
of observation.

Cransac thought that this would wind up his relations
with the rogue on the other side, but to his surprise he
received a fresh packet as soon as the warder had again
turned his back. This time it was a big ball of paper
sufficiently heavy to be tossed over without the usual
accompanying stone. Cransac hastened to pick it up and
put it in his pocket. He was certain that in the ball of
paper a letter was concealed, which he could not read
whilst in the exercise yard without fear of detection, but
which he could easily peruse on his return to his cell, for
he was anxious to learn what the malefactor had to write
to him about.

" I expect that he takes me for one t»f his own stamp,"
thought he, " and knowing that I am going out to-morrow,
has entrusted me with some commission for some one of
his accomplices. I will take care to have nothing to do
with it, but I will preserve his signature as a remembrance
of my trip to Mazas."

Cransac had done well in concealing his neighbor's
missive, for eleven o'clock struck, and the hour of exer-
cise was over. A warder opened the gate that led into the

THE FELONS BEQUEST. 7

gallery in which his cell was situated, and beckoned him
to come in.

The warder who had charge of him, before turning the
key of his cell, whispered in his ear words which sounded
like the sweetest music. " Good news ! " said he. " The
order for your release has come, and in ten minutes you
will be sent for to receive the order for your discharge."

" At last then," cried Cransac, as soon as he found him-
self alone, " I am going back to the society of honest
people. How pleasant it will be once again to associate
with my old friends and companions ! They did not put
themselves out much to come and see me in Queer Street,
but I am not angry with them. The busy life of Paris
carries a man along toofast to enable him to stop and pick up
those who fall by the way. But I am on my legs again,
thank goodness, and everyone will hold out their hands
to me." Then, as he remembered the letter he had in his
pocket, he said to himself: " I have half a mind to burn
it; but there —I run no risk by reading it, so here goes."

He untied the ball, and on a greasy piece of paper, in
which a candle had evidently been wrapped, he read these
words: "I expect you are a swell-faker ' "

"What does he mean by that ? Ah, I have it. He means
a first-class thief. Well my neighbor is complimentary.
Let us go on: * But you are a safe pal, and your weeds are
immensikoff. I go before the heaks next week, and am in
for a stretch of twenty years, and as I am fifty now, I
shall never again cross the herring pond; the noses have
come the artful over me. I shan't leave my sv:<ig to the
gang — no fear, I'll make you my heir; and this is where I
have stowed it *

" His swag T' muttered George. " What does my friend
of the exercise-yard mean by that ? It must be a slang
term, and my education in that line has been neglected.
Here is a good opportunity to commence my studies.
Let me see how he goes on."

" *I teU you my swag is worth the trouble of fishing up.
You are, I expect, about stumped, and will be glad enough
to grab it. That ain't a hard matter. All you have to do
is to take a walk to IMontmartre one night. You must
climb the hill by the steps at the end of the Rue Germain
Pilon. After that you will leave the Montmartre Town
Hall on the right hand, go up the Eue Ravignan, then turn

8 THE felon's bequest.

to the right into the Rue Gabrielle. In the middle of it
you will see on your left a kind of a garden, closed by a
rotten wooden gate. Put your shoulder to it, and it will
give ; then go through the trees, until you come to a house
standing up all alone, like a ninepin. The crib has three
floors, with only one window in each storey. It has been
unoccupied for the last twenty years, and is falling to
bits '

" Good," muttered Cransac. " So the swag is money
that he has hidden in a ruined house. A nice little walk
he suggests to me 1

" ' On the ground floor you will find a door without
bolt or lock. You have only to push it to get in. You
will see in front of you a brass plate at the back of the
chimney, all black with soot. In the top of the plate is a
large iron pin. Turn it three times, and then pull it
down, and the plate will open like the lid of a desk '

" Good — very good. It gets interesting.

" *I ain't agoing to tell you what you'll find behind it.
You'll see what you will see, and you'll have a real good
spree with it. Oh, lor ! it's me what would have had the
spree, if I hadn't been fool enough to have got nabbed
over a job that didn't bring in four sous. But I'd rather
you had it than anyone else. And don't you fret that I
shall ever come back and ask for my regulars. I shall go
off the hooks in New Caledonia, and even if I didn't, I
couldn't find you, for I have never clapped eyes on your
mug, and don't even know your name *

" And a good thing, too. I am nearly at the end.

" * I had a daughter once, but she slung her hook five
years ago. The minx was ashamed of her old dad. I
didn't take no pains to go after her, you may guess. She
might have ridden in her own carriage with my bequest,
and now she will end with a workhouse burial. That'll
teach her to be stuck up. Keep it all, old pal, and spend
it like a man. "When I shall be over there, it'll cheer me
up to think that the beaks ain't got the swag. Good luck
to you, and down with the noses 1

"'Pierre.'"

Cransac had had some difficulty in understanding that
swag meant money, but he knew at once that " Down with
the noses" signified " down with the informers," for he
had read this threat dozens of times scrawled on the

THE FELON S BEQUEST. 9

walls of the exercise-ground and of his cell. There was
a postscript to this strange letter: "If you come across a
chap named Troche, a fellow that is always loafing about
the boulevards, you might break every bone in his skin for
me. It was him as sold me."

Cransac could hardly restrain a laugh at this last recom-
mendation, and was about to read the letter over again
for his amusement, when the clash of bolts and bars
warned him that the turnkey was about to make his
appearance, and he had only just the time to conceal it in
his pocket when the man came in.

"It is all right," said the warder. "You are wanted at
the office. Take up your bundle, and come along."

His bundle was not very heavy; he had only the clothes
in which he stood, and a little linen which he had hastily
packed up. He followed the jailer, and more than once
asked himself if they would not search him, and find the
letter of the worthy Pierre, the enemy of informers. But
they do not search prisoners who are leaving Mazas, and
his order of discharge was read to him with all due for-
mality, and the door was opened for his exit, after his
watch and money had been returned to him.

Once again he found himself standing, with his bundle
in his hand, on the Parisian pavement, half stunned by
the din of carriages which filled the vicinity of the Lyons
terminus. But he soon pulled himself together, and pre-
pared once again to enter that life from which the warrant
for his arrest had so roughly removed him. It seemed to
him as if he had had an unpleasant dream, and that now he
had woke up, all that he had to do was to pick up his con-
nection and set to work once more. He glanced at a
neighboring clock, and saw that it was half-past eleven,
so that he would have plenty of time to reach the
Exchange in time for its opening, and he felt sure that all
his friends would receive him with open arms. He there-
fore hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to go to the
Bourse, as he intended appearing there before going to his
own rooms.

LO THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER n.

THE STBICKEN DEIE.

Cransac tad not deceived himself when he imagined
that his reappearance on 'Change would create a sensa-
tion. As he ascended the main staircase he saw some of
the most assiduous frequenters who know him by sight
looking at him with an air of profound astonishment; but
he noticed that not one of them gave him the usual greet-
ing of busy stock-brokers — a slight nod of the head.
Under the Colonade matters were worse. He fell into
the midst of a group of " outside operators," who scat-
tered on all sides at his approach. "When he arrived at
the corner where his best customers were in the habit of
congregating, those to whom he bowed turned their
backs on him. At last he recognized a friend who worked
for the same broker as he did, and who was pushing his
way through the crowd, with his note-book in his hand
and his pencil behind his ear. This man had been his
boon companion, and Cransac caught him by the arm,
and stopped him, saying: " "What do you mean by cut-
ting me like this ? "

" Faith, my dear fellow," answered the broker's agent.
" I only do like the others. You did not, I suppose, expect
to be very enthusiastically received by your old compan-
ions ? "

" I expected to be received like a friend who has been
unjustly accused."

" A friend ! "Who has just come out of Mazas."

" Oh, if that is the way you look on it, you may go to
the devih I will explain matters to my employer."

" He has just come. You will find him over there, and
can say what you like, for the opening bell has not yet
rung."

Cransac left his cowardly friend, and hastened into the
main hall of the building, where there was yet plenty of
room, for it was still easy to make one's way about. He
soon came up to the broker, who looked at him with a
calm and severe expression of face.

THE felon's bequest. 11

" You here, sir?" said be. " I confess that I did not
expect to see you, and hei'e too ! "

" Why not ? " asked Cransac, warraly. " Is it because
I have been the Tictim of a mistake ? The authorities
have admitted it, and I have a right to show myself
everywhere since I am an innocent person,"

" I would wiUingly believe it, but everyone on 'Change
knows that you were taken up, and I cannot have you
about me any longer; besides, you would gain nothing
by remaining, for no one would entrust you with any
orders. I advise you to change your line of business,
and you ought to get on, for you are active and intelli-
gent."

Then, as he perceived that Cransac was about to burst
into a storm of passion, he added:

" Your account is made up, and there is some money
due to you on your last month's brokerage. My cashier
will settle with you whenever you like."

The bell rang to announce that the Exchange was
open, the broker hurried off, and all the daily din and
hubbub commenced. Even had Cransac wished, he could
not have uttered another word, for the tumult would
have drowned his voice.

Boiling over with rage, he hurried away, not lingering
for a moment in the accursed spot, and ran out into the
open street. His cab was waiting for him, and getting
into it, he was driven to his home in the Rue Frocbot.

His rage almost suffocated him. For the first time he
had learned to read Man, His former friends repudiated
him; his employer discharged him. He had nothing to
reproach himself with, he had not even committed an act
of imprudence, and yet all refused to listen to him when
he attempted to justify himself and prove that he had
not committed the disgraceful act of which he had been
accused. This injustice made him hate the financial
world in which he had Uved ever since he left school.

At the Rue Frochot fresh annoyances awaited him.
The porter, when he caught sight of him, seemed to
imagine that he had fallen from the clouds, and was half
inclined to call a policeman, evidently believing that
Cransac had escaped from prison; and when he was
about to go up to his own room, he called after him in a
sulky tone:

12 THE felon's bequest.

" Tou needn't take the trouble to do that. The land-
lord has sealed up the door of your room."

" What, has he ventured to ? "

" Don't you know that the commissary of police came
and searched your rooms. We can't keep a lodger in a
respectable house like ours, who is wanted by the police.
And now I'U give you a piece of advice, and that is — be
off, as sharp as you can."

Cransac grasped the insolent fellow by the collar, and,
shaking him like a rat, shouted:

" You impertinent hound, I'U go to the commissary of
police, and we wiU see if this beast of a landlord has the
right to turn me out of doors."

For at that moment he was so much exasperated that
he had forgotten all about his detention in Mazas, and the
strange letter that lurked in his pocket.

Cransac's only wish was to regain possession of his
rooms, even if he had to go to the commissary of the
district to enable him to do so.

As he had been discharged, he had nothing to fear
from that official, but for aU that he felt a certain amount
of repugnance in applying to him for assistance. After hurl-
ing the insolent porter from him, who fell gasping into a
chair, Cransac paid the fare, took the bundle of linen out
of the cab, and placing it in the porter's room, said: " Go
and tell your master that he shall hear from me to-day,
and that I intend to sleep in my own bed to-night."
This threatening communication was delivered in so
fierce a manner that the porter began to change his tone,
and, commencing to stammer out some excuses, prom-
ised to deliver the message. Cransac, still a pray to
anger, left the house, and walked quickly away, hardly
knowing where he was going. His head seemed on fire,
and he felt that he must walk about to collect his ideas;
besides, after fourteen days' imprisonment the possibility
of a long and brisk walk was full of charms for him, and
he almost longed to break into a run, as a horse who has
been for a long time mewed up in a stable stretches his
legs by a good gallop. The Rue Frochot leads into the
Place Pigalle, through which Cransac only passed to get
into a narrow, precipitous street, like all those in the
neighborhood of the Butte Montmartre. He climbed up
as high as he could, and at last arrived on a kind of plat-

THE felon's bequest. 13

form which overlooked the Place Saint Pierre. There
his breath failed him, and he was obHged to stop and
rest, sitting down to do so on a heap of earth. Beneath
him Paris stretched itself out, like a huge grey spot; that
Paris in which he had spent so many happy hours, and
where every door was now closed against him. In sum-
mer these high grounds are a great deal frequented, but
in the latter months of the year hardly anyone comes
there. The place is a perfect desert, and the view which
can be obtained from it does not in any way compensate
for the ugliness of the surroimdings. The ground under
foot seems composed of dried mud, on which are erected
dilapidated buildings and wooden huts.

Cransac sat plunged in thought, which was not of a
much brighter hue than the objects that surrounded him.
With his mind's eye he fathomed the abyss into which the
hand of fatality had plunged him. "What would become
of him — repulsed on all sides, without friends, without
money, and, what was worse, without character? He
felt that a man tainted with the suspicion of dishonor does
not recover himself by his own unaided efforts. But who
would stretch out a hand to aid him in rising from his
undeserved fall ? He had no relations and the very
name he bore did not belong to him.

George Cransac did not know whose son he was, and
his earliest recollections did not go beyond a man, whose
face he did not even recollect, coming to the village
where he had been placed in a laborer's family, and tak-
ing him away to Paris, where he was placed in a school,
which he only left to go to the College of Saint Louis;
thence he was dismissed on account of the annual fees not
being paid. George was then nineteen years of age, and
was about to enter the Polytechnic School, after having
passed a highly successful examination.

Was it his father who up to this time had defrayed
the expenses of his education, and had he died sud-
denly without being able to provide for the wants of his
illegitimate son ? George knew nothing of the real facts
of the case. The school fees used to reach the principal
of the college in a registered but unsigned letter, and
the man who had brought George to Paris had never
again made his appearance.

George therefore found himself without resources at a

14 THE felon's bequest.

moment when he was about to enter on a career in which
he would doubtless have achieved a brilliant success. His
first idea was to enlist, but some of his schoolfellows
managed to place him with a stockbroker, where he soon
succeeded in making a very good position for himself. His
brokerages brought him in some fifteen thousand francs
a 3'ear; but, as he spent money as fast as he made it,
George had no savings to fall back on, and all that
remained to him was the bitter regret Jf or his want of
foresight, a feeling of intense anger against those who
had abandoned him in his misfortune, and an ardent
desix'e to discover and deliver up to justice the forger
who had been the cause of his misfortune, the scoundrel
who resembled him so much that the one had been taken
for the other. By dint of pondering over his doubtful
parentage and his terrible disaster, George recovered all
his former energy. His anguish turned to rage, and
shaking his fist at the mighty city which lay at his feet,
he cried: " There is no longer a place for me in Paris,
where they crush the feeble, and ciinge to the powerful.
"Well, I wiU make a place for myself. Money is a mighty
thing, and when I have it, those who now repulse me
will lick the dust from my shoes. I will be rich,, and
will spare no means to attain my ends. But I will not
confess that I am conquered. I will first have an expla-
nation with the cowards who have turned their backs on
me. I will force them to acknowledge that I am worth
more than they are, and will force them to wage the bat-
tle with me. I will conquer, or perish in the attempt. I
will have a brilliant reparation, and I wHl go to work
•without a moment's delay, for I will never bow my head
beneath their insults."

Cheered by this brief monologue, George Cransac rose
to his feet. He had something else to do than hurl curses
on Paris from the summit of the Butte Montmartre. He
had first to find the client whose evidence had proved
that Cransack was receiving his orders in his house in the
Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne at the very hour when
his double was presenting the forged check at the Credit
Lyonnais. This chent was a wealthy foreigner, who had
always treated the young outsider operator with marked
poHteness, and would not hesitate to give a written testi-
mony how utterly impossible it Avas that Cransac could

THE felon's bequest. 15

have uttered tlie forged clieck. Furnished with so pow-
erful a piece of evidence, Cransac woxild have no trouble
in silencing his calumniators, and he was determined that
the reparation should be as public as the injury. The
Stock Exchange is hardly a place for atonements of this
kind, but both Cransac and his friends were members of
a club, and that would be an excellent place for a deci-
sive explanation. Cransac, therefore, descended from the
eminence in all haste, so that he might drive to the house
of the Marquis of Simancas, whom he was almost certain
of finding at home at this hoiir of the day. Instead of
returning by the way he had come, George took a shorter
cut, by a flight of steps which he imagined would lead
directly to the Place Saint PieiTe. But he almost imme-
diately found out that the steps stopped half-way, at the
end of a side street, the name of which he read on a wall
— the Rue Gabrielle. All at once it flashed upon his
mind that this was the street spoken of in the letter fi-om
his fellow-prisoner in Mazas. The opportimity was most
suitable to find out if the description of the locality
given by his unseen neighbor was a correct one.

Cransac could hardly believe that in so thickly popu-
lated a quarter of the town a neglected garden and a
ruined house of the kind mentioned in the letter could
exist. As, however, he was forced to go down the Rue
Gabrielle, nothing was easier thsin to verify the fact.
Even if he found it as described, nothing would oblige
him to enter the house, and at the moment he had no
intention of doing so. He therefore walked straight on,
and had not advanced thii-ty paces when he found him-
self in front of the garden mentioned in the letter. A
low wall cut it off from the street, and beyond it was a
rather large extent of ground covered with trees and
brushwood, which even the wildest imagination coidd
hardly designate as a garden, for there was not a sign of
cultivation to be seen in it. It looked more Kke a pi-ime-
val forest. In the middle of the wall was a worm-eat«n
wooden gate hanging crookedly from its broken hinges.
The owner of this strange abode no doubt lacked the
necessary funds to keep it in repair, and it had become
a haunt for the night wanderers who swarmed in the dis-
trict. " That is a queer place to hide a treasure in,"
thought Cransac. "I should think the young gutter-

16 THE felon's bequest.

jumpers of the neighborhood would have found it out
long before." He looked for the house, but ct»uld only
perceive the roof peeping out above the trees. He, how-
ever, could guess at the spot where it stood. It was
perched on the top of a wooded slope, and the desire
seized on him to examine it closer. There was no chance
of any one seeing him, for there were no buildings oppo-
site the gate, and he seemed to be the only person in the
street. He pushed against the door, which yielded to
the first touch of his hand, and entered the enclosure.
But the most difficult part had yet to be overcome, the
paths were overgrown with rank weeds and vegetation of
all kinds, and it was necessary to make a path through a
tangled mass of briar and brambles. After much trouble
he emerged from the thicket and found himself in front
of the house, which was exactly what the prisoner of
Mazas had described. "Shall I go on any further?"
mused Cransac. " The ruin has a cut-throat look about
it Who can say that the rogue may not have laid a trap
for me. He wouldn't think that I should leave the prison
without any money in my pocket, and he may have sent
me direct to fellows of his own stamp, who will knock me
on the head after robbing me. Well, never mind, my
life isn't worth much, and the fellow has not lied. There
may be a stolen fortune inside, which the police, on my
information, will restore to^the rightful owner."

THE felon's bequest. 17

CHAPTEE in.

I

A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.

Some broken steps, wliicli threatened to crumble away
beneath the feet of the first comer, led up to the only door
of the house. All the glass in the windows was shattered,
the shutters had been wrenched away, and the door swung
backwards and forwards in the breeze on its broken
hinges. George Cransac hesitated for a moment, and
then, ashamed of his indecision, pushed back the worm-
eaten door and entered the room on the ground floor, but
halted for a moment on the threshold before venturing in.
He saw only the four bare waUs, no wall paper, no hang-
ings, no furniture, a tile floor, covered with dust, and the
coi-ners thickly festooned with spiders' webs. A heap of
plaster, which had fallen from the ceiling lay in front of
the fire-place, and was so high as almost to conceal the
famous brass plate behind which lay, if the prisoner of
Mazas was to be believed, his " swag," or in plain English,
his money. But this was not the moment to verify the
rogue's statements.

Both house and garden were easy of access, and Cransac
had no wish to be detected handling, or even looking at
the treasure which had been hidden there by a robber.
He never thought of taking it away, having only come to
the spot by chance, and entered the garden from curiosity.
If the money was there, there was no risk in leaving it
until the day when he should decide to inform the police
authorities of the existence of the treasure, and he had not
even yet made up his mind whether he would do so or
not.

After all a secret is a secret, whether it belongs to a
robber or not; and an honorable man never informs
against anyone, unless, indeed, he has to do so in self-
defence. As he was on the spot, however, he thought he
might inspect the house from cellar to garret. At the
other end of the room was a dark passage, in which was a
dilapidated staircase, leading to the upper floors. Cransac
ascended it, and found that it was even in a worse state
than it looked. The roof of this species of square turret

18 THE felon's bequest.

terminated in a sort of Italian terrace, where the autumn
rains had left large pools of water, which had filtered
through into the walls and threatened shortly to bring
the whole place to the ground, when the treasure would
run a great risk of being buried beneath the ruins. Cran-
sac had now seen all that he desired to see, and he began to
think that the place, after all, was not so badly suited for
a hiding place, for no one would ever think of searching
for valuables in such a ruin. He therefore descended
from the roof at once, and in doing so, saw that a fire had
been recently lighted in the grate in the room on the first
floor. Some poor, homeless wanderer had, no doubt, come
in to warm himself; but there were no signs of his having
used it as a permanent abode.

Thoroughly satisfied with his inspection, Cransac once
more forced his way through the tangled wilderness, and
as soon as he reached more civilized regions hailed a cab,
and drove to the address of the Marquis de Simancas. He
was going to play his final card, for this gentleman had
only to act and he would at once be restored to his proper
position, even in the eyes of the most prejudiced persons.
The question was, Wotdd he do so? Would the kindness
with which he had always treated the young man be sufia-
cient reason to induce him to come forward publicly and
clear his character in the estimation of the public ?

The marquis was a Cuban Spainard, immensely rich,
whose sole employment was the pursuit of pleasure.
Would he agree to put himself to any inconvenience ? He
had given evidence in favor of Crausac before the exam-
ining magistrate; but then he was obliged to do this, for
no one has the right to refuse to bear witness in a crim-
inal trial whether he be a rich, influential foreigner, or the
poorest citizen in France. As his cab sped on towards the
Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, Cransac thought over
all these points which soon di'ove out of his head the
ruined house he had recently visited, for the treasure of
the prisoner of Mazas occupied him much less than the
result of the interview that he was now seeking. It was just
three o'clock when he reached the Avenue of the Bois de
Boulogne: it is at this hour that in winter the long lines of
carriages are to be seen making their way to the wood,
and the road was crowded with elegant carriages. The
humble cab in which Cransac was seated cut but a poor

THE felon's bequest. 19

figure in the midst of the fashionable equipages. "Without
going much into the gay world of Paris, George Cransac,
like many other yoving men connected with the Stock
Exchange, knew by sight many of the celebrities in the
circles of Bohemia. With some even he was on terms of
intimacy, and was ever ready to offer them a merry dinner
or to send them bouquets of flowers. But he could not help
seeing that these last, after having glanced at him for a
moment with an air of surprise, turned their heads sharply
on one side, so as to avoid recognizing him as they passed;
but he accounted for this by saying to himself that this
was because his get-up was rather shabby. His hat was
good enough because it was new on the day of his arrest;
but contact with the walls of his prison had made his
overcoat look very seedy, the fur on the collar was
rubbed off here and there, and hiscollar, which he Lad not
changed, was limp and dirty. Young ladies of this
class have a keen eye to recognize at the first glance when
a man is beginning to drift into poverty. Their beha-
vior did not affect Cransac much, for he knew that their
sentiments would change when he appeared before them
again as well dressed as ever. The house in which the
marquis resided was at the comer of the Rue Pergolese,
and as Cransac got out of his cab the marquis issued
from his house, and was about to get into the magnificent
carriage which was waiting for him. The footman was
holding the door open, and the coachman was only wait-
ing his master's order to give the reins to his horses.
Cransac came up, hat in hand, and felt a cold chill strike
his heart, when the marquis said:

" Ah, is it you, sir ? And what do you want ? "

Cransac turned pale. He had expected a different
reception, and it was all that he could do to muster up
sufficient courage to reply:

" I came to thank you, my lord."

' Thank me I And for what, pray? "

"For having given evidence in my favor before the
examining magistrate. It is to you that I owe my
Hbei-ty."

" There is no occasion to thank me for having told the
truth."

** At least, may I hope that you will again confirm what
you said before, and state that you are sure that it was a

20 THE felon's bequest.

case of mistaken identity. That I am innocent you know
better than anyone else."

" I beg your pardon. I know you were at my house
at eleven o'clock, on the day upon which it appears that
a forged check was presented at the Credit Lyonnais; but
I know nothing more, and cannot undertake to clear
your character."

" Tou really speak as if you thought me guilty," said
Cransac, bitterly.

" I know nothing about your guilt, or your innocence.
Tou have been suspected, and that is enough, too much
even, and I certainly should not confide my sale or pur-
chase of stock to you any more; and so, sir, farewell."

With these words the Marquis de Simancas got into
his carriage, and at once drove off to the wood.

" Rascal ! — coward ! " muttered the young man ; " a
word from him to the broker would have silenced every
malicious tongue, and he will not say it. He declines to
receive me, and hints that I am a thief."

For a few moments the poor young fellow remained
stupified. He felt that all was lost. But anger soon got
the mastery, and the lust for vengeance grew keener. On
whom should he take revenge ? On the first of his
traducers that he could come across.

" To the Club, Eue Volney," cried he to the cabman.
The poor feUow thought, " I can have my pick of them
there, for they all come after the day's work. I will wait
for them, and when I have struck one of them, we will
see whether he will refuse to fight." But Cransac was no
more prepared for the reception that he was going to
meet with at the club than he had been for the treatment
he had received at the hands of his friends. When he
entered the hall, and was about to ascend the stairs, he
noticed that the servants were whispering together, and
on the first floor he was met on the threshold of the
drawing-room by the majestic steward of the club, who,
lowering his voice, said: "You cannot come in here, sir."

" What is that you say ? " asked Cransac, furiously.

" Are you unaware, sir, that you are no longer a member
of this club ? "

" Since when ? "

" Since the day before yesterday."

" And who ventured to give any such order ? "

THE felon's bequest. 21

" It was the unanimous decision of tlie committee, and
was posted up yesterday in the drawing-room."

This was the last and final stroke.

George felt that his last chance of vengeance had been
wrested from him. You may strike one man, but you
bannot beat a committee. He might certainly have
picked out one, but he hardly knew their names. He did
not, however, yield tamely. " Send one of the Committee
to me," said he, coldly.

" There are none of them here," replied the steward.
" You must be aware, sir, that the committee only meets
on Thursday."

It was impossible for George to enter into an alterca-
tion with a servant, or endeavor to force his way into the
club, where he might not even meet with those that he
so ardently desired to meet face to face. He therefore
adopted the only course that remained to him, and left
the house, saying as he did so, " Very well, they shall hear
from me."

He went off in a state of utter despair. His last hope
had fled. His friends had deserted him, and his enemies
had stolen a march on him. Every door seemed closed, and
nothing remained for him but death. He had no revolver in
his pocket with which to blow out his brains, and he was
about to order his coachman to drive to the river, when
a tall young fellow came along the pavement of the Kue
Volney. He had nothing to do with the Stock Exchange,
being a journalist, and George knew him, as he knew
many others that he had met in the world of youth and
gaiety. They had frequently taken their pleasure to-
gether. They had the same tastes, and were of the same
age, and they had soon drifted into intimacy. "Was this
sbarer of his pleasures going to cut him too ? George
asked himself this question, prepared to pass him in dis-
dain and anger if he showed the slightest semblance of a
desire to avoid him. But Paul Valbrec stretched out his
hand without a moment's hesitation, and exclaimed, in
tones of unfeigned pleasure, " I knew well enough that
you were no forger ! They locked you up, but that might
happen to any one. Magistrates are such asses. But
now that you are out, we must celebrate the happy event
in a proper manner."

" I don't feel up to it," replied George, deeply moved

22 THE felon's bequest.

at this unexpected reception. " But I thank you from the
bottom of my heart for not having doubted me."

" Have those fools on the Stock Exchange received you
badly, then?"

" They have aU cut me dead. The broker for whom I
have been working has dismissed me, and the committee
of my club has expelled me."

" These are all misfortunes, for which it is easy to find
consolation, old boy. Everything in this world is for
the best. You were too clever to remain a money-grub-
ber all your life. I will find you a place on my paper."

•* I ask for nothing better ; but— — "

" Don't trouble about how you will manage. There is
room for every kind of talent there, and I am sure you
are just the man to turn out a spicy article."

" I doubt it very much.

" Try it, at any rate. Why should you not begin by a
sketch of ' Life in the Prison of Mazas/ as you have just
come out of it ? "

" Are you in earnest ? "

"Perfectly so. To-morrow I will introduce you to my
editor, and will be answerable for you. He will find you
some place or other. But now that I have got you, I
mean to keep you. Where were you going to in that
rattletrap?"

" I was going to pitch myself into the river."

" The duce — my deai" fellow ! You go to work sharply.
But if all those who have been arrested by mistake took
it into their heads to have a dip in the Seine, we should
have to build a new Morgue. There is always time
enough to drown yourself. Dismiss the cab, and come
with me for a stroll in the Boulevards. We will dine to-
gether. I invite you on the spot. We will uncork a few
flasks of choice Burgundy, and after dinner you will have
given up all idea of ' shuffling off this mortal coil.' "

George did not hestitate long. After so many insults
and rebuffs he had found one true friend who believed in
his innocence, and he felt fresh hope spring up in his
bosom. He did not expect to succeed at the outset in
the new career which Paul Valbrec had promised to open
to him, but he determined to tiy it, without for a moment
renouncing the hope of coming across the scoundrel who
had forged the check on the Credit Lyounais.

fHE felon's bequest. 23

Paul passed his arm through that of his friend and led
him on to the boulevards. " And now," said he, " tell me
all about the matter. I have heard of it^^ vaguely from
people who calumniated you, and whose mouths I closed,
but I do not know the details. That there was some mis-
take I am certain, but how came it about? Where did
they* nab 'you?"

" In the street, just as I was leaving my rooms to go to
breakfast. A shabbily-dressed fellow came up to me, and
politely requested me to go with him to the commissary
of police, who wanted some information from me. I went
with him to the office, and found the cashier there in the
vmiform of the Credit Lyonnais. Directly he set eyes on
me he cried out, ' That's the man.' I did not understand
what he meant, but the commissary was kind enough to
explain that the man recognized me as having the day
before, at eleven o'clock in the morning, presented a check
bearing my employer's signature "

"What was the amount of the check?" interrupted
Valbrec.

"Twelve thousand."

" That was a low price to have ruined yourself at."

" I protested," continued George, " that it was a case
of mistaken indentity, but it was of no avail. The cashier
persisted in his certainty that I was the man, and I was
remanded to the House of Detention."

" AVhat ! without further evidence? That was a strong
measure."

" Yes, things happened as I tell you. The examining
magistrate told me next day that, in the evening after the
payment had been made, the clerk who was making up
the books fancied there was something wrong about the
signature. It was shown to my employer, who declared
it to be a forgery. An inquiry w' as set on foot, and some
people were found who asserted that the description of
the forger corresponded exactly with my appearance, and
then the warrant was issued."

" Then the forger resembles you ?"

"Very closely, it seems; and he knows my employer's
signature, for the forgery was most skilfully executed.
He must have had a check-book and access to the office of
my employer; perhaps he was an outside operator, like
myself."

24 THE felon's bequest.

"And did none of your comrades take up your
defence ?"

" On the contrary, I think that they made matters as
bad as they could."

" You were making too much money, and they were
delighted at the chance of getting hold of some of your
brokerages, and it was lucky that you managed to prove
that they were wrong. How did you manage to do so ?"

"I summoned a client at whose house I was, quite in
another part of Paris, whilst the check was cashed over
the counter."

"An alibi; that was a strong defence."

" It seems a very simple thing to have questioned this
gentleman, and got his reply, and yet they took eight
days over it. The examining magistrate did not want to
summon him at first, and then refused to believe his evi-
dence. At last he decided to confront me once more
\yith the cashier, who at the second interview did not
dare to maintain that I was the man who presented the
check; and so this morning they let me out."

"Imagine such a thing as this happening in the most civil-
ized city in the world. They lay hold of a man who is per-
fectly innocent, they keep him locked up for eight days,
and when they find that he is absolutely guiltless, they
let him go, without troubling themselves as to what
becomes of him; nor do they in any way indemnify him
for the injury that he has sustained. It is simply dis-
graceful; but, at any rate, you owe something to the
worthy fellow whose evidence got you out of the scrape."

" Suppose I were to tell you that I went to see him
this morning, and he received me exactly as if I had been
guilty?"

" Impossible ! Pray what is the name of this extraor-
dinary personage ? "

" The Marquis de Simancas, a very rich Spaniard, who
has a fine house in the Avenue de Bois de Boulonge."

" Good — I know the festive foreigner. I have already
had a shy at him in my paper, in which I chaffed him about
his rings, his watch chain, and his diamond sleeve links.
Ill touch him up again in my next."

" Don't do that, my dear fellow. He certainly received
me very badly, because he feared that he might have to

THE felon's bequest. 25

come forward publicly; but for all that, his deposition
took me out of Mazas."

" You are right. I wlQ let him alone then. Now that
I understand the matter completely, I can clearly see that
you have been the victim of a cunning scoundrel, who has
. done the trick, and got himself up to look like you. You
must find the fellow out, and if you like I will help you
to do so."

" Of course I should like it. Ah ! if once I get hold
of him "

•' He will have a bad time of it, eh ? But tell me, do
you know that they searched your rooms the day after
youi- arrest ? "

"The porter told me so."

" They were most likely looking for the twelve thous-
and francs, the produce of the check; but they found
nothing, and that is the best proof that you never had
them. But will you credit it, they did the same at Juliet
Taupier's house ? "

" By Jove ! this is too much. And under what pretext?"

" WeU, it wasn't hard to find out that you were her
lover."

" Oh, indeed !— her lover ? "

"Well one of them, to speak more exactly; and they
thought that you might have hidden the money at her
house. It was not there, however; but dear Juliet wasn't
half pleased with the business, and she hates you with a
deadly hatred, and says that hanging is too good for
you."

" "What ! has she too turned agaiast me ? " murmiired
George.

" Worse than any of them," replied Valdrec. " Afe
you simple enough to believe in the disinterested affection
of girls of her class ? I will wager that you have done a
great deal for her, and yet she drags your name through
mud and mire. It is only human nature, and you do
nrrong to fret over it. Why, you really ought not to
phow the slightest sui-prise."

George let his head fall on his breast, for in his heart
he knew that Valbrec was right; and yet Juliet, who held
a medium position in the world of gallantry, had made a
deeper impression in his heart than he cared to avow.
Roughly thrown into the whirlpool of business and pleas-

26 THE felon's bequest.

ure at his first entrance into life, witliout relations and
with no footing in good society, George had plunged
headlong into a connection with Juhet, who had crossed
his path at that time, and it had cost him dear. If he
now found himself almost penniless, it was because he
had spent large sums of money on the gii'l, who was no
better and no worse than others of her own class.

This connection was the more inexcusable on George's
part, because he possessed all that was pleasing to the
other sex in the highest degree. Not only was he remark-
ably handsome, but he had an aristocratic air, and a soft,
and melodious voice.

George was born to inspire some duchess with a roman-
tic passion, and yet he wasted his sweetness on a woman
of equivocal reputation.

The thought of Juliet had not ceased to haunt him in
his lonely cell in Mazas, and the reason that he had not
paid her a visit the moment that he was discharged was
because he wished first to regain his footing in the Stock
Exchange, where he earned his hving. But he had delayed
his visit to her pretty little house in the Rue Joufeoy
until he had resumed his position with the broker. He
had expected to be received with open arms, and the dis-
closures made to him by the only friend who had remained
faithful to him fell on his ardent passion like a shower of
icy water.

" Ah ! " remarked Valbrec, cynically, " if you were a
rich man, Juliet would adore you. Moral : Gain as much
money then as you can. And you will gain it, if you
will follow my advice and throw yourself into financial
journaHsm."

," May your prediction prove true," sighed George.

" And now, my boy, one more question. You told me
that you had never known your parents."

" Never to my misfortune."

" But they must have been wealthy, since they gave
3'ou an expensive education."

" Until the time when they deserted me."

"For reasons of which you are ignorant, and which
may one day cease to exist. Do you not remember, my
dear George, that in foinner days all illegitimate children
were presumed to be of noble birth. And now even
there is no reason why you should not be the son of a

THE FELOIJ'S BEQUEST. 27

prince or a millionaire. Why should you not one fine
day receive a letter from a lawyer announcing that some
gentleman, whose name you never heard ia your life, had
left you heir to an enormous property ? "

" You are too full of imagination," returned Cransac,
sadly,

" Perhaps I am, but we are not forbidden to live in
hope. How delightful it would be to wake up and to
find yourself richer than those who ruined you ! To see
all of them, men and women, doing all in their power to
regain your good graces ? How I should like to be pres-
ent at so strange a spectacle ! It would please me as
much as if the money had come to me myself; but that
will never happen, for both father and mother have died,
and not left me a rap, whilst the traditional uncle does
not exist in my family.

George made no answer to the playful remarks of his
friend, for he was thinking that it only depended on
himself to realize a fortune iu a different manner by
taking possession of the convict's hoard, if indeed it
actually existed. Even, however, up to the present, he
had not got over the scruples which had prevented his
touching it when it was almost within his grasp, at the
time of his visit to the house in the Rue Gabrielle.

CHAPTER IV.

THE QUEEN OF THE LIONS.

These and many other thoughts whirled through his
brain as he and his companions sipped their absinthe at
the Cafe Riche. Whilst they were sitting enjoying a good
Havana, George had the satisfaction of seeing many of
his acquaintances pass by, who, after a moment's hesitation,
bowed to him on seeing him in company with Valbrec,
whose caustic pen was well known and dreaded. It seemed
as if he were going to recover his position. At seven o'clock
they adjouraed to the Cafe Americain, where a liberal
supply of good wine raised George's spirits to their usual
height. The dinner was prolonged, and the clock had
struck ten, when they asked each other how they should
spend the rest of the evening.

28 THE felon's bequest.

"I have nothing to do at the publishing office until
midnight," remarked Paul Yalbrec. "It is too late to go
to the theatre; besides, I have had too much of theatres
lately. I sigh for open-air dissipation, and want a good
walk to enable me to digest the woodcock and burgundy.
It is not very cold this evening, and will not rain. Suppose
we walk up to the Boulevard Rochechouart, and have a
look at the fair. That wont be far from your place ?"

" Willingly, " replied Greorge, who began to feel a little
fatigued after a day full of such exciting incidents, and
who had made up his mind to sleep in his own bed, either
with or without the permission of his landlord. He there-
fore walked on with Valbrec towards that portion of the
city in which they both hved, and in a short time came
into the midst of the fair. Every year, from the fifteenth
of November, there is a fair in this thickly-populated
district, and the outer boulevards are covered with sheds,
booths, and tents of every description. There is the
Cocheris Theatre for pantomine and drama, the Corvi
Theatre for monkeys and learned dogs ; but these are the
most aristocratic amusements, and there are in addition,
Hercules, giants, dwarfs, seals, and somnambulists, to any
extent. That year there was, in addition to all these amuse-
ments, a wild beast show, where lions and tigers went
through their performances under the guidance of an
excessively handsome girl. The reporters of the news-
papers mentioned her, and it soon began to be the fashion
for the mashers to take a trip to Montmartre to see her.

The two friends made straight for the tent, which covered
a large extent of ground, not very far from the Place Pigalle,
and went in at once, for the last show was now on. There
was a dense crowd, and they had some difficulty in making
their way to the large cage in the centre, where the Lion
Queen was performing, surrounded by her court of lions
and lionesses. She was a tall, handsome girl, of symet-
rical proportions, Avith magnificent dark eyes and hair,
the latter falling down over her shoulders, and in the course
of her performance she shook it backwards and forwards
like a mane. Her tight-fitting flesh-colored bodice dis-
played her well-developed, but handsome bust, and her
feet looked small and slender in the scarlet buskins with
which they were covered. She was evidently not more

THE felon's bequest. 29

than twenty years of age, and Cransac thought it was well
woi-th the trouble to come so far to see her.

" Is not 3'oung Cornelian magnificent ?" asked Valbrec.

" What do you call her ?" asked George. " Cornelian I
What a strange name !"

" Of course, it is a fancy name. Cornelian is a precious
stone, and it suits her very well. She has plenty of go in
her."

" Yes, but there is something evil about her. I don't
wonder that the beasts are afraid of her, when she looks
at them as she does."

" She has a way of looking at men too, as you will see
presently," auswered Valbrec, with a smile, for this was
not his first ^asit to the menagerie. The beautifiil tamer
of beasts went through her performance completely. At
a word from her, and her voice was very sweet, the hens
leapt through hoops like mere poodles, and if they hesi-
tated she thrashed them soundly. With hearty kicks
from her delicate little boots, she made the unwilling,
however, do tbeir work, seeming to fear them no more
than if the}' had been King Charles' spaniels. She con-
cluded the performance by collecting all the tawny mon-
sters together in one corner, and made a bed of them,
reclining upon one huge black maned lion, with her elbow
resting on his head, and placing her feet on a lioness,
who served as a footstool. This was the finale, and the
applause was long and loud. Cornelian came to the front
of the cage and bowed, at the same time tapping her
scarlet boots with her whip, and letting her eyes wander
contemptuously over the crowd, as though she were say-
ing: "Yes, gentleman — yes, it is with my whip that I
keep my lovers in order."

All at once her eyes met those of George's and in a
moment their expression changed, and as she gazed on
his handsome face her look became soft and tender.

" Good," said Valbrec, nudging his friend. " You have
* mashed ' Cornelian, she has no eyes for anyone but you
at present. You hit her flying at the first shot, added
Paul, laughing.

"Be quiet," answered George. "It is only a trick of
her profession; and if she has taken a liking to me, I can't
say that I return it. I should always fancy that there
was an odor of wild beasts hanging about her,"

30 THE felon's bequest.

They spoke in a low voice, and yet it seemed as if Corne-
lian could hear what they were saying, for the expression
of her face again became threatening, and the vibrations
of her whip more rapid.

" She is mad because you don't give in at once,"
whispered Paul."

Meanwhile the crowd continued to applaud the Queen
of the Lions. For a moment she remained motionless,
then with a quick and sudden movement of her white
hand she hurled the whip straight at George's face, and
it was only by good luck that he caught it ere it reached
its destination. The lions, who had been prowling about
her feet, seemed half disposed to take advantage of her
defencel^s state; but, stepping back, she opened a door
at the other end of the cage, and disappeared in the
midst of a tumult of applause.

The scene had passed with the rapidity of a flash of
lightning, and the audience could not understand why
she had thrown away her whip, unless she had done so in
mere bravado, as a dancer on the tight-rope casts aside the
balancing pole to show that the feat can be performed
without it. The tent was filled with shouts for her recall,
but she did not appear again and George remained utterly
astounded, holding in his hand the whip which he had
so adroitly caught.

" That is the way she * throws her handkerchief,' said
Paul, bursting with laughter. "You have only to go
behind and give it to her; depend on it she will receive
you kindly."

" I doubt it. Besides, I don't care whether she does or
not," answered George much vexed at being an object of
curosity to the spectators, some of whom now began to
sing in chorus —

*' He will keep it,
He won't keep it."

And not knowing what course to pursue, he compromised
the matter by hurling it back into the cage, where the
lions soon tore it to pieces with teeth and claws. At this
there was much applause, and it was suggested that
George should take Cornelian's place in the cage, as the
audience had now decided that he was a beast tamer in
plain clothes, who had come to witness the performance

THE felon's bequest. 31

of a fellow artist of the weaker sex. George thought that
it would be advisable to leave the place, when a fresh
episode, and one quite unlooked for, caused a diversion of
an unpleasant character.

A young woman, very loudly dressed, and escorted by
two or three young dandies, elbowed her way noisily
through the crowd, and George, who had turned round
to effect his escape, found himself face to face with Juhet
Taupier. He still had a passionate longing to see her
again, and he could easily have forgiven her for the abuse
that she had lavished on him, but he could have dispensed
with meeting her in the midst of a crowd where his
presence had already created some sensation. Juliet,
however, soon showed him what her feelings were.

" So the fine gentleman has got out of Mazas, I see,"
remarked she, withering him with a contemptuous look,
" and has lost no time going on the spree. In Queer
Street in the morning, and in the fair of Montmartre in
the evening."

At the name of Mazas the bystanders pricked up their
ears, and George wished himself a hundred feet below the
surface of the earth.

" And to puU himself together he is making eyes at a
beast tamer," sneered Juliet; " that is the finishing touch."

" Hold your tongue," said George angrily.

"I hold my tongue! Not whilst I have breath: and

every time that I meet you, you shall have a taste of it, to

teach you, my good fellow, not to mix me up in your

dirty business,"
<( J "

" Yes, you. Was it on your account — yes or no —that
the pohce came and searched my house, upset my dresses,
and looked into my drawers. I am an honest girl, and
was not afraid of them, but I saw no fun in it, I can tell
you, and I tell you plainly that you shall pay dearly for
it."

"Calm yourself, my dear creature," remarked the jour-
nalist ironically, " or they will put you out of the booth."

" I should just like to see them do it. And I can't
understand how it is that you Valbrec, who are a decent
fellow, can be seen about with a fellow just out of quod."

" You insolent wretch ! " cried George, making a threat-
ening gestiire, but the girl darted behind one of her male

32 THE felon's bequest.

friends, a fair, dandified fellow, quite unknown either to
Valbrec, or Cransac. "Arthur,'' cried she "I trust that
you will not permit me to be insulted ! "

Arthur had not a very bellicose appearance, but when
appealed to in such a manner he had no alternative, and
so he interfered without the slightest enthusiasm, but
rather as a man who, having a disagreeable duty to per-
form, gets through it somehow or other.

It was an unfortunate thing for him that he did so.
Cransac's hand was raised, and it fell on Arthur's cheek
with a loud smack, that rang through the booth. " I
shall expect your friends to-morrow," cried Cransac.
" The woman with you, can give you my address," and
hitting right and left, he forced his way through the
gaping crow that had gathered round him, and gained the
door, closely followed by Valbrec. At that moment he
came across Cornelian, who, having hastily thrown a shawl
over her shoulders, had come in front to catch one more
ghmpse of the good-looking young fellow that she had
caught sight of through the bars of the lion's cage. Cransac
took no notice of her, and when he again found himself in
the boulevard, he said to "Valbrec : " At last I have given one
of them a box on the ear. We shall see if this dandy has
got an ounce of pluck, and if he has, I hope to oblige him
with as pretty a sword-thrust as he could wish."

" If he will fight," muttered the journalist j " but I
doubt it."

" He will be an awful cur if he pockets the slap that I
gave him and says nothing."

"Well, he doesn't look much like a fighting man.
Juliet's lovers are a shy lot, according to report. It seems
to me that I have seen that fellow's face somewhere, and
not in the best society either. I am not quite certain, for
then he had a heavy, fair moustache like yours, but he
may have cut it off."

" I don't care about his moustache, but I'll slit his skin
for him."

" I hope that you will — only don't be vexed at what I am
going to say. He has an excuse for declining to meet you ;
Siat jade Juliet shouted out before fifty persons that you
had just come out of Mazas."

" Again ! Am I always to have that insult flung in my

THE felon's bequest." ' 33

face, and all because I have the misfortune to look like a
rogue ? "

"It won't last forever, but you must have patience.
You know that you are innocent, so despise your slan-
derers, and scorn the opinions of fools. Let the storm
pass, and the day will come when you can take your re-
venge ; when you can catch your double."

" And in the meantime, I am to live the life of a Pariah !
No, I would rather put a bullet through my head."

" That is the resource of men who have lost their posi-
tion and have no energy to reconquer it. The sudden
conclusion of your connection with Juliet has for the
moment unnerved you, but be firm. Suicide is not a
solution of your difficulties, especially when you have
nothing to reproach yourself with. Pluck up your spirits,
and make up your mind to live."

" What is the use of living — and for whom shall I live ? "

" For me, in the first place, who am your true friend,
and then for a woman — oh ! don't get angry. All women
in this world are not Juliets. You will easily find one who
deserves to be loved, for you are a man that they all like ;
for instance, look at the Queen of the Lions."

" Are you going to chaff me now ? "

" Not a bit ; and the proof is that I am ready to do battle
against everyone in your behalf. Just now you are too
excited to reason calmly. Go home, sleep soundly, and
come and see me to-morrow at the office of the paper.
The night brings good counsel with it, and you will be
the mox'e disposed to listen to me, when I plainly lay
before you the steps I propose to take to set you up once
more. And so, dear friend, good night, and try not^to
dream of Cornelian."

" Don't talk to me any more about that mountebank."

"All right ; but you won't escape her. I wiU lay you
two to one that she will ask Juliet for your address, and
five to two that Juliet will give it to her, in hopes of doing
you a bad turn."

With these parting words Paul Valbrec shook his friend
warmly by the hand, and set off at a rapid pace towards
the Rue Fromentin.

George was left alone in the midst of the merry crowd
on its way to the fair, deafened by the din of cymbals
ftiid the blast of trumpets, and bljoded by the rays of

34 THE felon's bequest.

electric light which gleamed from the top of the Cocberi
Theatre. The music and the lights seemed to mock his
despair, and he was eager to remove himself from the
hghts and merriment. The wise advice of Paul Valbrec
had neither calmed or consoled him. He had no more
thoughts of suicide. All he thought of was to arm him-
self for the fray. Society had cast him out; and he
declared war against Society.

Money is the sinews of war; and he knew where to
procure it.

CHAPTEB V.

A NEW MONTE OBISTO.

Thebe was the prisoner's treasure still available, a
stolen treasure doubtless, but which, abandoned as it was,
might fall into worse hands than his. Some hours before,
when he had not yet seen aU the horrors of his position,
he had determined not to touch the accursed money, bnt
now his scruples had fled as his illusions were dissipated.
He vowed that he would use it to punish the wicked, and
to recompense the good, as Monte Cristo had done in
Dumas' romance. He saw no harm in usurping the
functions of Providence, which too often seems to act in
a manner not at all in accordance with human ideas.
He did not even stop to consider whether his sudden rise
to affluence would not increase the cloud of suspicion
which already hung so heavily over him. " It has been
ordained," thought he, " that I should deviate from the
right path, and let those who have treated me as a guilty
person bear the blame. I feel no remorse." He then
looked at his watch, and saw that it was a quarter to
twelve. " Let me get in," said he to himself, " it is time
to be at work; the Rue Gabrielle is not far fi'om this."
As a smoker, George was of course provided with matches,
but these would not afford sufficient light for the work that
he had in hand, and for a moment he thought of going
to his own rooms and procuring a candle, for all the shops
in the neighborhood were closed. Whilst he was hesi-
tating, a man came by with a truck, upon which were
Bome of those Venetian or Algerian lanterns, which afford
I cheap method of illumination, and George bought haW

THE felon's bequest. 35

a dozen of them, fearing that one would prove insuffi-
cient if the work that he w as about to undertake should
prove longer than he thought. Fiu-uished with these
paper funnels, with the small piece of inflammable matter
at the bottom, George started boldly for the ruined house.
The streets through which he had to pass were almost
deserted; but he had no fear of night j)i-owlers, for the
simple reason that passers-by were so scarce that these
gentry did not think it woi'th their while to lay in wait
for them. When he reached the wooden gate, he found
it still half opened, as he had left it, and stopped a
moment before j)assing through it.

He gazed round him, and listened.

He saw nothing but the dark shapes of the trees on
the sloj)e, and only heard that vague, indescribable
sound, which seems the respiration of sleeping Paris, the
distant rattle of carriage wheels, and the creaking of the
leafless boughs as they s"s\nmg backwards and forwards
La the winter's breeze.

Very hkely that Juliet, whom he loved so much and
who had so openly insulted him, was now supj)ing with
her friends in some night tavern, and it seemed to him
as if the idiotic hum of their conversation could reach
his ears even here. And here in front of him lay a for-
tune, absolutely at his own disposal; all that he had to
do was to carry it away, and with it he could revenge
himself upon the woman who had insulted him, ruling
her by the only master she respected — Gold. He pic-
tured her to himself kneeling at his feet, and he, hiunili-
ating her, by treating her with contempt — as if a woman
like her could ever feel the sting of his humihation. It
would have been better for George to remember that in
this mighty city of Paris, so full of jDoverty and wealth,
there are thousands of honest girls who gain their bread
by hard toil, and that thrice happy are the industrious
workers upon whom they set their affections. But in the
circle in which George had lived, the world of finance
and business, there was Httle thought for those who
suffered and toiled. Without further hesitation he
struggled through the wilderness of tangled weeds, and
found it harder than he had done in his first risit by the
light of day.

After tearing his ha^ds and clothes, he at last arrived

36 THE felon's bequest.

at the steps. High above him rose the house, dark and
silent, like a ruined donjon keep. Everything seemed
quiet, and there was but little fear of anyone coming to
distiu'b him at his work. He went in, and lighting one
of his paper lanterns, hung it to a nail in the chimney,
so that the light might not be "\isible from the outside.
The outer door had neither bolt nor lock, but he piled
against the lower portion of it some of the bricks and
plaster that lay in a heap in front of the chimney-j)iece.
He did all this slowly and silently, like a man who is in
no huny, but who thinks that he ought not to neglect
any precautions, and when he had completed his task he
crouched do^vn in front of the famous brass plate, so as
to examine it more closely. It was blackened with soot,
as he had noticed on his first Aisit. As he looked at it
more attentively he could see under this soot the form
of screws and hinges. The hinges were at the bottom,
the iron pin at the top. Cransac seized the pin; at first
it resisted his efforts, because it had grown rusty, but
after a time it yielded and turned round with a creaking
soiind, such as an old-fashioned clock makes when it is
wound up. After the third turn he heard a sound like a
bolt being withdrawn from its socket, and the pin would
move no further. Evidently the work was over, and the
fastenings undone. All that remained was to pull it down;
he did so, and the plate yielded so quickly that he had great
difficulty in preventing its falling with a loud crash. It
had been held in its place by three steel bolts, but before
he could examine these, a gust of damp, mephitic air blew
right in his face, and made him start back. It was like
the exhalation that arises when an abandoned well has
been re-opened, or when a cellar that has been closed for
a long time has once again been put in use. But the feeling
of cold that chilled Cransac was mingled with an impression
of disgust at the indescribable odor. There was some-
thing deathlike in it, and Cransac asked himself if the real
owner of the stolen treasure had not been buried beneath
it by his murderer. The Venetian lantern gave but a feeble
light, and he could only see in front of him a wall, and
when he looked more closely a heap of objects, the shape
of which he could not readily distingmsh. The opening
in the wall was not more than three feet in diameter, it
\,'m not, therefore, Jikely that a humas bodjj' had beeii

THE felon's bequest. 37

buried there. A little reassured by this, George lit another
of his lanterns, and after waiting until the fotd air had
evaporated, he put his head iato the cavity, in. which he
began to fear that he shovdd find nothing. He then saw
that the bottom was covered \\'ith a bed of fine sand, and
that underneath this was a number of small rolls of paper,
which looked like cartridges for a large bored gun. Was
the treasiu'e nothing but ammunition hidden away by some
band of conspirators? That was hardly likely. These rolls,
which were arranged in order, had an outer -vNTapping of
green paper. Cransac took up one, after having cleared
away the sand \Nith his fingers, and saw at once, from its
weight, that it was a packet of a thousand francs in gold,
like cashiers of banks make up for their customers. At a
fii'st glance George could see fifty of these packets which
of themselves were a fortune, but others lay beneath them,
and he could not get down to the bottom of the deposit,
but he had every reason to suppose that an incalciolable
amount of coined gold was hidden away in this metallic
receptacle. In order to know the exact amoimt of his
treasure, he must have emptied the hiding place, but it
woidd have been useless for him to do so, for he could
not have carried it away in his pockets, nor yet on his
back, even if he had a sack to stow it away in.

The prisoner of Mazas had told the truth.
• To gain such an enormous booty he must have broken
into the strong room of one of the largest banking estab-
Hshments ; and yet, if he had done so, how had he contrived
to carry away the treasure to the toj) of the hill of Mont-
martre ? But Cransac did not trouble himself to solve this
riddle ; all he thought of was how he cotdd best appropriate
this treasTire which it was so difficult to carry away. The
most sensible method was to take aAvay a Httle at a time,
and make a series of -s-isits to the spot. He made up his
mind to act in this manner, when a sudden sound made
him start. He turned sharply round, but the door was
still fast, nor was any suspicuous form Aisible from the
window. The sovmd had come from upstaii-s, and as
Cransac listened eagerly, he fancied that he heard some-
one walking in the room above. Then the noise ceased,
and it had been so sUght that George asked himself if he
might not be deceived. It was perhaps only a rat scamp-
ering across the flooring. There were alway plenty of rats

38 THE felon's bequest.

in deserted houses, and tlie one in tlie Rue Gabrielle might
be full of them. Entirely re-assured, he went to work,
and drew from the receptacle twenty packets of a thousand
francs each, and put ten in each j)Ocket of his overcoat.
He could not have carried any more, for ten thousand
francs in gold weigh at least six jDOiuids, and the linings
and sewing of a pocket must be strong to resist such a
strain. Besides, twenty thousand francs would sujffice to
start him in the new life into which he was about to enter.
All he had to do was to pay frequent visits until the
treasure was completely exhausted, and this he made up
his mind'to do, for he determined for the future to lead
the life of a millionaire.

And if people suspected the source of his miraculous
change of fortune, he had his answer ready, an answer
which his friend Yalbrec had unconsciously suggested to
him. He would say that his father — that unknown father
who had provided for the wants of his childhood, and
early youth — had made himself known to him before his
death, and had willed all his property to him. To give
an air of truth to this story, he had only to go and pass
a month away from Paris, and on his return relate that
he had inherited this magnificent legacy in some foreign
country. People woiild take it all for granted without
troubling themselves to go there and make inquiries, and
certainly no one would guess that the bequest came to
him from a felon. There was nothing now for him to do
but to return to his rooms in the Rue Frochot with such
a sum in his possession as he had never before had. He
often gained as much every year by his brokerages, but
he spent it as fast as he made it; and this was the first
time that he had had so large a sum at his disposal at one
time. He put back the platef, and turned the jain, made
sure that the steel bolts had gone home in their sockets,
and that all was firm and secure; then sprang to his feet,
although his pockets were so hea^dly weighted with gold,
and was about to extinguish his lantern, when he heard
a dull, heavy sound, as though some article of furniture
had been overturned on the flooring of the room above.

He had seen no fm-niture when he had visited the
rooms in the morning, but there must have been some-
thing to cause the noise, and he felt that there was some-
one upstairs. At first he thought of beating a retreat.

THE felon's bequest. ^d

■without troubling himself to find out who it was that had
introduced themselves into the uninhabited house, but
the thought crossed his mind that perhaps this nocturnal
visitor had come upon the same errand as himself, and
he did not feel at all disposed to share the treasure
with him. A timid man wovdd have given way, but
George Cransac was endowed with a disposition that led
him to carry out his resolution to the end. He had no
weapon, but nature had furnished him with a pair of
strong arms and a courageous heart; and, with lus lan-
tern in his hand, he moved towards the staircase leading
to the upper rooms. This was an act of the greatest
imprudence, for, even supposing that he succeeded in
expelling the intruder, he ran the risk of being recog-
nized by a person who was certainly not on these prem-
ises with any good motive. Cransac hesitated for a
moment at the foot of the staircase, he heard nothing
more; but at this moment a whiff of suffocating smoke
rolled down, as if to meet him, causing him to cough
violently. It was too late now to draw back. The cough
must have betrayed his presence, and if the intruder had
accidently or intentionally set fire to the house, there
might yet be time to extinguish a conflagration, which
would certainly bury in the smoking ruins the; enormous
treasures of the prisoner of Mazas.

40 THE felon's bequest,

CHAPTER YL

THE BRAZTER OF OHABOOAIi.

Cbansao ran rapidly up the stairs, and in another moment
arrived on the first floor ; he was not surprised to find the
door shut, and the smoke that had met him at the foot of
the stairs pouring through the crevices in the broken
panels. The site of the conflagration was there, but the
incendiary was still invisible. Cransac beat his clenched
hand against the door, but no one answered his ajjpeal for
admission. Stepping back as far as the landing would
permit, he gave the door a violent kick, which tore it from
its hinges and sent it flying to the other side of the room.
A thick cloud of smoke issued forth and made George
Cransac recoil. He had expected to be attacked, and
stood on the defensive; but no one appeared. Now or
never was the time to act, and without a moment's hesi-
tation he burst into the room. All was dark, and the
feeble light which his lantern gave seemed like a luminous
paint in the gloom. In entering, he stumbled over some
object which rolled further into the room, and he could
feel that his feet were crunching some substance that felt
like charcoal. Instinctively he made for the window ;
none of the glass was broken, and it was tightly closed.
He opened it at once, and established a thorough draught
which drove away the smoke. George already knew that
in entering he must have stumbled over a brazier, and that
it could not have been lighted without hands; but his
thoughts were speedily diverted from this by finding as
the smoke cleared away that a body was lying at his feet.
In a moment he knelt down beside it, and saw it was a
woman. The head of the unhappy creature was almost
in contact with the brazier, and her hair had been singed
by the burning embers that had rolled on the floor. The
first thing that George did was to extinguish these by
crashing them beneath his feet. There was more need to
do this than to assist the woman, for the flooring was of
pine, and would soon have been fanned into flame by the
combined draughts from the door and window. The
nascent conflagration was soon extinguished, and blowing

THE felon's bequest. 41

out and pocketing his Venetian lantern, he raised up the
woman's body in his arms, and, carrying her down the
staii'S, placed her on the steps in the fresh air. She was
not very heavy, but, loaded with gold as he was, he found
his task by no means, an easy one ; yet he could not find
it in his heart to abandon a fainting woman. He knew
that she was not dead, for he could feel her heart beat ;
but she was totally insensible, and the first thing to be
done was to bring her to. As he groped about for some
more convenient seat, his hand came in contact with a
hollow stone, in which the recent rain had left a little
water. This enabled him to apply the simplest remedy, and
one that is usually most efiicacious in cases of syncope.
He sprinkled this cold water over the woman's face, and
almost immediately she shuddered, and murmured a few
unconnected words. George could not see if she was
pretty or not, but judging from her figure he imagined
she must be young, and was almost in a position to guess
at her history. An attemj)t at suicide owing to some dis-
appointment in love, or to escape from the curse of
poverty. One of those sad dramas in real life so often
performed in Paris in the garrets of the poor.

But what he could not understand was, why this poor
despairing creature has chosen the deserted house in the
Rue Gabrielle for the place of her death, and he deter-
mined to ask her the question as soon as she should be in
a position to answer him. This too would be an excellent
opportunity to make a good use of the gold with which
his pockets were filled if poverty had driven her to so
rash a step. Only he must not hang about the house too
long, for it was most imjjortant that he should not be
seen, and the spot was not a safe one. The smoke might
have been seen by some of the police, and if they took it
into their heads to enter the garden, it would be difficult
for him to explain his business there at such an hour,
with an insensible woman at his feet; then, if they were
not satisfied with his explanation, they would take him to
the nearest police-station and when he was searched the
twenty thousand francs in his pocket would be brought
to light. To escape from this perilous position with as
little delay as possible, he wetted the eyes of the insensi-
ble woman, slapped her hands, and even shook her with
some degree of violence, but without achieving any great

42 THE felon's bequest.

success. Certainly slie contrived to sit up on the step,
but when she made an effort to rise to her feet she sank
down again, and her head fell on George's shoulder as
she sank into his arms. He was compelled to press her
to him so as to hold her up, and these embraces insensi-
bly warmed his blood. He never thought of the danger
that he ran in prolonging them, and he even began to
hope that the woman he had saved was pretty, and might
be brought to love him.

At last he thought of lighting a match and holding it
under her nose. He did so; her eyes opened and she
saw Q-eorge's face almost touching hers. " You ! — it is
you, yoiu'self ! " cried she, and drew him to her so rapidly
that their lips met. He had only time to see by the fleet-
ing light of the match that she was beautiful, and he did
not attempt to draw back, but he imagined that she was
delirious, for her face was perfectly unknown to him.
Bat there is an end to everything, even to kisses and
illusions, and the woman who had flung herself into his
arms tore herself away, and, pushing him from her, ex-
claimed: "Unhappy woman that I am, it is not he!"
George was now certain that she was mad. What else
could he think of a woman who first took him for her
lover, and then after a long' and tender kiss, repulsed him
with horror ! But he soon saw that he had deceived him-
self. She was not mad; the shock that she had expe-
rienced had entirely restored her to her senses, which
had deserted her on the approach of suffocation. " For-
give me, sir," faltered she; " but I have been the dupe of
a most surprising resemblance."

" I don't find fault with your mistake," answered George
with a smile.

" What must you think of me after all that has passed ?
It seems to me that I have just awoke from a dream."

" It was no dream. You had attempted to kill your-
self; by good fortune I arrived in time to save you."

" Yes, I remember all now. I lit some charcoal; at
first I suffered terribly, then I began to lose my senses,
little by little, as one does when sinking into sleep. Ah !
sir, why did you hinder me from dying ? "

" Dying — at your age ! "

"I am young in years, but I have passed through as
much trouble as though I had lived a century."

THE felon's bequest. 43

"But I hope now that you have done with such
thoughts for ever." Then, as the girl made no reply, he
continued: " Pray listen to me, madam "

" Do not call me madam. I am not married."

" I ask you no questions. All I ask is to be peiinitted
to come to your aid. I do not knc>w why you wanted to
kill yourself, but I swear to you that I am ready to do all
I can to extricate you from jour difficulties. It was
written that I was to save your life, and it was no doubt
also wiitten that you would accept my friendship. Let
us aid each other mutually to pass through life. Do not
misunderstand the meaning of my words. I do not pro-
pose to become your lover, for I am sure you have
one "

"I had one," answered the girl, "but he is lost to me
forever !"

" I might say that in this world you should be certain
of nothing, but will content myself with saying that I
will be for you whatever you wish; ajid now come with
me.*

"Where?"

"Wherever you wish to go; but I will not leave you
alone here."

" You were here alone. What did you come for ?"

" Perhaps to put an end to my life like yourself. I
was on the ground floor, when I heard you upset the
brazier of charcoal in your last convulsive struggles.
You know what followed. So here we are both of us
condemned to live."

" I begin to believe so too," answered the girl, simply.

" Then take my arm, and let us leave the garden,"
returned George.

He helped her to her feet, and assisted her to walk,
though how he was to make his way through the tangle
with a companion who could hardly keep her feet he was
at a loss to understand. The girl, however, relieved him
from this difficulty by pointing out a side-path which was
tolerably open, and led to another gate which opened on
to a flight of steep steps running down into the Bue
Gabrielle.

" Was this the road by which you came in ?" asked he.

" I know of no other."

" But you are acquainted with the house ?"

44 THE pelon's bequest.

" For a long time past. I used to play in the garden
when I was a little child."

" You live in this quarter of the city ?"

"I used to; but now my home is in Belleville."

" And you came all this distance to die ? "

"I wished no one to know of my death. My body
would have been carried to the Morgue, and no one would
have recognized it."

" Have you no mother ?"

" I am an orphan."

As they spoke they were descending side by side the
public flight of steps that lead to the Place Saint Pierre,
and Cransac asked himself more than once how this strange
adventure was going to end. It had commenced in so
curious a manner that he had not even thought of what
might be the future results, and he had hardly glanced
at the features of the woman he had rescued; but some-
thing within him said that this meeting would have much
to do with his future life.

The girl could not manage to walk any further, and on
turning into the Boulevard Rochechouart George saw a
cafe still open. It was one of those with a verandah to
it, and seats, so that customers could take their refresh-
ments in the open air. His companion made no objection
to sitting down and sipping a little punch, which com-
pletely restored her.

George was now able to examine her features by the
light of the gas. She was simply attired in a black stuff
dress, like a poor workgirl, but she was strangely beauti-
ful, pale, and dark, with a sad and tender look upon her
face, such as is seldom seen amongst girls of her posi-
tion. He begged her to tell him her story, and she made
no objection.

" Sir, " said she, seriously, " I owe you my life, and now
I think with you, that I ought to accept the destiny which
fate has accorded to me — that is to say, the friendship tbat
you offer me; but, if we are to meet again, you must
know who I am. My name is Cecile Cambremer, and I am
twenty -two years of age. I was fifteen when my father died
broken-hearted after a heavy pecuniary loss, which he had
neither expected nor deserved. I had lost my mother
before, and I should have starved if a kind neighbor had
not assisted me, and taught me the trade of an artificial

THE felon's bequest. 4o

florist. In three years I became so skillful that when she
died I was able to eai-n my living, and carry on busi-
ness on my own account." Cransac could not help think-
ing that this recital began like all those which certain
young ladies are in the habit of confiding to rich men:
a tale of good birth, unmerited misfortune, and a struggle
for existence. He only half beheved in her, and the cyni-
cal Valbrec, had he been present, would not have believed
at all; but she continued her story with an air of sin-
cerity that impressed him in spite of himself.

" I opened a shop," continued Cecile, " and I was doing
well, until a man utterly unworthy of me, crossed my
path. I do not attempt to conceal anything from you.
I might have married an honest workman in my own rank
of life, but I fell deeply in love with this man, whom I
now despise, as much as I formerly adored him. He con-
tinually put off our marriage ; and when he found that I
would not yield to his seductions he was profuse in his
apoligies, but managed to draw from me neaiiy all the
money I made, which he squandered on a creature well
suited to him. When I had no more to give him he left me
to misery and destitution. I heard that he had money,
and I wrote to him — I confess it to my shame — for aid and
assistance, but my letter remained unanswered. Then I
felt that I had fallen low enough, and only desired to
die."

" But you have promised to live," cried George eagerly.
" and it is your own fault if you are not happy; that is, if
you have cured youi'self of a love that has been so fatal
to you, and this you must permit me to doubt, for a little
time back, when you took me for that man "

" I was not in my senses then; but now I swear to you
that I hate him as much as I formerly loved him. I have
made up my mind to live. I have had to close my shop
for want of money to pay my assistants, but I can get
a place "

"No; you must let me help you."

" I thauk you, sir; but I can take nothing from you."

" What ! not even a loan ? Why you would take one
from a business man or a banker. Then why refuse to
accept one from me, who am neither one or the other, but
who is able to render you \hU sepjce without the slight-
est inconvenience ? "

46 THE felon's bequest.

Cecile looked George full in the face, to see if he spoke
seriously.

" I can read your thoughts," said he. " You think that
I have some unworthy motive in making this offer?
Undeceive yourself: I have none. I do not purpose to
make you a present of the sum you require. I intend to
grant you a loan, and you shall fix the rate of interest
yourself."

" But, sir, I do not know you. You know my name,
whilst I "

" My name is George Cransac; I live at 19, Eue Frochot,
and you can give me a note payable on demand. Oh !
not this evening. You can send it to me to-morrow; and
I will give you my word of honor not to present myself
at your residence without your consent."

" Then," said Cecile, slowly, " after all you are rich, and
yet you tell me that you went into that deserted house in
order to take your life."

"Do you think there is no reason for suicide except
poverty ? There are many other reasons to induce a man
to make away with himself."

" You are right. Had I only had to endure poverty, I
should never have sought to release myself by death."

" Then you can easily understand that there was some
other reason for my despair than want of money. Take
this," continued George, placing one of his packets on the
table. " Will a thousand francs be sufficient ?"

" It is too much," faltered Cecile, deeply moved.

"It is better to have too much than too little; and now
where do you live ?"

" 22, Avenue de Laumiere, near the Park des Buttes
Chaumont."

" Good. I shall not offer to see you home, but I shall
put you into a cab ; and I shall expect your note of hand
payable to my order to-morrow morning by post. Do not
trouble to bring it, as I am leaving Paris to-morrow
evening. When I return I will let you know."

George uttered these last words in a dry, business-like
manner, so as to reassure Cecile as to the honorable inten-
tions of the man who had saved her life.

A cab just then passed; George hailed it, half -forced
the parcel of gold into Cecile's hand, threw a five-franc
piece on the table to digcharg'e the reckoning, paid the

THE felon's bequest. 47

cab fare, and, after assisting the girl in, walked off with-
out another word in the direction of the Rue Fro-
chot. He had need of little rest, but he determined to
devote one night only to it, for he had resolved to put
into execution the plan he had conceived of leading a new
life. He would wait until twelve o'clock for a visit from
the seconds of Juliet's new lover, and whether they came
or not he would write a letter to Paul Valbrec, informing
him that he had been siimmoned to England by letter,
and leading him to suppose that it had something to do
with a legacy; to remain in London eight days, and to
return to Paris again in the guise of a millionaire. Then
he could once again see the beautiful Cecile, who had
ah-eady secured a corner in his heart, and revenge himself
upon those who had insulted and repulsed him.

The gold that he had procured through the prisoner of
Mazas did not lie so heavily on his conscience now that he
had employed a portion of it in assisting a woman who
had been so cruelly treated, and he hoped that this pro-
pitious commencement would bring him good luck.

He forgot that in this world we must always be prepared
for the unexpected.

48 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER Vn.

A millionaike's perplexities.

In ten days' time George Cransac returned from
London. He had had j)lenty of time in which to reflect,
and he had not altered any of his plans. He had indeed
made up his mind more firmly than ever to profit by the
stroke of chance that had made him a rich man.. He felt
no remorse, and had returned to Paris like a victorious
general entexing a conquered city. He had written from
London to Paul Valbrec, and had received a letter from
him congratulating him, and urging him to return to
Paris as soon as possible, to show those who had calum-
niated him that he was now rich, and to shame those who
had repulsed him in the days of his poverty. George did
not wish to return to his small apartment in the Rue
Frochot, and had requested Valbrec to secure rooms for
him at the Grand Hotel. He came to Paris by the night
train, and slept late, and after breakfasting in his own room
was preparing to go out, when his faithful friend made
his appearance.

" Good day, millionaire," cried he, shaking his friend
cordially by the hand.

George returned his greeting wannly; but in his own
heart he was not very hopeful as to how this conversa-
tion would end, for he felt sure that his fiiend would put
several difficult questions to him, and in this he was not
deceived.

" Well, yours is an almost miraculous adventure,"
remarked the journalist. " Do you not remember that on
the evening before you left I said something abont this
to you when we were taking our absinthe at the Cafe
Riche ? I then predicted that this mysterious father of
yours would turn up one day and make you his heir. I
thought then that I was only chaffing, but you see that
I was a prophet in spite of myself. And now, tell me this
tale of a thousand and one niglits, for your letters have,
as yet, given me no details. Are you the son of a prince,
or of a mere capitalist ?"

THE felon's bequest. 49

"And suppose I told you that I^ was no wiser than I
was before ?" said George, who had his tale all cut and
dry.

" Impossible I The author of your days cannot have
left you his fortune without making you acquainted with
his name."

"I don't even know if this fortune comes from my
father. I received a letter from a London banker, telling
me that a sum of fifty thousand pounds sterling had^been
paid into my ci'edit."

"Twelve hundred and fifty thousand francs — a nice
httle lump."

" I found this letter awaiting me at home, after I had
left you in front of the menagerie, and at first I thought
that it was a hoax. But this banker asked me to bring
all documents proving my identity, and added that, if I
wanted it he would advance me my travelling expenses;
bnt I had a few louis left, and I thought that in my des-
perate position it wovdd be wise to risk everything, so I
acted at once, and it was well I did so, for on my arrival
I saw that the affair was a bond fide one. I produced my
voting card, the receipts for rent, and the registration of
my birth, in which my parents Avere described as unknown.
He then asked me certain questions regarding my past
life, which I answered in a satisfactory manner, and then
I at once saw that he had been made acquainted with
various incidents in my life. I could not, however, obtain
from him the slightest information regarding the name
or position of my benefactor, as he merely contented him-
self with saying that in placing this siun at my disposal,
he had merely acted in accordance with a letter of advice
that he had received from one of his New York corres-
pondents, and that he knew nothing more about the
matter."

" But this is a perfect fairy tale you are relating."

" It is like one; and yet I am obliged to beUeve it, for
the money is at my disposal."

" I suppose you dipped into it at once ?"

" I should have liked to; but I should not have known
what to do with it, so I only drew twenty thousand francs
and left the rest with him. He will pay me interest
until I have found some good investment for it here."

" That will be easy; but I am surprised that you did

50 THE felon's bequest.

not turn it into bills on Paxis, in case your unknown
benefactor should change his mind."

" I never thought of that," muttered George.

" But you must think of it, and get youi- money over
here as soon as possible. You can invest it profitably and
afterwards you can sleep in peace, having nothing further
to dread at the hands of that queer fellow who has just
now taken it into his head to make you a rich man.
Above all, I warn you to lose no time, and for this rea-
son: those who know you will not deprive themselves of
the pleasure of talking over your change of position, and
will ask how it all came about; and I don't suppose you
want to publish this miraculous history everywhere."

"Certainly not," answered George, quickly; "and I
beg that you will keep it to yourself."

"Very well; but there are certain ill-disposed persons
who will assert that you are spending the proceeds of the
forged check, therefore you must show something more
than mere cash in hand. "When j'our notary — for you
must get one — can certify that you possess twelve hun-
dred thousand francs, no one can say that such a sum
comes from the check that you have been accused of
forging. We must even go further," continued Valbrec;
" the police have their eye on you. You were discharged,
but that does not guarantee you against any future pro-
ceedings; and I should not be at all surprised at the
examining magistrate calling upon you to give him the
name and address of your banker in London. "What is
his name ? "

" Campbell," replied the imprudent Cransac, giving the
first name that came into his head.

'•Very good; if they question you, you have only to
give his name and address, and when the magistrate
Jeams that the money was paid into your credit in Lon-
don, he will not bother you any more. All you will then
have to contend with is the malevolence of fools ; but we
can easUy shut up these. But I beg you to believe, old
boy, that when I say all this to you, it is not because I
have any doubts in the matter. I am your true friend,
and I prove it by giving you good advice, which I am
sure you will follow; and now I will back you up against
everyone, and in all quarters. I have already told my
friends that you are about to inherit a large fortune, but

THE felon's bequest. 51

I did not say where from. They can think, if they like,
that it is from the inevitable uncle in America, and I want
to introduce you to them this evening. You will have no
further occasion to turn out copy as a means of liveH-
hood; but it is a good thing to be well in with the liter-
ary world. I have ordered a nice little dinner at
Brebant's, for eight o'clock, and I will go bail that you
won't be bored."

" I can't promise to come."

" Oh ! my dear fellow, you won't leave me in the lurch ?
Why, I have announced your advent, and if you don't
eome they will think that you are afraid to show. It is
settled, is it not, eh ? At eight o'clock then, at Brebant's;
ask for M. Valbrec's private dining-room. That sounds
the right thing, does it not ? "

Valbrec then took his leave, and George did not at-
tempt to detain him, for he could not help feehng that he
had for the last quarter of an hour made him feel most
uncomfortable.

Poor George, from the commencement of his conver-
sation with Valbrec, had enveloped himself in a maze of
falsehood, and he would have had the greatest difficulty
in holding his own if his friend had pushed his questions
home. How, then, could he hope to sustain this tale with
persons who were not disposed to take everything for
granted ? The story that he had invented regarding his
trip to Loudon would not hold water if strict inquiries
were made, and in the coming interview he had a sus-
picion that his statement Avould afford strong grounds
for disbelief. He certainly thought Valbrec's advice ex-
cellent; but how was he to place in a notary's hands, or
in a bank, the money that was concealed at the back of a
chimney — a fortune, of which he did not even know the
araount, since he had not learned the extent of the gold
mine ; but which appeared to consist of coin which he was
utterly unable to i-emove in a single journey ? He would
have to make frequent trips to the ruined house, which
would expose him to many perilous meetings, certainly
more disagreeable than his encounter with Cecile Cam-
bremer. It would be necessary to conceal the money in
his room at the hotel, or else take it to the money-
changers for conversion into l)ank-note8. But these con-
stant trips would infallibly attract attention to him, and

62 THE felon's bequest.

so the foolish idea that he had entertained of using the
hiding-place of the convict as a niche for his treasui-e
melted away. He must find out some other means, or
I'enounce making use of the treasui-e; and to do this last
wovild be to ahenate himself from the only friend who
had stood by him. In the meantime, until he could hit
upon some plan to extricate him from his embarrassing
position, he resolved to pay a visit to one whom he was
most anxious to see once more. Since his sudden depar-
ture he had refrained from writing to the girl whose life
he had saved, and he was most desirous to see her; for
his rescue of her was the pleasantest remembrance that
he had carried away with him from Paris, where he had
experienced many hard trials, and where he had a pre-
sentiment he should pass through many more.

CHAPTER Vni

A KOUGH WOOING.

Haying at last made up his mind, George left the Grand
Hotel and turned his steps, in the first place, to his former
lodgings in the Rue Frochot. At the time he took leave
of Cecile Cambremer he had given her that addi-ess, and
he was anxious to know if she had 'WT.itten to him diu'ing
his absence in England. There were, no doubt, other
letters for him in charge of the porter, and it was neces-
sary to notify to that extremely disagreeable personage
his intention of shortly leaving the lodgings that he had
occupied. On his departure for London he had given
notice, and he almost regretted that he had been hasty,
now that he saw the many inconveniences attendant on
his newly-acquired fortune ; but it was too late to recall
the written notice he had given his landlord, who was not
much prepossessed in his favor. Nothing, therefore, re-
mained for him but to pay up the rent that was due, and
to remove his furniture, as soon as he had found a suitable
spot in which to take up his abode. The fair of Mont-
martre was not yet over ; but when he came to its neigh-
borhood, it was the time when most of the shows are
closed, so that there was not that turmoil and confusion
that there had been on the evening when he was last

THE felon's bequest. 63

there. On reaching his home in the Kue Frochot, he
found the porter much more amiable; the man raised his
cap on his arrival, and did not attempt to put it on during
the whole of the interview. George told him to make out
his receipts by the next day, and asked if anything had
come for bim during his absence. The porter answered
that no letters had arrived, but that two ladies had called,
who had not left their names ; they were both dark, one
was tall, and the other of medium height. The shorter
of the two had only called once, but Qie latter one had
been every day.

The medium-sized lady was certainly Cehle ; but who
could the other one be ? However, this was a matter upon
which George felt no curiosity, for he had many lady
friends, and there was nothing surprising in one of them
having called on him. Of one thing he was sure, that it
was not Juliet Taupier, for she was as fair as the lily, and
did not correspond with either of the descriptions that he
had received.

On the morning of his departure he had received from
Cecile the note of hand as arranged, with one line ;
" Thank you ; I hope to see you again." It was evident,
however, that she had called, and this made George all
the more anxious to see her. Having learned all that
he wished, he left the porter, in order to look for a cab
to take him to the Avenue de Laumiere, where Cecile re-
sided, and whilst doing so he found himself in the midst
of the booths and tents that had been erected by the
exhibitors at the fair. But few of the shows opened
before the close of the day, and at this time the place was
almost deserted. Here and there a few boys belonging
to the neighborhood were playing at hide-and-seek
behind the booths and stalls ; venders of fancy goods were
arranging their stock to the best advantage ; a rope-
dancer, muffled up in an old shawl, was seated on a stool
mending her fleshings, and an acrobat whose trunks were
but half concealed by a threadbare greatcoat, was return-
ing from market with a basket in his hand. It was
the hour when the performers, who a little later on were
looked on as superior beings by an admiring audience, be-
came, for the time, simple mortals, and were ready enough
to accept a drink at the nearest wine-shop. Cransac had
often gazed on this scene before, and did not pay much

54 THE felon's bequest.

attention to it; but his eye was caught by the figure of a
man in a jacket, seated on the shaft of a cart, smoking a
pipe, whose face he thought he recognized. The man
was of powerful build with an unprepossessing face, a
nose hke a vulture's beak, and a huge, hpless mouth. The
cart, upon the shafts of which he was seated, resembled a
Noah's ark; it was of large size, with several narrow
windows, and had more than one tin chimney, from which
issued volumes of smoke and a strong odor of cooking.
It was what the moimtebanks term a li\ing wagon — a
kind of movable house — in which they reside and travel
about. A subdued roar made George glance in the
direction from which the soxind came, and he saw a huge
circular tent, ornamented with a painting representing
Cornelian, in beast-tamer's costume, siu'rounded by all
the savage animals of the known world. George had
completely forgotten all about her and the ridiculous
episode of the whip flung at him through the bars of the
lion's cage; but he recognized in the smoke the man who,
pike in hand walked backwards and forwards in front
of the dens, and he remembered that he had kept back
the beasts with his pike when Cornelian had thrown away
her whip.

As the fellow continued to stare at him, George, who
had no desire to have anything to say to a person of his
kind, was proceeding on his way, when the face of Cor-
nelian appeared at one of the windows of the living wagon.
She oni}'' looked out for an instant, but in that
brief time she recognized George, and a moment after-
wards she appeared at the door. She slowly descended
the four or five steps of the movable ladder, then going
up to the man who was seated smoking on the shaft she
shook him roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming :

" What are you doing here, you brute ? Don't you
hear the beasts crying for their food? Run and give
them their meat, and be sharp; I don't want to be eaten
to-night."

And as the feeder of the animals appeared to hesitate,
she repeated:

" Quick ! Clear out of this."

He obeyed her with a growl like that of a savage dog,
who is kicked out of the way; but before leaving he cast
an angry glance at George — the look of a servant who

THE felon's bequest. 65

loves liis mistress and is jealous of lier. George was
rooted to the si^ot with astonishment, and on looking
again at the girl decided that she was even better look-
ing than she had appeared in her fleshings in the Hon's
den.

As a general rule, women of her profession only look
well during their performances, and their every day
dress does not suit them at all. But Cornelian, in her
black satin dress, a black mantilla over her shoulders,
her raven hair confined in a silken net, and a fan in her
hand, entirely resembled a Spanish lady about to take a
walk on the Prado, a veritable Marquesa d'Amaegue, the
beautiful Andalusian of Alfred de Musset's song.

George saw at once that she was about to come up and
speak to him, and as he had no chance of avoiding her,
he awaited her coming firmly.

" At last you have come," said she with a smile. " That
is all right. I was going to your house."

" You were going to my house ? " cried George, in
surprise.

" Yes, my dear; No. 19, Bue Frocnot, quite close to
this. I have been there every day since the first time I
saw you. When did you return to Paris ? "

" I have only just arrived. How did you find out my
address?"

" From Juliet Taupier."

" "What, do you know her ?"

" A httle; but I know a good deal of the chap that was
with her, and whose head you punched. I shan't forget
that slap in a hurry. I liked you when I was at work with
my pupils, but that blow of yours fetched me at once. I'm
the sort of girl that likes to see one man hit another.
Arthur took it quietly, did he not ? "

" Arthur ? " repeated George, interrogatively.

" Yes ; the fair dandy who relieved you of your Juliet.
I knew that he wouldn't fight. I think he is fond of col-
lecting slaps in the eye. He had two given him when he
was with me. Just fancy my having been spoons on him
because he had a fine moustache. He is as ugly as an ape
now that he has cut it off."

" Then he was your lover ? "

" Only for a short time. He fetched me a bit last sum-
mer at the fair of Saint Cloud; it lasted just a month. But

56 THE felon's bequest.

what of tkat ? After you had gone, I gave him his march-
ing orders. I told him that he wasn't worth much, and that
his girl would not make anything of him. That Juliet was
with you, was she not ? Oh, don't say no ; she proclaimed
it loudly enough. But that is all over now, for after the
affi'ont she put on you, I don't suppose you'll put your
head inside her door."

Overwhelmed by this flood of endearment, George held
his peace, although he felt much tempted to make inquir-
ies regarding the rascal who he had publicly corrected,
and who had not ventured to resent his having done so.
Cornelian, however, left him no leisure to recover from his
surprise.

" So now, my little George, you are free. I have got
hold of you, and I mean to keep you. You are the hand--
somest fellow that I have ever seen, and we shall suit each
other down to the ground. Don't you imagine that I cai-e
a bit what that jade said about your having been in Mazas
over some bit of rascality. Well, suppose you have, you
suit me just as well. "Why, anyone may be quodded in
Mazas."

George turned pale with the anger that was rapidly
gaining an ascendancy over him.

" And besides," continued the girl, " it is love at first
sight. I make more money than I want, and will never
take a sou from you, even if you were as rich as Eoths-
child. I shan't, of course, object to your paying for a
supper, but that won't cost you much, for I don't go in
for swell eating cribs. Will you come for me after the
show ? " added Cornelian, placing her hand on George's
arm, and devouring him with her eyes as she spoke. This
was rather too much. Disgusted, furious, and irritated,
George wrenched himself roughly away, and said, coldly:

" You are making a mistake. I am not to be got hold
of quite so easily as you seem to fancy. I don't know you,
and I don't want to."

It was now Cornelian's turn to grow pale with anger,
and her eyes blazed with passion. " Why, you can't have
looked at me," cried she, drawing herself up, so as to dis-
play all the grace of her figure. " You won't find a girl
like me in a hurry, I can tell you ; certainly not amongst
the lot from which you picked out your Juliet. I am twenty
years of age, my dear, and during the last five, in which I

THE felon's bequest. 57

have risked my body and bones every night amongst the
lions, I have refused the offers of princes and men worth
millions. If I chose I need not go about from fair to fail",
for I have been offered an engagement at the Porte Saint
Martin Theatre, in a piece which they were going to get
up expressly for me ; I was to play the part of a martyr
exposed to the beasts in the arena of Rome. What a sen-
sation it would create 1 Why, all Paris would ring with it.
Well, I just refused the offer, because I felt sure that I
should see you here again, and was afraid of missing you.
For the last ten days I have done nothing but run after
you."

"Well, I couldn't help that, for I was travelling; but if
I had known "

" Now, just listen, and remember all I am going to tell
you. My beasts obey me like dogs, and no one has ever
yet resisted me, neither man nor woman. You will not
do so, more than the others. Do you understand ? I
have taken a fancy to you, and mean to have you."

" This is too much," muttered George between his
teeth.

" Too much is it; I'll tell you more. You were right
just now in saying that you did not know me; if you
did you would also know that nothing could stop me.
My will is law, as you will find. I will kill you, sooner
than give you up; and if any woman interferes between
us, I will strangle her with my own hands, with these
very hands with which I flog the lions." As she spoke
she stretched them out before him, a thought too large,
perhaps, and a little sunburnt, but with weU-shaped long
fingers, terminating in carefully-kept nails. She looked
quite capable of ridding herself of a rival.

George began to think this scene was more amusing
than alarming. He had pleased many women, but this was
the first time that he had ever had to defend himself
against the direct advances of one of the sex; but, as he
was resolved not to jield, he did not trouble himself
much with Cornelian's threats, for he knew that she could
not carry him off by force, and as he had no mistress
there was no reason to fear for her,

" Look there," continued she, pointing out the feeder
of the beasts, who at that moment came out of the tent
after having given the animals their meal. " Well, if I

58 THE FELON S BEQUEST.

told that man to go into the cage with my two big lions,
after they had had nothing to eat for three days, he
would not hesitate a moment in obeying me, although
he knew perfectly that they would only make a mouthful
of him, he is so madly in love with me."

" A hopeless love, I suppose," thought George.

" Do you doubt," continued the girl, " that he would
think twice if I told him to kill anyone whom I might
point out; some one who had insulted me, or some lover
who had deceived me ? "

George could hardly restrain a shudder, for now there
was some tangible danger to dread.

The adorer of Cornelian looked like a sworn tormentor
of the middle ages, or a robber whom it would be advis-
able not to meet at night in a lonely spot.

" I shall take care not to go out for the future without
my revolver," thought George.

" Remember, you have been warned. At any rate, I
am spared another visit to the Rue Frochot; and now,
my dear, I will detain you no longer. I have a show to-
day at four o'clock, and another this evening at ten; but
I had rather that you would not come, for you might
distract my attention, and that won't do in my business.
The other evening, when I threw my whip at you, Frede-
gonde, my lioness, almost had me; but after it is over
you shall take me to supper. So if you don't wait for
me, between eleven and twelve, over there at the Cafe du
Rat Mort, look out for yourself, my little man, for it will
be war between us, and you will have to pay for all
breakages." Then, as she saw the man in the jacket
creeping up slyly, she exclaimed: "Get to kennel, watch-
dog;" and as he seemed inclined to disobey her, she
drove him with blows and thrusts in the back to the side
entrance of the menagerie, whilst George profited by
this movement to make his escape by darting between
some of the booths.

THE felon's bequest. 69

CHAPTER IX.

poverty's banker.

He had reached the Place Pigalle, where he hoped to
find a cab, when some distance off he saw a woman whose
figure reminded him of Cecile Cambremer. She had
come out of the Rue Frochot, and was going along the
Rue Duperre. Cransac thought that she had been to his
house to make inquiries regarding him, but he wondered
where she could be going, for she was not returning to
the Avenue Laumiere in which she resided, which would
spare him a journey to Belleville. He resolved to follow
her on the chance, and see if she went in anywhere. This
portion of the town is full of artists, and ladies are very
fond of them; she might even have a lover amongst
them, and George wanted to find out if this was the
case. He must have been in love, for he felt a pang of
jealousy, and his love had sprang up without his knowl-
edge, for he was hardly conscious of the nature of his
feeling for Cecile. He followed her like a shadow, as
detectives follow those whom they are ordered to watch,
but not arrest, permitting her to keep some fifteen paces
ahead. If it was Cecile, she certainly had not squan-
dered any of the money that he had advanced her on
dress, for she wore the same hat and skirt as when he had
first found her gasping on the floor by the side of the
brazier of charcoal. Her health did not seem to have
suffered from her recent attempt at suicide ; she walked
firmly, like a woman who knows where she is going, and
is in a hurry to get there. She looked really charming,
and as George followed her with admiring eyes, he never
thought of looking behind him; had he done so he would
have noticed the keeper from the managerie following
him with the stealthy gait of a fox tracking his prey.
The fellow must have managed to escape from the booth
into which Cornelian had thrust him — escaped, perhaps,
to pick a quarrel with the gentleman whom he looked
upon as his rival; unless, indeed, he had been dispatched
by his mistress to dog the footsteps of the handsome

60 THE felon's bequest.

young man whom she was desirous of securing for her-
self. The Rue Duperre is not a very long street, and the
gii'l soon turned off to the right. " This is strange,"
thought George; " why here she is going down the street
where Valbrec lives; surely, she is not going to see him —
and yet, why not ? Paul is a deuce of a fellow, and
knows all the women in Paris; but no, just now he is at
the office writing his article, and my idea is an absiird
one." He, however, pushed on, fearing lest he should
lose sight of the woman who was such a puzzle to him,
and as he turned the comer of the Kue Fromentin, he saw
her disappear in one of the first houses in the street. The
door through which she had passed was not a private
gateway, for it had only to be pushed to open. George
Cransac knew well that swing door, which opens and
shuts without noise, and which was surmounted by a
lamp, upon which were painted these words, "Pawn-
broking Establishment, Office Z." He had in his time
been inside the place, where persons of social ranks meet
and mix, and those who are in easy circumstances are not
the least constant frequenters of it, for a pawnbrokers
establishment is more obliging than a ftiend and never
alludes again to the obligation that has been conferred.
Contrary to the general opinion, the very poor are
not those who have the most frequent recourse to it, for
the simple reason that in order to borrow you must have
something to pledge. The habitual frequenters are
petty tradesmen, gay women of all classes, fast men, and
gamblers. In these estabhshments, which have been
greatly multiplied, the customers vary according to the
quai'ter of the town in which it has been opened, and as
the office in the Rue Fromentin is not far from the Rue
Breda, or the Place Pigalle, it is much frequented by
actresses, and women of the middle circles of the world
of gallantry. Cransac had in former times pledged his
watch in order to furnish him with funds to go on the
spree with, but of recent years his commission on Stock
Exchange transactions had furnished him sufficient funds
to lead a merry life, so he had almost forgotten the road
to the " poj) shop," and he was much surprised at seeing
the woman he was following go in there. " The deuce,"
muttered he, between his teeth, "if that woman is my
debtor my thousand francs have not gone very far, since

THE felon's bequest. 61

ten days after she tas received them slie nas to pay a
visit to ' her uncle.' This hardly coincides with her busi-
ness-like idea of starting an artificial florist's shop, which
she told me of at the cafe in the Boulevard Rochech-
ouart." Then he began to wonder if this joung girl, with
the face of a poetess, whom he had saved from death, and
destituti(>n, was not, after all, a mere adventuress, who
had invented a tale to extract money from him. But, on
reflection, he made up his mind that this woman who
had gone into the pawn office was not Cecile, and that he
had lost his time in following some one utterly unknown
to him.

But in order to set all his doubts at rest, he went in
after her. The girl had gone straight into the public
room instead of going in by the little door, upon which
was painted in black letters, " Private entrance," disdain-
ing to avail herself of the accommodation offered to well-
dressed borrowers. Even in a pawn office there are cer-
tain social distinctions. Cransac imitated her, and saw
that the room was full.

The winter months press heavily on poverty.

The room was of large size, but full of silence and
sadness. It seemed like the entrance to some hospital,
and no one felt an inclination either to laugh or gossip.
Even the voices of the officials, as they mentioned the
sums that could be lent, or the nature of the articles re-
deemed, hardly seemed to rise above a whisper. The
borrowers answered in a low voice when the numbers
were called, and the shamefacedness of destitution would
have touched the heart of any rich man who might have
come in to look about him. The unfortunate creatures
pressed forward eager to get their business over, some
carrying small objects in their hands, and others large
bundles, which the assistants unpacked on the counter.
There was no time lost in spreading out and valuing the
articles of clothing, nor indeed in declining the pledge
when it was insufficient to cover the value of the loan
demanded. A woman would then draw back, her eyes
swimming in tears, and all was over.

The office for the redemption of pledges was not so
crowded as the other, and the foi'malities were not so
tedious, as all that had to be done was to hand in the
ticket and pay the money; unless, indeed, it had been

62 THE felon's bequest.

paid the evening before, and in that case it was «ven
more simple an act. Articles which are not given up
until the day after payment were handed over in ex-
change for a receipt for payment, which was the work of
a moment. George, who had nothing either to pledge
or to redeem, gazed in the crowd for the girl he had fol-
lowed, but covdd not see her. Instead, however, he
caught sight of a woman, poorly but neatly clad, who
was arguing with one of the officials, who would not lend
her more than five francs on a gold wedding ring. She
had asked fifteen, but this was so much above the mark
that they had handed it back to her, and she was leaving
the place in despair with her head hanging on her
bosom. Misfortune is the parent of selfishness, and the'
poor, needy creatures aroimd her paid but little attention
to her trouble. Scenes of this kind were of constant
occurrence, and fresh ones took place every day, but
George, who saw the tears start to her eyes, said to her
in a low voice as she passed him : " That is your mar-
riage ring, is it not ? "

The woman seemed surprised, but managed to stammer
out: "Yes, sir; but "

"And yoiu* husband has deserted you. How many chil-
dren have you ? "

"Three," sobbed she; "and they have had nothing to
eat since yesterday. The five francs they offered me here
would give them bread for four days, but what would hap-
pen afterwards ? I cannot get work "

" What is your business ? "

" I used to do knitting for the large houses, but I am
so poor now, that they won't trust me with the wool, and
I have no money to buy it.

" I know some one who will give you work," returned
George, " and take this to go on with," and as he spoke
he handed her a louis.

" I was not begging," faltered she.

" Nor am I giving you alms. Ton can return me the
money from your earnings."

" If I were only sure of earning something "

" I know a young lady who wants workwomen to make
artificial flowers."

" But, sir, I don't know how to make them."

*' She will teach you. ^Go to her from me, George Cran-

THE felon's bequest. 63

sac. Her name is Mdlle. Cambremer, and she lives at 22
Avenue Laumiere."

The idea of sending this unhappy creature to Cecile
had suddenly entered George's head, as a means of satis-
fying himseli that the girl had spoken the truth respect-
ing her workshop, which she was going to start again
with the thousand francs which he had given her, and he
was at the same time doing another good action, much
more disinterested than the first one, for the poor crea-
ture who he had just assisted was neither young nor
pretty. He received his reward much sooner than he
had expected, and in an equally unlooked for manner.
She thanked him with such enthusiasm that he had to
raise his voice to beg her to moderate her expressions of
gratitude, and his accents were recognized by a girl who
was standing near the coimter at which pledges are
redeemed. She turned to look at him. It was Cecile. A
Advid blush spread over her face as she recognized him,
and she made a sign to him to wait for her until she had
finished her business. George hastily disembarrassed
himself of the women to whom he had shone so much
kindness, and then quietly made his way to the passage
outside the door. H« was delighted to find that she had
come to redeem and not to pledge; as he perceived when
she approached him holding a little card board box in her
hand. But this corridor was not a suitable place for an
interview, and however pleased she might have felt at see-
ing him, and pleased she most certainly was, the place was
to public to permit of her indulging in any open demon-
strations. " I am so happy to see you," said she at length,
" but I did not expect to find you here."

" I followed you from the Place Pigalle," answered
George.

" I had just come from your house."

" I guessed as much, for I felt that it was you who had
called yesterday.

" Yes, it was I. I came here to redeem a pair of ear-
rings that my father had given me a month before his
death, and which I had been obliged to pledge, and as
your house was close by, I called and learnt from the
porter that you had returned."

" And I was on my way to your house when I saw you
a long way off."

64 THE felon's bequest.

" You were coming to see me ! You had not forgotten
me then ? "

" I have never ceased to think of you; and since chance
has brought us together again, I hope that wou will per-
mit me to spend the day with you. We have so much to
say to each other."

" Oh ! yes; but I must first go back to Belleville. I
have an order to get, and there is some work that I
expect home."

" May I go to Belleville with you ? "

" Certainly, How shall we go — by tram ? "

" If you like; but why not have a cab ? "

"Because I have no money to throw away in cabs.
You paid for me once, and that is enough; and if we are
to meet often, we must place matters on a proper footing.
I shall be ever so much more pleased when I have paid
off my debt to you," added CecUe, casting down her
eyes.

" Oh 1 do not speak of that as if I were some trades-
man who had given you credit. Do you only think of
me as a creditor ? "

" You are my best, or rather my only friend, and it is
for that reason that I want money matters to be put on a
proper footing between us. Suppose I were to tell you
that since our first meeting I had made all sorts of pro-
jects, and had indulged in dreams which doubtless wiU
never be realized ? "

" TeU me what they were."

" No, not in this passage. I wUl tell you them at my
own house, if you care to climb up five flights of stairs."

" I will climb up ten if you wish."

" Well then, let us go," cried the girl merrily.

They left the office together, and in the most innocent
manner Cecile accepted George's arm, and were just in
time to catch a tram in which there were two vacant
places. There is not much comfort in talking in a pubHc
conveyance, where your neighbors can hear every word
you say, but George made up for this by admiring at his
ease CecUe's charming features. She pleased Lim even
more than she had done on the night on which he had come
to her aid. The character of her beauty had changed,
and she had acquired a more life-hke and mobile expres-
sion. It seemed as if the statue had been warmed into

THE felon's bequest. 65

life. Cecile seemed ready enough to talk, and during
their ride, as they were unable to talk of their private
affairs, she questioned her companion as to the poor
woman whom he had assisted at the pawn office. " Do
not laugh," said she, with a smile. " There is no neces-
sity for hidiug a good deed; I saw you slip something
into her hand." And then, when she learned that Cran-
sac had even without asking her given the poor creature
her address, she thanked him warmly. " I will find her
some work," added she; for she now guessed that George's
idea in sending the poor woman to her was to make sure
that she had really gone into business as she had prom-
ised she would.

CHAPTER X

PLAITS FOB THE rUTURE.

They got out of the train at La Vallette, and still arm
in arm walked down the Rue d'Allemagne. George knew
very little of this part of town, in which stockbrokers are
not likely to number many clients, but he permitted him-
self to be led on, only too happy to feel the young girl's
heart beating against his arm. " We are getting near
our destination," said she. " You are a long way now
from the Rue Frochot, but you will not regret having
taken all this trouble when I show you the pretty view that
I have fi'om my windows." A few moments afterwards
as they reached the comer of the Avenue Laiuniere,
Cecile, who had an eye for everything, remarked : " Have
you noticed that horrible looking man walking behind
us ? It reaUy seems as if he were following us." Cransac
turned quickly rovind, and instantly recognized the keeper
of the menagerie, the uuscrupulous tool and instrument
of Cornelian. George could hardly believe his eyes in
recognizing at Belleville the ruffian that he had left behind
amongst the booths in the Boulevard de Clichy. He had
never noticed the tellow following him to the Place
PigaUe, or that having hidden himself in a narrow passage
facing the pawn office, he had again taken up the pursuit,
and climbing on to the top of the tram, had got down
upon its anival »t Belleville. This discovery made Craiis^g

66 THE felon's bequest.

feel rather uneasy, whilst Cecile, who did not know who
the man was, could not suspect him of nourishing any
evil designs against her. George, however, now knew
that he had another enemy in the field ; but he resisted
the strong desire he felt to go up to ^e fellow and ask
him why he was following him. And he was right for the
street is free to everyone, and Cornelian's slave had as
much right to be there as anyone else, and to insist on
his going in another direction would have led to a scuffle,
in which he might probably have been worsted. A
quarrel, besides, would only have terrified Cecile, and it
would be just as well for her to be left in ignorance of
George's adventure with the Lion Queen, and so he did
nothing except make up his mind that he would have an
explanation with the attendant on the wild beasts, if he
again crossed his path.

" Pooh," said he, affecting an air of perfect ease, " he
has, I confess, a sinister look, and I daresay he lodges in
the quarries in the Buttes Chaumont, but these fellows
who live in the lime kilns don't attack people in broad
daylight, and if he ventured to annoy you, here am I
raedy to protect you."

"Oh!" replied the girl, ;"I am not at aU afraid;
besides, here we are, for this is my house." The h6use
which she pointed out was the last one in the avenue, and
consequentiy the next to the Park of the Buttes Chau-
mont, except the Town HaU of the working-men's quarter,
and really offered a very handsome appearance, with its
new frontage and its balconies at every floor. "You are
astonished that I am living in such a fine house ? " said
Cecile, with a smile ; " but it is to you that I am indebted
for doing so. I had received notice because I had not
paid up my rent ; but with the money you lent mo I
saved my furniture, which was about to be sold, and what
is more, I re-engaged my workpeople, and have now siiffi-
cient orders to occupy a dozen of ttiem." They paused a
moment before passing through the door, and noticed
that the man was still following them but at a longer dis-
tance than before. Cecile, who was quite reassured
regarding him, paid no more attention, but George asked
himself if he wotdd push his audacity so far as to enter
the house with them. " I warned you that you would
have rather a climb/' said shcj as she began to e^sceftd

THE felon's bequest. 67

the staircase after receiving a respectful greeting from the
porter, which was an excellent sign, for young ladies who
do not lead regular Uves are seldom treated with respect
by these delegates of the landlord. George was well
aware of this and consequently his confidence in Cecile
increased. She had not exaggerated the number of the
floors ; there were five aU told, but fortunately the stairs
were not very steep, and youth has good and active limbs.

George arrived at their destination without panting,
and Cecile who had no servant, pulled a key out of her
pocket and opened the door herself. Her lodging was
composed of four rooms, all looking into the street, and
the one into which she first introduced George covdd
hardly be called a manufactory, for it was not large
enough for workpeople, but rather the private workroom
of an artificial florist, the wall covered with a grey paper,
two straw-bottomed chairs, and a large table covered
with all kinds of small objects, the use of which George
was at a loss to understand. There was also a small
brazier full of burning charcoal, some utensils containing
pastes of different colors, a gum bottle and brush, packets
of brass wire, fragments of straw-colored silk, scissors, a
golfering iron, snippings of cambric, and a large box full
of moss roses, ready to be sent out. As George cast an
admiring glance at these last, Cecile remarked: " These
are my making. I did them this morning."

" "Will you give me one of them ?"

" Not one of those. I will make one especially for you;
look at me at work."

" These are the stamens," said she, cutting off small ends
of silk, which she fixed at the ends of the brass wires; " I
dip them, as you see, in the gum to make them stiff, and
then I dry them before the fire. There, now that they
are dry, I moisten the tips with some of this paste, which
is made of gum arabic and wheat flour, and then plunge
it into this yellow tinsel. See, each little tip has picked
up a grain of tinsel, and the heart of my rose is completed.
The rose already begins to assume a shape."

" Yes; a butterfly could perch upon it."

" Oh ! no, butterflies know better than that. Now for
the leaves of the calyx; I had them already cut out of a
piece of green starched taffeta. There is nothing mor^
\,o be dgue but to put them together."

68 THE felon's bequest.

" Upon my word, I don't know why people take the
trouble to grow roses," answered George, with a laugh.

" I should be very sorry if they did not I make artifi-
cial flowers, but I love real ones. Shall this one have
buds ? No, it would take too long. I have to sew up
the kid after having filled it with gummed cotton wool;
and now see, in order to finish it, I cover the wire that
forms the stem with thread, and roll round it green ribbon
paper. That is all; my rose is finished, and I offer it to
you."

George took it, and kissed it.

" I hope you are not going to put it in your button-
hole. An artificial flower there would be quite too
funny."

" I will place it on my heart," replied he, putting it in
his pocket-book, which was fiUed with the bank-notes
that he had brought from London. Cecile blushed, but
she hesitated to reply to this indirect declaration.
"Come," said she after a pause, " and see the rest of my
apartments; after that I will show you the view from my
balcony, for I have a fine balcony."

" I am poor, and you are rich."

"Not so rich as you fancy."

" If you were not, how could you have lent me a thous-
and francs, when you knew nothing of me ? "

" A man may have such a siim at his command and yet
not have a large fortune. I gain money by my labor, the
same as you do."

" Forgive me asking, but what is your business ? "

"I was an outside operator on the stock exchange; now
I am a pressman, or at least I am going to be one."

" A iDressman ! " repeated Cecile, sadly.

" Yes. Do you not Hke the idea ? "

"Not much, for a literary man has, I believe, to Uve in a
world where the charms of domestic happiness are but
little appreciated."

" No, no, there is no necessity for that. Some hterary
men certainly lead a very irregular life, but I declare to
you that I have no fancy for a Bohemian existence."

" Have you already tried it then ? " asked Cecile, with a
smile.

" Too much perhaps. I don't want to make myself out
better than I sm- Zou have spoken openly to me, and

THE felon's bequest. 69

so I will confess that I have been wild, and have often
squandered my money. But can you wonder ? I was young,
and had not found a woman that I loved."

" Young ! But what are you now ? "

" But now that I have found one to lead me in the right

path, I ." George hesitated and looked steadily at

Cecile.

" If I could only believe you," sighed she.

" What can I do to convince you ? "

" We must know each other better. What would you
think of me if I at once told you that I loved you ? "

" I should think that you had confidence in me, as I had
in you."

" Thank you for thinking so well of me," returned Cecile,
deeply moved. " If you always speak to me like that we
shall one day be happy together. You know hardly any-
thing of my past life, and I know nothing at all of yours."

" My past ! — oh ! I have had troubles like you."

" But the present, the future. How shall we live for one
another ? You, in the midst of a whirl of pleasure and
excitement, and I kept here by the necessity of looking
after my workroom : you in the Eue Frochot, I at Belle-
viUe."

" I can come and live close to you, for I have already
given notice to quit my rooms."

" But you will not come to live in this part of the town;
it would be too far from your paper."

" We could meet each other half-way."

" We should both of us lose the same amount of time.'"

" But, after all, I am not obliged to work for a living."

"Then I have guessed it: you are rich."

"And suppose I was; suppose that I had enough for
two?"

" I could not share it with you."

At this firm reply Cransac hesitated, not knowing what
to say or do, for whilst this conversation had been taking
place his ideas had undergone a change, and he felt that
iUgotten money would not bring him good luck, nor even
peace of mind, for his conscience would always reproach
him with having accepted it, and that he would feel more
at ease in earning his daily bread, now that he had found
a woman to make him happy. W^hy should not the career
of a joumsilist, in which Valbrec had offered to initiate

70 THE felon's BEQTJEST.

him, permit him to earn an honest hvelihood by his pen,
instead of using the ill-omened coin which had already-
caused him such trouble, since he was compelled to explain
his change of circumstances by a series of falsehoods
which were most difficult to sustain ? Would it not be a
thousand times better to again enter the right road, and
withdraw from the dangerous course in which he had
embarked ? All that he had to do was to invent a fresh
story, and tell his friend that the anonymous bequest had
been revoked, and to put back in its hiding-place the sum
that he had already taken out; and as for the amount he
had spent, he could repay that out of his first earnings.

" You hesitate," said Cecile. " "Was I not right, tiien,
in not indulging in vain hopes ? "

" You are wrong," replied George; " I was only trying
you. But the obstacle you refer to does not exist; I am
no richer than you are, and there is nothing to prevent
us from leading a similar life. You have just said that
you know but little of me. "Well, put me to the proof.
You shall know the life I lead, and when you have con-
vinced yourself that I am not rolling in riches, you will
perhaps let me speak to you of love."

Cransac spoke earnestly, but all at once he saw that
Cecile was not listening to him.

" There he is again," said she, pressing closely to
George.

" Who ? "

" There in the street, the man who followed us.

Cransac looked down and recognized the fellow from
the wild beast show, whose very existence he had for-
gotten, but whose reappearance did not surprise him at
all.

" And suppose it should be the same man," said he.
"Loafers are not very rare about here; the fellow has
come for a stroll in the park here, and is on his way
there. It is all natural enough."

" I do not know why the idea should enter my head,
but I think he is watching us."

" What a strange fancy ! See, he is some distance off
now, and did not even raise his head as he passed under
your balcony."

" Never mind, let us go in; will you ? **

" I will do whatever you wish."

THE felon's bequest. 71

They re-entered the room, and Cecile closed the win-
dow. " You have not told me that I may love you," said
George, gently.

" Do you think it necessary to obtain my permission to
do so ? " asked Cecile, with a smile.

" No, for I already love you without having asked your
leave," returned George, briskly.

" I can beUeve you; for though I have not lived long in
this world, I have learned that love comes one knows not
how, and that we cannot prevent its spiinging up. Can
a soldier in the battle-field avoid the fatal bullet ? "

" Well, I have received that bullet, it has struck me
full in the heart, and I shall die "

" Unless I love you ? You deceive yourself ; such
wounds are easily cured. I have got over mine, and you
must not be surprised at my dreading love. I have
suffered so much from it already."

" Take me on triaL"

" What do you mean ? "

*• The most simple thing in the world. Let us b© simple*
friends, until the day when you think fit to let love come
on the scene; and let me first prove to you that I am not
the man you think. To prove this, I must see you every
day. You will say that your business takes up all your
time. So does mine; but one does not work without
cessation, and we shall each have some hours of liberty.
Let us pass these together."

"I dread the fire," murmured Cecile; "I fear to be
burnt I "

She first led him mto the kitchen, which was also the
dining-room, with a stove and its accessories in one comer,
a wahiut-wood dresser, scantily furnished with glasses
and plates, some chairs that did not match, and a table
covered with a piece of oilcloth. " I eat but little," said
she, as an excuse for the poverty-stricken appearance of
the siu-roun dings; "but it is because I have but a small
appetite, for now, thanks to you, I need deprive myself
of nothing. Let us now go into my sitting-room; that is
a little more presentable." It was indeed a charming
little room, with four chairs, two ai*mchairs, a clock sup-
ported by a ^figure, and candelabra of gilt bronze. It
was just such furniture as you may see in the homes of
small shopkeepers, or in the room behind the shop of a

72 THE felon's bequest.

third-class dressmaker, but brushed and kept in order
with the most scrupulous neatness.

" That is all that remains to me of those happy days,
when no one had disturbed my peaceful existence," mur-
mured Cecile. " Those few articles of furniture are what
I bought with my earnings, and I should have lost them
had you not so generously come to my aid."

Cransac took good care not to say that they were hid-
eous in his eyes, but he resolved to give her some others,
for he already felt that he could not live without seeing
her very frequently, and he had no desire to come and
plant himself at the foot of the Buttes Chaumont.

" And now let us come out on my terrace," said she,
pointing with her finger to the window that opened on to
her balcony.

"Pardon me mademoiselle, but you have not yet
shown me all your rooms; there is yet — '

" My bedroom ! I have vowed that no man shall entei

" What, not even your beat friend, as you called me
just now ? '

Cecile hesitated for a moment, then, throwing open
the door, she permitted him to go in. It was a perfect
school-girl's chamber; a little narrow bed with white
hangings, a washstand, and tiny toilet table, a whatnot
full of little ornaments of low value, some books in
stained pine shelves, and a side table in imitation of Jap-
anese W(^k, comprised the whole of the furniture. Every-
thing snowed that the young girl led the strictest and
purest of lives,

George, however, caught a glimpse of a photograph in
a gilt frame placed on the side table, and without notic-
ing the pained expression that rose to Cecile's face, he
bent over to look at it. " But this is myself," said he
seizing it in both his hands; "my portrait when I was
younger. By what extraordinary chance — "

"No, it is not you." faltered Cecile, in great distress;
" it is that of the man who resembles you."

"What, the man who treated you so cruelly; the man
you took me for in the garden of the house in the Kue
GabrieUe ? "

" Do not speak of him," returned Cecile. " He is

THE felon's bequest. 73

nothing to me now, and I blush to think that I ever
imagined I cared for him."

" Yes, yes, I believe you; but what a strange resem-
blance ! Any one would swear that it was I who had
posed before the camera of the photographer."

" Yes, he was verj'- like you when that photograph was,
first taken; but since then he is greatly changed, so
much so, that if you were to see him now you would not
recognize him from this."

" I have no wish to do so," answered George coldly;
" It is enough for me to have found his photograph in
your room."

" It shall remain there no longer," murmured Cecile.

« What will you do with it ?"

" I will destroy it, if you wish me to do so."

" I have no right to ask you to make such a sacrifice.
You might think that I was jealous."

" No, for people are only jealous when they lore."

" And you think that I do not love you. Why do you
do so ? "

" I think that I have gained your sympathy; but as to
loving me as I wish to be loved, we are a long way from
that"

Greorge's face flushed; he replaced the portrait on the
table, took Cecile's hands in his, and drew her towards
him. " How would you wish to be loved ?" asked he.

His eyes burned with passion, and Cecile felt that she
must extinguish the fire that she had lighted. " I will tell
you," murmured she calmly, " but not here." She loosed
herself from his grasp, and opening the window, stepped
out on to the balcony. She had understood the danger
which threatened her in that chamber, where they were
both alone together, and where she felt a strange inde-
scribable feeling stealing over her, which might be the
dual result of the promptings of the heart and the sudden
development of the physical feelings, for George had
pleased her more than she even ventured to confess to
herself. He followed her on to the balcony, the advan-
tages of which she had not exaggerated, for it commanded
a magnificent \dew of all that portion of Paris, and
besides was a safe refuge where she could be sure of not
letting her senses overpower her. Open air cools passion,
as daylight drives away spectres. " Listen to me," said

74 THE felon's bequest.

she, as soon as George was leaning over the balcony by
her side. "I am no longer a child, and I have no false
modesty; you know that, for have I not told you of my
love for so unworthy an object ? My ill-placed love has
been cruelly punished, but if I were to swear to you that
for such a reason I would drive away all love for the
future, I should deceive you, and you would not believe
my vow. I am only twenty-two years of age, and I lack
the courage to look forward to a Hfe of soUtude and lone-
liness. But I feel that after the last cruel deception, I
never could love a man until I knew his character com-
pletely. I therefore will choose carefully the man to
whom I give my second love, and you would not, I am
sure, insult me by suggesting that my choice should be
dictated by interested motives."

" Oh ! no, never," cried George, positively.

" The man that I should love would only have to love
me, and to be my equal in position."

"What do you mean by your equal?"

" One who is like me in feelings, birth, and circum-
stances. The man who first inspired me with a feeling of
love was a wretch whom I now despise more than I hate,
and that will show you that I shall never see him again,
for though hatred may be cured, contempt never can.
What I ardently desire is one existence of two souls — not
a mere worldly, daily life. No, no; let each work on his
own accoimt — I could not endure a life of idleness; let
each one work for the means of living, so that independ-
ence may be preserved. We shall unite our love, our
griefs and our joys together. We shall have but one
heart, as an old song ran which I used formerly to know,
but we shall have two abodes."

" Those are precisely my sentiments," answered George,
with a smile.

" Yes, it is my dream — the dream of which 1 spoke
before, but which, I fear, will never come to pass."

" It only depends upon you."

"Yes, I know; but then I am not your equal."

"You are; fori have no relations, and am as much
alone in the world as you are."

" We can pass them in p\iblic. Do you like the thea-
tre?"

" Very much, indeed."

THE felon's bequest. 76

"Well, there is nothing easier for me than to get
tickets through my paper, which I hope that you will not
refuse; and as you cannot go alone "

" You will escort me ! Oh ! that will be delightful."

" That is all I ask. When shall we begin ? "

"Soon; but I shall require a few days to install myself
in my new workroom; and when that is done, I shall
have more liberty."

"And you will keep your evenings for me; how can
I thank you enough? But, until then, I shall see
you "

"When you like I"

"Where — here, or at my rooms ? "

" I should prefer your rooms. I want to prove to you
that I have unlimited confidence in you, and then,
though you will call me childish, I want to see how you
live."

"Speak out, and say that you wtmt to see if I am
rich ! " answered George, with a laugh. " But reassure
yourself; my rooms are not much larger and finer than
yours. I will keep them until you tell me to move, and
when I do, it will be to come closer to you ! '

" Oh ! distance is nothing. I am accustomed to omni-
bus riding. All I want to know is, at what hours I shall
be certain to find you ? "

"Whatever hours will suit you."

"And how about your paper? "

" I am not yet permanently established in it, and so
do not yet know how my time wiQ be occupied; but
you will permit me to call to-morrow, and let you
know?"

" I am going out to-morrow morning, but I shall be in
all the afternoon, and shall expect you."

" Then you agree to the trial ? "

" I do, and as a proof of my sincerity, listen. I prom-
ised that I would destroy this portrait, but I feel that I
have not the courage. Take it, and do so yourself ! "

George took it, and kissed the pretty hand that pre-
sented it to him. He had not counted on this sacrifice which
Cecile had spontaneously made, and he would certainly
not have dared to ask it; but he thoroughly appreciated
the delicacy of sentiment that had inspired it, and he
accepted it as a happy omen for the future of his love.

76 THE felon's bequest.

He was jealous too of the man who had first made an
impression on Cecile's heart, and vowed that he would,
if ever he came across him, treat him as he deserved;
and he had a sort of an idea that this man who resembled
him so much was his double who had presented the
forged check, and, therefore, he decided to keep the
portrait with a view to making further inquiries. And
now there was nothing for it but to take his leave, for it
wovdd have been ill-advised on his part to prolong his
visit, and he would have died soocer than raise the
suspicions of an honest girl, who had trusted in his
honor.

She did not endeavor to detain him, and he left her,
with a thousand joyous visions dancing through his
brain, and leaving his heart behind him. He hardly
knew himself, so much had his notions changed in the
brief space of a few hours. When he left the Grand
Hotel that morning he had determined to carry on a war
to the knife against all those who had treated him so
cruelly, and to use for that purpose the bequest made to
him by his next door neighbor in the prison. He had
thrust aside all his scruples, and the hateful legacy was
no longer a burden on his conscience. The wise advice of
Valbrec had caused him a little anxiety, in opening his eyes
to the dangers of his equivocal position, but he had never
seriously thought of stopping short in the perilous road
upon which he was proceeding; and, yet, a few words from
Cecile Cambremer had upset all his previous resolves.
He entirely forgot his enemies, his plans of revenge, and
even Cornelian, who threatened him with her dangerous
love. He only thought of Cecile, and that sweet and happy
existence of which she had permitted him to catch a
glimpse. He had not wished to listen to the voice of his
conscience, and yet he had not been able to stifle it
entirely. He had argued to himself that he was at per-
fect liberty to use this money to do good to the unfortu-
nate who had been cruelly persecuted by destiny; but now
the scales had fallen from his eyes, and, though blinded
by a momentary evil impulse, he saw the correct road of
duty. This vast amount of gold must belong to some
one and he had no right to dispose of it, even in works
of charity. It was natural that he should feel unwilling
to denounce the robber who had trusted in him, but that

THE felon's bequest. 77

need not prevent his seeking for the person who had
been plundered. The disappearance of so large a sum
must have caused some sensation at the time of the rob-
bery, and no doubt the papers of that date would have
mentioned the occurrence. All that he had to do, then,
was to go through them carefully, and see if there was
any narrative of the breaking into, and emptying of a
safe by some daring burglars, and if he could find out all
about it, all that he would have to do would be to inform
the victims of the robbery, or their heirs, of the existence
of the treasure in the Rue Gabrielle. In order to do this
he need not even give his name, as an anonymous letter
would serve the purpose.

He need not even put back the money he had taken
from the hiding-place, for, doubtless, the exact amount
of the sum was unknown, and even if it were the owners
would certainly not be surprised at finding a certain defi-
ciency in it Avhich he could afterwards replace, by sending
it to them anonymously, without running any risk. Then
he would have no more feelings of anxiety, no more pangs
of remorse; he would no longer be entangled in a web of
falsehood, and would be freed from the necessity of mak-
ing any more nocturnal visits to the Hill of Monmartre.
Instead of living like a millionaire, he could lead an hon-
orable existence on the results of his work, and so prove
himself worthy of the brave and true-hearted girl whose
acquaintanceship he had made. In order to keep bis
promise to her, he must take the position on the paper,
which Valbrec had offered him, and he hoped that he
would do well in it. He had no doubt regarding his
abihty to fill it, for George had a fairly good opinion of
himself. These thoughts occupied the whole of the time
consumed in his return from the Avenue Laumiere, and
recurred to him again and again during the remainder of
the day.

\ I

78 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER XL

A STUMBLE OX THE THRESHOLD.

George had now made up his mind to accept Valbreo's
proposal, and at the appointed time began to dress him-
self for the dinner at which he was to meet his future
colleagues. He took so much time over his toilet that
by the time he arrived they had already sat down to
dinner. He found half a dozen merry fellows seated
round the board, two of whom he knew as professed men
about town. All the others belonged to the world of
journalism. There was a retailer of the doings of society,
Valbrec, a political writer, a theatrical critic, and an
advertising agent, who was not the least important per-
sonage of the party. Valbrec received George with
enthusiasm, and all gave him a hearty welcome, though
everyone was well acquainted with his little misadven-
ture. But it was the lucky heir to a large fortune that
they were now greeting, for Valbrec had told them aU;
and though they might, like his comrades on the Stock
Exchange, have turned their backs on him had his cir-
cumstances remained as they were, yet their utmost
respect was given to the million which he was reported
to have brought over from England.

George could have dispensed vnth their congratula-
tions, which he now felt, since his last resolve, were rather
ill-timed, but it was necessary to endure them, and he
made up his mind that during dinner he woidd tell them
that, in spite of this money, he was determined to pursue
the profession of a journalist."

•^ My dear fellow," said Valbrec, when the introduction
had been completed, " can you do vdthout soup ? "

" Easily."

" Good; because it has just been taken away. You are
two bottles of champagne behind us, and must try and
catch us up."

" Fill my glass," answered George, gaily; and when
this was done, he drained it at a draught, and was soon
in a fit disposition to hold his own with the others, who
were not men tp Jet the evening pass is d\4lGess m^

THE felon's bequest. 79

melancholy. The conversation became general, and the
most serious subjects were treated with sceptical sarcasm.
George was quite able to join in this conversation, for
his experience on the Stock Exchange had taken away
his regret for most things.

To his great amusement they laid bare, in a few biting
words, the characters of the celebrities of the day, poli-
tical, literary, or any sort whatever, and he took a promi-
nent part in the exchange of cutting remarks regarding
them.

After a day of intense excitement wine soon gets into
the head, and the tongue moves freely. George's remarks
became so witty that at last the theatrical critic observed:
" What a pity it is that you are so rich ! You were bom
to write the weekly echoes of the day."

" I ask nothing better," returned George, " and I look
to my friend Paul to find me a place on his paper."

" Whenever you like, my dear fellow," returned Val-
brec. " You have but to say the word. I don't think
that you would make a figure in the heavier lines, but I
am sure that the lighter ones would suit you to a hair."

" A man is always successful who has plenty of money,"
said the advertising agent."

" If," said the political writer, " I were a millionaire,
like M. Cransac, instead of scribbling for other papers, I
would start one of my own, and be the editor."

" With yourself as sub-editor," retorted Valbrec. " Don't
listen to him George, my boy, and be content with writ-
ing the skits that suit you. I do not think that you have
much ambition, and you wiU be all the more comfortable
from having no responsibility. Do you want a subject ?
Here is one. Why should you not start with one on
Mazas ?"

" A capital idea,' said the theatrical critic.

" You must commence it by a violent attack upon the
present system of prison discipline," remarked the lead-
ing article writer.

" I should simply narrate what I saw," said George,
who was a little annoyed at the allusion to his recent
adventure; "but I will take good care to mention the
kind of reception I received on the Exchange after I came
out."

ft The Stock F^xchange fellows are a re^lar set of curSi

80 THE felon's bequest.

Now that you have money to invest they will wait outside
your door for hours, so as to gain a little brokerage."

" Talking of investments," said Valbrec, " are you still
resolved to buy a house ?" •

"I have not quite made up my mind yet," stammered
George, who did not like to mention his new plans before
the present company.

" If you do decide, I can tell you of a fine opportunity.
Juliet, your old flame, is quite smashed up. Her house
in the Eue Jouffroy is for sale, and wiU go for a song. It
would be funny for you to take possession of it, after her
creditors had turned her out. She played you a nice
trick, so it would be a sweet bit of revenge."

" A bad lot, that Juliet," remarked the theatrical critic.
" She has brought ill-luck to all her lovers."

" Don't you buy," said the advertisement agent. " Much
better build. I know of a splendid site to be sold very
cheap, and in a splendid position, on the Butte Mont-
martre."

" That isn't a fashionsble locality," interposed the poHti-
cal writer. " You must have an interest in the property,
dear boy, and want to make commission."

" Nothing of the kind. M. Cransac would have a
splendid view, and there would be something original in
the idea of establishing himself there. He would be
different from everybody else, and, in addition, I know
an architect who would undertake to build a charming
house there at a moderate cost.

George had picked up his ears at the mention of the
name Montmartre, but he did not for a moment imagine
that the spot in question was the garden in the Rue
Gabrielle.

" Gentlemen, you are most wearisome, talking about
real property and estate to people who have not a half-
penny to buy them with. I would as soon read the adver-
tisement columns in the papers as listen to you. If M.
Cransac wants to become a house proprietor, let him go
to his notary and consult him. Let us talk about women ;
it will be far more amusing."

" Talk about women ? Why, what else have we done
since we sat down to dinner ?"

*• Don't you talk. Is it because you mentioned Juliet
Taupier? "Well? she dosen't count, becaiise she has

^ THE felon's BEQUEST. 81

gone to the wall Peace be to the memory of a fallen
star. Well, well, I only occupy myself with rising stars,
and I know one that will draw aJl Paris to her."

" "WTiere will they be drawn to ?"

" To the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin where she is
coming out."

"As a daacer?"'

" No, as a tamer of wild beasts. She does the lion and
tiger business, and fetches the men besides. She is the •
finest girl I have ever seen." «

" Where does she hang out?" ^

** Just now she is on show in the Boulevard de Clichy."

" I know her," cried Valbrec. " It is Cornelian. What
do ^ou say, Cr ansae ?"

" If you have seen her you will agree with me that she
is a magnificent creature, and will be a wonderful draw at
the theatre. la my next article! propose to give her a o
notice that will make her go like anything."

" You are in her good graces then ?"

" Suppose I told you that I have just come from seeing
her, and that I narrowly missed bringing her here to *
dinner this evening ?"

"With all her beasts? No, thank you." , •

" Not with her beasts, butin her tunic and her fleshings; ,
and I tell you she is shaped like the huntress Diana."

" Brebant Avould not have let her come in, in that rig-
out."

" Well why didn't you bring her after all ?"

" Because she had a show on at ten o'clock. I entreated
her to come in afterwards, but she pretended that she
had an appointment at midnight."

" With the Hercules of the North, or the Rampart of
Montpellier ?"

■ " I don't kno\Y. 1 think she has a lover in that class;
but that won't prevent h6r being the pet of all the
mashers when she comes out. I tell you that she will '
cause a perfect furor.''

George knew more than they did about this new won-
der, and congratulated himself with not having met her
at dinner, for had he done so he was sure that she would
have begun her game over again, and he was more than
ever resolved to repulse the advances of a woman? who
^was evidently unfettered by the slightest f eehngs of mod- '

•?"^i

82 THE felon's bequest.

esty. On the whole he was rather disgusted that both
her name and Juliet's should have come uj) at table. He
wished to blot out the jsast; and it seemed as if all the
men with whom he was dining had conspired to remind
him of it. Each of them, he noticed, was working for his
own interests; the theatrical critic was raving of the beau-
ties of a girl he wished to push on; the political writer
wanted him to start a paper, for the sake of getting the
post of sub-editor; and the advertisement agent sought
to sell a jDlot of land in order to gain his commission.
But not one of them seemed surprised that Cransac was
desirous, in spite of his recent accession to wealth of
entering the i^rofession of literature, for he still persisted
in keeping to the honorable course he had resolved on,
of earning his bread by toil, and not touching the stolen
money, a portion of which was even then in his pocket.
He had now come across a portion of society who accepted
him with all Lis antecedents, and not one of whom doubted
the fact that he had been the victim of a judicial error. This
reflection soothed him, and restored the equilibrivun of his
mind. The end of the dinner was even gayer than the
beginning, and George showed that he was made of differ-
ent stuff from the brokers with whom he had until now
been in the habit of associating. George held Lis own
with the most brilliant amongst the conversationalists, and
one of the company proposed to consecrate his entrance
into the world of letters by j^ouring some champagne on
his head. George, upon whom the wine had taken some
effect, submitted to this burlesque ceremony with patience,
but even amidst all these follies he did not forget Cecile
Cambremer. It seemed to him so sweet to call up the
remembrance of the poor workgirl, who was so entirely
unknown to the merry band assembled round the table
and who seemed to him to know everyone. These
thoughts were passing through his mind when the name
of the Marquis de Simancas struck upon his ear, and the
man himself referred to in not the most respectful terms.
This grand foreign nobleman, according to them, passed
his time in dabbling in specvdations, and in running after
the daughters of the lower ranks of Parisians.

George, who was still incensed against the marquis for
his reception of him, was not at all displeased to hear
that the conduct of his former customer was by no means

THE felon's bequest. 83

irreproachable, but the idea never crossed his mind that
Simancas might one day endeavor to dazzle with his
colossal fortune the fair florist of the Avenue Laumiere.

It is impossible to foresee everything.

A meeting like the present one could not be suddenly
cut short, and about eleven o'clock the advertising agent
proposed to end it by a game of ecarte. George ought
now to have left, but he was fond of cards, and had
drank enough to prevent his being cautious. He there-
fore remained, so as not to give offence to his new friends,
and he did not like to refuse when he was informed that
in his capacity as a capitalist it had been decided that
he should engage all the other players. The money that
he was thus compelled to risk was not his own but he
considered that he might make use of it temporally. The
money which he bad taken from the convict's store had
already been dipped into, and he was not in a position to
refund it in its entirety, so he had effected a compromise
with his conscience, by which he was to pay back the
sum he had borrowed at a later date. He had brought
from London something like seventeen thousand francs,
which he had about him in notes of the Bank of France.
He might just as well, he thought, risk one, in the hopes
of gaining three or four, which would at once enable him
to repay the full sum borrowed from the unknown owner
of the treasure. There is a proverb that says, " Hell is
paved with good intentions," and this saying generally
proves true. The card table had been placed in one
comer of the large room in which they had been dining,
and in sitting down to play George had expected that
the stakes would be moderate. Generally journalists are
not overbiu'dened with cash, and he therefore expected
that the stakes would not exceed a few louis. He there-
fore took from his pocket book a note for a thousand
francs, which ought, in his oj)inion, to be sufficient to cover
the stakes, and in doing so, he unfortunaty peiinitted the
others to see that there were many more left in the book.
This was enough to induce them to make a combined
attack on him. The wary Valbrec put down twenty
francs, the political writer did the same, but the adver-
tising contractor began with five louis, and the two
other men risked two each. George's self-respect induced
him to accept all the bets, and he soon won a game from

84 THE felon's bequest.

Valbrec, who gave up his place to the theatrical critic,
who was not more f ortunute. His run of luck continued,
and he encountered all his opponents with the same good
fortune. After the sixth game he had two thousand
francs before him, jvithout counting his own hank-note
which he had thrown down. He was in imagination, on
bis way to the Rue Gabrielle, and resolved that very
night to put back the money he had taken, and so set his
conscience at rest. He made up his mind that he would
win five thousand francs, which would leave him two
thousand to go on with after he had made the restitution.
Three games more brought his gains up to four thous-
and, and he was strongly tempted to stop there. " Faith,
my dear fellow." said Valbrec, who had lost three hun-
dred francs, " you are too lucky. I shan't try any longer
to get back my money, and shall go "to bed. G-ood night
all. When you leave, tell them to send me the bill, as I
have stood the dinner. George fancied that Valbrec
was giving him a hint and prepared to rise from his
seat, but was stopped by a chorus of maledictions which
rose up against the runaway who was setting so bad aii
example. "All you have to do now is to take away M.
Cransac,' growled the advertisement agent. " Why don't
you advise him to make o£E with his winniugs, whilst
you are about it ? "

" If I were in his place, I should go away," returned
Valbrec, calmly; " but he is at perfect liberty to remain."

And so Cransac stayed, though he was most anxious to
go away. The game went on but not with the same
results. The advertisement agent took the cards, and fickle
fortune, veered round at once, for he began to gain
immediately. The last game had cost George seventy-
five louis. " WiU you go ahiindred louis ? " asked one of
the players. Then, as George hesitated, he went on: "If
you don't accept, I will take your place; that is the rule."
George accepted the bet, and lost. All his winnings had
gone, and he must either retire from the field or dip more
deeply into the contents of his pocket book. He did so,
and the reverse became a total defeat; his banknotes flew
across the table like routed soldiers retreating before the
enemy. His store grew less, and less, and his adversa-
ries continued to inci-ease their stakes, so that after a last
loss of five hundred louis, George found that he had Ipst all

THE felon's bequest. 86

he possessed. He need not have ceased playing, for his
opponents would have permitted him to go on on credit,
but he would not do so, for he already owed the adver-
tisement agent five thousand francs, just the sum he had
hoped to gain. A gleam of good sense flashed across his
brain, and he rose uj) from the table. His creditor in
honeyed accents besought him to take all necessary time
to pay his debt in, but he at the same time took good care
to give him his address, so that the unlucky gamester
could send him the money within the twenty-four hours.
The others had divided the rest of the seventeen thousand
francs amongst them, and George found himself exactly
in the same position that he had been on leaving Mazas.
The money belonging to his prison-mate had not done
him much good. Certainly it had been ordained that all
his good resolutions should vanish in smoke. After this
well-deserved disaster he had nothing to do but to apply
himself once again to the accursed source from which he had
drawn the first portion of his wealth, although he had
vowed not to go back again except to replace what he
had taken away. He could resign himself to endiu-e
misery and privation, but he could not endure the thought
of being the debtor of a man who had some position on
the paper on which he was about to be engaged, and he
dared not extricate himself fi'om his embarrassments
by telling the whole truth to Valbrec.

As he went forth into the street, with the chill feeling
of despair and death clutching at his heart, he murmured:

" I had resolved to become an honest man, but fate pre-
vents me. I will pay another visit to Montmartre.''

86 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER Xn.

AN UNHOLY COMPACT.

Whence come all these wealthy foreigners, furnished
with sonorous titles, who alight every year in Paris, like
the locusts do in the Algerian harvests ? Where have they
obtained their millions and theii' rank ? Have they been
formerly pirates, or only simple slave dealers ? Have they
escaped from some jjenal colony beyond the seas, and
assumed a new identity like the convict Coignard, who
was received at the Court of Louis XYIII, under the name
of Count Pontis de Saint Helene. In Paris no one is
suspicious of anyone who has plenty of money. People
highly placed in society treat them as adventiu-ers, but
accept invitations to their parties. Ti'adesmen endeavor
to gain their custom, and the regular Parisian cad admires
them immensely. It is only the people, the real people,
who estimate them at their true worth, and who shrug
their shoulders when they see them roU past in their gaudy
carriages. The people thoroughly understand their inso-
lent pursuit of their daughters, and look upon the luxury
that they flauntingly disjDlay as an insult to honest poverty.
The worst of all are those who dabble in speculation, and
who often rob the unwary wth the most perfect impunity,
as when the speculation turns out badly all that they have
to do is to put the sea between their dupes and themselves.

M. de Simancas was a magnificent specimen of the TraDS-
^lantic adventui'er. He had one day dropped on Paris
with the suddenness of an aerolite, and had resided there
for the last three years without anyone knowing anything
at all regarding his past. He gave himseK the title of
marquis, and pretended that he had served in some portion
of the world with the rank of general, and some persons
were polite enough to believe his statement. Every now
and then he would give a splendid ball at his house in the
Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, to which many would go
who would not have received their host in their own house,
and he had become one of those Parisian celebrities whose
daily doings are recorded by the Press; but his private
history, which many would have liked to learn, was stiU

THE felon's bequest. 67

wrapped in impenetrable mystery. If the truth must be
told he had really come to Paris to do business — that is,
to get hold of other people's money; and he only loved
two things in this world: money and women — more especi-
ally money. Women held a secondary place, though in
his pursuit of them he allowed no obstacles to stand in his
way. He behaved himself in Paris like a bandit chief in
a town that his band had taken by assaidt, and every
strategem by which he could gratify his whims was legit-
imate. He had commenced by making the acquaintance
of all the ladies of the half world, but growing wearied of
these easy successes, he sought for other fields in which
the victory could be achieved by cunning or violence. To
tempt a married woman to forget her duties to her hus-
band, to profit by pecuniary distresses to buy a child from
an unworthy mother, to draw into a trap a virtuous work-
girl, were some of the pleasures that he most preferred.
He loved evil for its own sake, and he had more than once
lent money to persons in embarassed circumstances, so
that he might have the pleasure of hunting them down
with unflinching pertinacity. It was his natural vileness
of disposition that had prevented his testifying publicly
to George Cransac's innocence; and his reason for giving
his eridence before the examining magistrate was that he
always kept on good terms with the law, for he hated the
young man for having once or twice refused to mix him-
self up in shady transactions, when he had endeavored to
make him his tool, and he wanted some one who was less
scrupulous.

In appearance Don Manuel de Simancas was a hand-
some man, with hair, beard, and moustache as black as
jet, and eyes of flame. He did not seem to be more than
five and forty years of age, but he may have been over
fifty. He was a careful dresser, and his manner was of
that haughty character which impresses the iminitiated,
and some ladies who judge by outward show might have
been captivated by him. The house which he piu'chased
on his arrival in Paris was, like its master, extremely fine,
and the cage was woiihy of the bird ; gilded reception
rooms, cosy private apartments, all furnished with the
greatest luxury ; summer and winter gardens, magnificent
stabKng — nothing was wanting. The life of this mighty
aristocrat was mapped out with all the regulai'ity of an

88 ' THE felon's bequest.

official ceremony. The morning was devoted to business.
M. de Simancas receive i his agents and financiers, and
gave orders for his operations on the Stock Exchange,
when he declined to show himself. At three he went out
driving or riding. The remainder of his time he gave up
to enjoyment, and he varied these pleasvires by luxurious
dinners at a restaurant, choice parties in his house, or
expeditions in search of some "beauty of whose channs he
had been informed by his emissaries.

The day after the night which had turned out so disas-
trovi^ly for George M. Simancas was talking to two or
three outside operators when his valet brought him a
card, upon which was inscribed the name of Juliet Taupier.
She was an old friend_of the Marquis de Simancas, this
ill-conditioned woman who insulted her lovers after
plundering them. He had made her acquaintance upon '
his first arrival in Paris, and had contributed somewhait
to the position that she had attained ; but he soon grew
weary of her, though he saw her occasionally to gain from
her some intelligence regarding the new stars that had-
rizen on the horizeu of the world of Bohemia, and infor-
mation regarding which she was able to fiu-nish. Simancas
was ignorant that George 'Cransac had been one of her
lovers ; indeed, he had no curiosity regarding the life she
led since his leaving her. She had come to see him thus
early in order that she might be certain to find him in,
and to take him by surprise, so that he might not refuse
to receive her. A s he imagined that she might have.
come to announce the discovery of some marvel of youth
and beauty, he told his valet to usher her into his study.
It was a long time since Juliet had been admitted to the
more private ajDartments of the house, and she entered the
reom timidly, with the air of an ex-favorite, who felt that
her charms will not be sufficient to reconquer the heart of
her former lord. The marqms received her without rising
from his arm-chair, in which he was smoking a cigar. It
appeared as if he wished to humiliate her, for he treated
her like a tradesman. And yet Juliet was very-pretty,
with her golden haii', her fair complexion, and great blue
eyes ; but the voluptuary was tired of her, and only
appreciated fresh faces, as she knew;well enough.

*' Well," said he, roughly, " so here you are. X expect
that you have a proposal to make."

THE felon's bequest. 89

,"Two," answfered Juliet, not .in the least disconcerted.

" Two are too much at one time."

" No, they are not, for they are of different kinds. I
have come to recommend a friend of mine tb you, who :.
may be very useful to you, and to speak to you about a
charming woman."

" One of your friends," answered Simancas. " Who
can that be ? " .

" My lover."

"Well, what am I to do with that gentleman ? "

'^"WTiatever you like; he is good at everything."

•"<.What, even to taking a message to a lady. Thank
you, I only employ ambassadresses for that kind of work,
and I find you sufficient."

" Arthur doesn't get his living that way."

" Arthur ! — a pretty name for the business. Well,
how does he get his living ? "

"He understands all kinds of business. I don't know
yours, marquis, but I know that in great financial opera-
tions you have sometimes need of an intelligent young
fellow not overburdened with scruples, for there are cer-
tain things that people do not care to' do themselves, and
Arthur would act for you much better than the brokers'
clerks to whom you entrust your commissions, and"
who often make a mistake by carrying out your orders
hterally."

" You are right; 1 am sick of these outside operators
I employed one lately, who got shut up in Mazas, and
who had the imperiinence to come to me 'and ask for a
"certificate of his innocence."

" That was a fellow named George Cransac, was it
not?"

" Just so ; do you know him ? "

"Very Httle; he is not a very reputable lot. Arthur
would not have got into such an ugly scrape. Try him,
marquis, and I am sure that he will suit you."

** You don't keep this Arthur of yours very well, since
he is obliged to work," remarked M. de Simancas in the
most contemptuous tone."

" I don't keep him; but if he has any money, he would
share it with me, and times are bad just now, for I
haven't a rap."

" What ! you who used to live in such grand style ? "

O

90 THE felon's bequest.

" In your time, yes; but generous noblemen like you
are rare, and since you left me I have gone down hill
fast, and now I think that I am at the bottom of it,
for my furniture has been seized, and I owe money on
all sides."

" Ha, ha ! " laughed Simancas, licking his lips like a
tiger who smells fresh flesh; " so you hare tasted a bit
of poverty's meal."

To see any one suffer, more especially a woman, was a
rich treat for him.

" "Well, my girl," said he, " you haven't come to the
end of your troubles yet. In your line of business, when
you once begin going down you don't stop in a hurry.
We shall soon see you looking for gallants in the Folies
Bergeres."

"Well, if it comes to that, I shan't grumble; but I
had rather go into housekeeping with my Ai'thur, and
that is why I ask you to make some use of his tal-
ents, and time presses, for my house has been seized as
well."

" What I your place in the Rue Jouffroy ? "

" Alas ! yes, and I was so comfortable there, and to
think that I shall be reduced to take rooms like a mere
beginner, and must pay my rent weekly. Ah! if you
would only buy my house, instead of letting it be sold
by auction for half of what it cost me."

" And of what use woiild such a place be to me ? "

" Why you might keep a pretty girl there. Oh I not
me, I know all that is over, but I can tell you of one who
is worth a good house, and something over.

" Oh, so that is what you come for, my poor Juliet; you
have lost your time. I have had enough of setting up hus-
sies in houses."

" But this one is virtue itself."

"Then she is an imposter who wants to make capital
out of her pretended good conduct"

" She is not what you imagine at aU. She is a young
woman of good berth, and well educated, who works for
her living because she has no fortune, and is not at all on
the lookout for a protector. If I spoke about a house, it
is because I am looking forward to the future. Just now
you might offer her your own house, and she wouldn't

THE felon's bequest. 91

look at it, but later on she may not be so particular. It
is the first step that will be the most difficult."

"And has not that been taken already?"

No; and to tell you the truth I don't think she will
take it of her own accord."

" Well, and suppose that to be the case ? "

" A man of your character, marquis, always gains his
object; in the end she will yield half willingly and half
against her will."

"Yes, and blackmail me afterwards. Thanks, but I
don't want to have any trouble with the poKce. The
game is not worth the candle, as the saying is here."

" You would not talk like this if you had seen her."

" Is she so very beautiful then ? "

" More so than any one you have ever met."

" Fair, or dark ? "

"Dark as the night, with the tint and warmth of a
Creole."

" That is the style that I prefer. Is she tall ? "

" Rather, but not excessively so. Suberb shoulders, a
bust of marble, and a waist that you can span."

" Well, and what sort of hands and feet ? "

" The feet of a child, the hands of a duchess."

" And her voice ? "

"As clear as silver: one of those voices which stir up a
man's soul."

•' How old is she ? "

" Twenty-one.

" Of full age, that is a guarantee against any criminal
proceeding. But you will never persuade me that a girl
of that age "

" I will answer for her being strictly virtuous."

" I don't think much of your responsibility, but if her
other qualities are such as you described, and I find that

you have not exaggerated them but a work-girl, why

her fingers must be all pricked with the needle."

" They are not, and for the excellent reason, that she is
not a seamstress. She gives out and superintends the
work, but never soils her hands with it. I tell you that
she is perfection; a veritable pearl."

" And in what gutter of Paris have you found this
same pearl?"

"Not in a theatre, nor in a restaurant, nor by the lakes

92 THE felon's bequest.

in the Bois de Boulogne. She lives as retired a life as a
sister of charity."

" " Where does^she live ? " I must know that; for, as you
can imagine, I don't put unlimited confidence in you. I
must see her before going further in the matter."

"That-is only fair; she li\es at Belleville."

" At Belleville ! " exclaimed M. de Simancas; " and do
you think I am going to BelleA'ille to look at her ? "

" Certainly not. I know that the Mar quis de Simancas
could not put himself out to look for an artificial florist;
besides, it would most likely spoil the whole affair."

" Then we must remain where we are, for I can't buy a
pig in a poke."

" You are quite right; but she shall come to you."

" What ! will this excessiv^ virtuous girl spare me the
trouble of such a journey ? That is what I call a most
convenient style of virtue. My good girl, I believe that
your pretended find is all humbug, and if you have noth-
ing more to say td me "

" Permit me to explain matters, I beg of you. She will
come, but she will not know whose house it is that she
has visited."

" I don't understand you." '

"And yet it is very simple. She has an artificial flower
business, and receives orders every day. Suppose a for-
eign lady wrote to her to order some, which are to be
sent to America, don't you think that she would hurry off
to the address, which might turn out to be yours ?"

" Do you think that I would compromise myself by
writing to the girl ?"

"I will write the letter, and sign my name to it; an
English one would be the best. Choose your day and
time, and I will answer for it that she will be punctual"

" Very good. We will say that she comes, and then
»

" Then; why then, marquis, the rest concerns you and
no one else. Tell your valet to show her into the little
house at the end of the garden, and once there she won't
come out again without your leave. If you don't fancy
her you can tell her that she has made a mistake, or that
some one has hoaxed her; that there is no English lady
residing here, and that you have no need of artificial

THE felon's bequest. 93

flowers; but I am not afraid of that, few when once you
have seen her you will be in no hurry to let her go."

" Do you think that she will consent ?" asked the mar-
quis, after a short silence.

" Of course not; but there, that is your affair, and she
will doubtless console herself as others have done. A few
banknotes heal all such troubles; there are certain things
which a woman does not like to make public, and she is
not one of the other sort, I assure you."

The marquis paused, and reflected before he made apy
reply. Steeped in vice as he was, he was extremely care-
ful, and he hesitated to plunge into a dangerous adven-
ture. But the portrait which Juliet had dra"s\-n was still
in his mind, and the thought that he might succeed in
spite of every obstacle roused his passions, and then the
wickedness of the whole thing was hke piquant sauce to
his jaded passions. " Very well," said he. " Write as
Mi's. Acton, that is my housekeeper's name. I will give
my servants their orders, and all will be ready."

" That is right !" exclaimed the ^ile wonSan. " Had
3'ou hesitated to profit by so favorable a chance, I should
have thought Don Manuel de Simancas had greatly
changed for the worse ; but now my mind is at rest, and
after to-morrow you will thank me warmly."

" Say rather what you mean, and that is that I should
make you a handsome present."

" Oh! I rely entirely on your generosity, marquis. All
I ask of you is to do something for my ^'thvu'."

-"^Let jour Arthur go to the deuce. I don't know him,
and I don't want to,"

"Only consent to see him; that will not ia any way bind
you, and he can best explain to yon himself in what way
he can be useful to you."

" You are very pertinacious. Let him come to me to-
morrow at eleven o'clock; only I tell you plainly that if
he doesn't suit me, out he goes."

" I agree to that."

" At any rate, you can take this with you," added the '
marquis, opening a drawer, and taking out a bank-note
for a thousand francs, and throwing it to Juliet, who
pounced on it at once, and putting it in her bosom was
bursting into a flood of thanks.dvhich the marquis cut
short, and dismissed her without any ceremony.

94 THE felon's bequest.

If M. de Simancas had been able to follow her with his
eyes he would have seen an amusing sight.

Arthur was waiting for his fair friend on a bench in the
Avenue de Bois de Boulogne, but as soon as he saw her
coming he rose from his seat, and sauntered in the opposite
direction, knowing that she would speedily follow him, and
he had no desire to meet her almost under the windows
of the marquis. Juliet came up with her well-matched
lover, some fifty yards from the Rue Pergolese.

" Well?" asked Ai-thur.

" I had some trouble in making him listen to me, but I
managed it at last. He will see the girl at five o'clock
to-morrow, so I have no time to lose in writing to the
little prude."

" Did you say anything about me ?"

"Yes, and that was a far harder matter; but he
promised to see you to-morrow morning."

" Good; all I want is to see him."

" I am glad that you are satisfied, but what is the busi-
ness that you are going to jjropose to him ?"

" My dear, that is my lookout. I have one that he
will snap at, I am certain."

" You might tell me all about it."

"No good. Women don't understand these matters.
Your line is to decoy the girl into the trap, and when she
is there, we will see what more we can make out of the
foreign swell."

" We wiU get all we can, by threatening to report the
matter to the police."

" It was my idea to bait the hook with the girl, and it
was a golden one. No more Queer Street then, and I
shall be able to do business on a grand scale, and leave
off little swindles."

" If you make a fortune, you will owe it to me, and I
shall expect my share."

" Of course, of course," answered Arthur; but there was
none of that heartiness in his tone that bears conviction
with it.

" And also that you won't leave me for another girl.'-'

" Come, come, no jealousy. It appears to me that I have
given you proofs. You were always telhng me that I had
a hankering after Cecile, and it was to shut your mouth

THE felon's bequest. 95

that I showed you the way to throw her into the clutches
of Simancas."

"A question of money, not of sentiment," replied Juliet,
who had fathomed the baseness of her lover s disposition.

"Did I make a fuss about you and your George,"
retorted Arthur.

" You know I only cared about his money, and now he
hasn't got one coin to rub against another."

" But he has friends in the hterary world, and may
pick himself up again."

"Never, he is too great a fool; besides, after the way
in which I treated him at Montmartre, he won't be too
anxious to come across me again."

Arthur did not care to be reminded of the slap in the
face he had received at that meeting, and therefore cut
short his mistress' discourse.

"Will you get anything out of the marquis for your
information ?"

" Not a rap, my dear. The marquis is as artful as Old
Nick. He pays well when he is well served, but he doesn't
come down iu advance."

Arthur said no more, but Juliet could see plainly that
he did not believe her, and she determined, upon her
arrival at home, to hide her banknote carefully, so that
it might not be found by the fellow whom she termed her
real lover, probably because neither of them had an idea
what real love meant.

Their interesting conversation had carried them as far
as the Place de I'Etoile, and, as the funds were low, they
were about to take the omnibus, at the entrance of the
Avenue Wagram, which passes down the Avenue Villiers,
close by the Kue Jouffroy, when they saw a woman in an
open carriage disputing with her coachman in the middle
of the street. " Look there ! " cried Juliet ; " talk of the
devU, etc. "Why, there is the wild beast girl, that threw
her whip at Cransac."

"Well, what of that? I don't suppose you want to speak
to her," said Arthur, endeavoring to draw his fair com-
panion in an opposite direction.

But Cornelian had good eyes, and recognizing them
both in a moment, jumped out of her cab, and came straight
up to the affectionate couple, who were endeavoring to
avoid her.

96 THE eelon's bequest.

o * CHAPTER yjTL

• A SLIGHTED WOMAN.

Arthur and Juliet could hardly believe their eyes, for
in everyday^ costume the Lion Queen was hardly recogniz-
able. Juliet had only seen her once in her fleshings, and
though Arthur, had been (to. more intimate terms with ' '
her, he was not aware that she possessed such handsome
clothes. Ever since the Fair of Saint Cloud, where he
had lirst met her, Cornelian had taken far more pains with
her toilet. The plaid shawl, .which she had formerly con- ,
sidered good enough when she played in the suburbs,
had been replaced by an elegant mantle from^the Magasin
de Louvre, and her cotton dress, by a superb silk costume.

Certainly Arthur had nothing to do with this change,
for he never spent anything on his lady loves, and thai >
Juliet knew wellj, but Cornelian, who had for the past year
been sharing the profits of the menagerie, coidd afford to
dispense with • funds from her lovers. What could she
want with the Avell-matched pair ? Arthui- suspected that
she was going to pour out the vials of her jealousy on his
head, and Juliet feared that this tanaer of savage beasts <:>
was about to scratch out her ejes. And yet the ladies
had parted on the best of tenns; after the performance,
when Arthur had received his box on the ear, Cornelian
had asked Juliet for Ceorge's address, which had been
given, but the matter had ended there, and to-day the wind
might be in *pothef quarter. She felt, however, more
comfortable when Cornehan came up' to her with a smile
on her face. -

Good day, my dears," began the tamer of animals, who
was perfectly free from* all prejudice. "It seems that
you are still together, and I am delighted, for I wanted
to see you both, and since I have met you I can kill two
birds with one stoae. But we cannot talk _ here because
of all the carriages. Shall we walk np to the Arch of
Triumph ? " Arthur and Juliet followed her, wondering
much what she c3uld have to say to them, and the con-
versation commenced under that magnificent monument
raised in commemoration of the glory of the French

THE felon's bequest. 97

Army. " My boy," began Cornelian, "you know that we have
always been good Mends. I had a weakness for you
once, but that is over and past, and I congratulate you
on your friend here, who is really charming."

Juliet, who was much flattered, smiled amiably.

" And she was quite right to take up with you, for
you were always a pretty fellow."

It was now Arthur's turn to bow his thanks ; but both
he and Juliet asked themselves: "What can she be driving
at?

"And so," continued the Lion Queen, " I thought that
you would not refuse to aid me in revenging myself on
an insolent hound, who has behaved ill to me, and whom
you both know; I mean George Cransac."

' • George Cransac ! " cried Arthur and Juliet in
chorus.

" The same. You, my dear girl, he has thrown up in
a most shabby manner, and you, Arthm-, he has slapped
in public. He fetched me awfully. I don't attempt to
hide it from you since you were at the menagerie that
evening. I made an appointment for him yesterday
night, after the performance, and my gentleman never
turned up. Such a thing has never happened to me
before, and shall never again; but for all that I will
make him remember his ti*eatment of me."

" Pooh," returned Arthur. " He is in an awful hole,
and you had better leave him there. What can you do
with a man who has just come out of Mazas, and who
may go back there any morning ? I could not, of course,
condescend to go out with him."

" And for my part," added Juliet, " I care no more for
him than I do for the first pair of boots I ever had. You
saw how I treated him, and if I may give you a bit of
advice it is, do the same. Out at elbows fellows like that
don't deserve that a woman should occupy herself about
them."

" Out at elbows he is not, for he has come into a
fortune."

"Since when?**

" Since last week. A journalist who knows both of us,
told me so; but it is all the same to me whether he had
money or not. It is the man I want, and I know why he
won't have anything to do with me; it is because he has

98 THE felon's bequest.

got a mistress, a minx, who is not to be compared to me,
and it is through her that I will be revenged on him."

" What a fresh mistress ! " murmured Juliet, who
immediately began to regret having broken with George
now that she heard he was rich once more.

" Goliath was on the scout and saw her yesterday with
him. GoHath is the chap that cleans out my lions' cages,
a brute who is in love with me, but he ran them both to
earth; and now that I know where the jade Hves, I am
only longing to think how I can pay her off. I always
come back to the same idea, of laying my whip about her
ears at the first opportunity, and you can make that
opportunity for me."

" The idea is an excellent one," sneered Arthur, " only
I don't see how I and Juliet can help you."

" In this way, I want to get her into some quiet spot,
where I can thrash her at my leisure, and Goliath can't
do the job for me, because she noticed that he was fol-
lowing her, and may distrust him. But you can do it;
she doesn't know you; and if you ask her under some
pretext or other to meet you some evening in a lonely
part of the town "

" That won't act," said Arthur.

" No, not if I try it on, for she may think that you are
after her, but if Madame Juliet would consent."

" A nasty job," muttered Juliet, who felt no inclination
to compromise herself for nothing.

" And, besides, what good will it do ? You will have
the satisfaction of horsewhipping her, but it may cost
you dear; if you were caught in the act you might get
more than you bargained for, and Cransac would only be
the fonder of her because of the ill-treatment she had re-
ceived at your hands."

" Would he ?" said Cornelian, with an evil smile. "I
do my work thoroughly, so much so that she wouldn't
care so show herself afterwards. I'd mark her face,
break one or two of her teeth, and certainly knock out
one eye."

"You always go in for gentle measures, the same as
you deal out to your lions. But I know a better means
of making George disgusted with - — "

•' Wliat is that ? "

** Get her another lover."

THE felon's bequest. 99

" It is no go witii that cue. Goliath has made enqui-
ries in the crib where she lives. She is a real prude, and
Cransac is the only man she has been seen with."

" Where does she live ? " asked Juliet, who had half an
idea that she was about to make an unexpected find.
The snare which she and her base lover were about to
set for Gecile Cambremer might serve to entrap another
youn,^ girl, as long as she was as pretty as the florist,
and she saw her way to opening a fresh negotiation with
Simaucas, who was fond of change. In setting the first
she ouly hoped to gain a heavy commission on the
shame fid transactions, by the ruin of a young girl, to
which project Arthur was prepared to lend himself,
■with the most cold-blooded infamy; but she never for a
moment thought that in throwing Cecile into the arms of
Situaucas she was dealing a fatal blow to George's new
born love.

" Why should I tell you, if you are not going to help
me?" asked Cornelian.

" Tell me, at anj- rate, and we will see what we can do
afterwards," said Juliet.

" Well, then, she lives at Belleville."

"At Belleville ! " repeated Juliet, in astonishment.

"Yes; Avenue de Laumiere, close to the Parkof Buttes
Chaumont, a famous spot in which to give the jade a
sound hiding."

" What does she do for a living ? " asked Arthur,
quickly.

" She pretends to be an artificial flower maker to con-
ceal her real game; but I'll lay one of my best lions
against a street cat that she has her little sprees on
the sly. Cambremer is her name, Cecile Cambremer; but
what is the matter with you two that you are staring so
at each other ? "

The two accomplices had settled the matter with a
glance.

" You wish to revenge yourself on the girl ? " said
Juliet.

" Yes, and sharp too."

" Well, you can do so. Your revenge is already, and I
have prepared it for you."

"Then you know this Cecile ?" asked Corneliau lU
astonishment.

100 THE felon's bequest.

" Yes; and now listen: I am going to play the hussy a
trick that will disgust Cransac with her forever and a
day."

" But that won't prevent my giving her a thrashing,
will it?"

" Certainly, it would spoil all."

" What do you mean ? "

" If you spoil her looks, our gentleman would not care
about her."

'* Who is your gentleman ? "

" A rich Spaniard, who has bought her of me."

" I don't understand you."

" Just let me do it my own way. She will be lured to
his house to-morrow; and once there, she will remain until
he is tired of her. Cransac may look for her, and if he
does find her, it will be there; and you may be sure that
he won't take up with her again. The idiot is going in
for virtue now, and after she has passed a week in th*
Spaniard's cage, he will have nothing more to do with
her."

This time Cornelian could not misunderstand their
intentions, and the expression of her face changed. She
was made of different stuff to Juliet, and, though both
passionate and vindictive, and one who would use the
most violent measures against a rival, she would never
have descended so low as to lure a girl into a trap to
revenge herself on a faithless lover. " And is it you ? "
asked she, " who have hit on this famous plan ? "

" Yes, I flatter myself that it is entirely my own," rephed
Juliet, without flinching.

" Then you too must be jealous of George Cransac."

"Not a bit of it; and the proof of it is that I did not
know that he had anything to do -svith the girl."

" Why do you wish to ruin her then ?"

" Because I shall find it to my advantage. The Spaniard
is very open handed."

At this ^ilely cynical reply Cornelian could no longer
restrain herself, and her anger and disgust blazed out.
" And you too," asked she, turning to Arthur*, " are you
to have a share in this business ? "

" What is that to you ? " asked Juliet's lover insolently.

" It is this much, that I am disgusted with the pair of

THE felon's bequest. 101

you and want to have nothing more to do with your black- .
guardisms."

"Thank you !" exclaimed Juliet; "and so this is your grat-
itude for having given you Cransac's address the night he
fetched you so ? "

" I could have done without you then, and I will take
good care to do so for the future. I'll have my revenge,
but I will have it my own way. I'll go and find this woman
who has taken George from me, and we will have a little
explanation together. I may break a bone or two belong-
ing to her, but, before doing so, I will let her know your
infernal plans. Get out of my path, you reptiles."

Cornelian spat on the ground as a sign of her disgust,
and stepping briskly into her cab, was driven away in the
direction of the Bois de Boulogne.

Those arches upon which are carved the names of the
battles won by our brave soldiers in the time of the First
Republic had doubtless never echoed to such a conversa-
tion, but the Lion Queen had come out of it with all honor.
Arthur and Juhet remained where they were, crushed
down under the contempt and the threats of Cornelian,
who was willing enough to kill her rival, but whose whole
Boul revolted against the idea of selling her.

" You have made a nice mess of it," said Arthur, roughly.
"What need had you to talk about the Spaniard? "

" Who would have supposed that this tamer of beasts
would have had any scruples ? "

" Well, you ought to have been more careful. Now, for
all we know, she may be against us, and the whole thing
is upset."

" She may not do so."

" Why, has she not threatened to warn Cecile ? and
she is just the girl to do it."

"I don't know; she may think twice before she does
so. But I wonder where Cransac could have met this
girl; not when he was with me, for he only left me to
go to the Stock Exchange, or to visit his clients."

" Perhaps so, but since he came out of Mazas he has
had plenty of time to make fresh acquaintances, especi-
ally if he has come into moKey, as this girl says he has."

" Folly ! From whom could he have inherited ? He
was an illegitimate child; he must have stolen it."

" And it would not be the first time that he did so, for,

102 THE felon's bequest.

as you know, they quodded liim once. If he took up
with Cornelian it would be a proper household, for she
is a thief's child."

" How do you know that ? "

" She told me so herself once; indeed, she makes no
secret of it. Her father has already done a stretch of
ten years, and he won't be contented with that. But
that is a matter of no importance. The Simancas affair
is off."

" Why so ? CorneHan won't be sufficiently f oohsh to
go and warn Cecile ; she is more likely to give her a good
licking first, and you don't give good advice to a woman
after thrashing her; besides, even if she does mention
us, why should not the plan succeed all the same ? What
have I said, after all, to Cornelian ? That I was going to
send the girl to a rich Spaniard, but I did not give his
name; then the letter to her will be signed by an Eng-
lishwoman, Georgina Acton. That is all aiTanged, and
the marquis has given the necessary orders to his ser-
vants. Cecile wiU never guess that it is a man that is
waiting for her, and she will walk straight into the wolfs
mouth."

" Yes, after all the thing may go," murmured Arthur.

" It is a dead certainty, my dear, but we must act at
once; in order to succeed there should be no delay."

" And, as you wish to save your house, you must be
quick; but the execution has been terribly talked of, and
I doubt whether your hidalgo will help you out of the
mess. How much do you owe, without any nonsense ? "

"About thirty thousand francs; but I don't expect to
get that out of him. He might buy the house and fur-
niture to give this girl. I made the proposition to him,
but he did not bite at once."

" When I shall have once got a footing in his house,
things will change."

" He will see you to-morrow morning at eleven."

" I will go; but now let us get home, to write the note
for Mile. Cambremer. You shall write from my dicta-
tion, and I will correct the faults of spelling. Without
my help you wordd do all sorts of foolish things; but I
know the English style of letter-writing, and I'll wager
what you like that the little girl will be taken in."

Three-quarters of an hour afterwards these reptiles, as

THE felon's bequest. 103

Cornelian so truly called them, bad completed their
work; and nothing but a miracle could save the unfortu-
nate Cecile.

CHAPTER XIV.

A FORCED SALK.

At the very hour when Arthur and his vile companion
■were plotting against Cecile, George Cransac was making
hia way towards Montmartre.

He had passed a terrible night, and was now making
his way thither in spite of his better self. He had returned
to his rooms at the Grand Hotel as the day was breaking,
with misery and despair tugging at his heart-strings,
and, after vain efforts to sleep, had at last fallen into a
troubled slumber, the slumber of a ruined gamester,
whose rest is troubled by dreams of his disaster. This
was not the first time in his life that he had lost all his
ready money at play; but he had up to this time easily
consoled himself. He then had an established business,
and the brokerages which he received were always suffi-
cient to cover his losses; and all he had to do was to live
more cheaply for the coming month. Accustomed to live
from day to day, he occupied himself very little with the
future. But now his position was no longer the same,
for the embarrassment into which his own folly had
placed him, had made a complete alteration in his designs.
He was compelled to make use of the money which he
had sworn never to touch, in order to extricate himself
from his difficulties, and to keep up the farce of being a
wealthy man in spite of his wishes to the contrary.

What would Valbrtc say if his friend George went and
told him that his anonymous benefactor had changed his
mind, and that the sum to his credit in the London bank
was no longer available ? He would have certainly
believed, and with justice, that the pretended legacy had
never existed, and would have broken off all relations
with a man whom he had so warmly defended on his dis-
charge from Mazas, but who had now been detected in an
infamous falsehood; and George, deprived of the only
backer he had, would have had nothing more to look

104. THE felon's bequest.

forward to. He bad counted on journalism as a means of
existence, but wbat paper would accept bis services, if
bis only friend refused to 8j)eak for bim? He migbt
tbink bimself lucky if tbe story of bis losses at cards,
wbicb migbt be mentioned in several quarters, did not
arouse tbe suspicions of tbe police, wbo migbt still be
keeping an eye on bim.

Tbe lot bad been cast, and George must fulfill bis
destiny to tbe bitter end. He bad also lied to Cecile Cam-
bremer, in telling ber tbat be was not ricb; but sbe would,
doubtless, pardon bim for baving deceived ber, wben be
bad proved to ber tbat be loved ber as sbe wisbed to be
loved. Sbe bad consented to tbe trial, wbicb be bad
bimself proposed, and it was to commence tbat day.
Tbere was no longer any time to besitate, for be had
promised to settle bis debt witbin twenty -four bours, and
be bad resolved not to wait until nigbt to draw again on
tbe con-sict's board. Tbe bouse in tbe Rue Gabrielle
was a lonely spot even in tbe daytime, and be boped to
run less risk in opening tbe biding-place in tbe daytime,
tban by tbe ligbt of a lantern, wbicb migbt betray bis
presence. He bad been in tbe deserted bouse before at
two in tbe morning, and bad found no one tbere, and
be boped tbat be would bave tbe same good fortune
tbis time; and tbat after having filled bis pockets
he migbt change tbe gold into notes, and pay the
five thousand francs which were still due to the
advertisement agent. Tbe coldness of tbe atmosphere
had increased since tbe previous nigbt, and tbe streets in
tbe neighborhood of tbe Rue Gabrielle were less fre-
quented tban ever, but wben he arrived before the gate
of tbe uncultivated garden, be was disagreeably surprised
at seeing on the slope two gentlemen in earnest conver-
sation, whilst they were at tbe same time watching a man
wbo was measuring the ground with a survej'or's chain.
Their backs were turned to Cransac, wbo was therefore able
to remain, unseen, glued to the spot with surprise and hor-
ror at the sight of what was going on. There was no
mistaking what they were about. Wben a property is
being measured, something is going to be done with it;
no doubt tbe little estate would be sold, and then tbe
house would certainly be pulled down, for it was in too
dilapidated a state to be worth repairing, and then, as

THE felon's bequest. 105

soon as the sale had been concluded, the purchaser would
certainly surround it by a strong hoarding, which would
shut out all trespassers, himself included. Then farewell
to the treasure ! The masons who pulled down the walls
would assuredly come across it, and meantime it
would be impossible for George to get at it, unless indeed
he lost not a moment in commencing operations. He could
not get into the house at once, as it was now occupied,
but he hoped that work would not begin on that very day,
nor even on the next one, and that he would have three
or four nights in which to remove his gold before the
pickaxes of the workmen demoHshed the famous mantel-
piece. He had a good mind to make some enquiries now
as to the ultimate destination of the old building from the
present visitors, one of whom might be the proprietor;
but it would be necessary to find some pretext for accost-
ing them, and the most simple was to present himself as a
purchaser in search of a suitable plot of ground. Only
he did not think it advisable to speak to them across the
wall, and judged that it would be better to wait until
they came out after finishing what they were about.
They seemed in no hurry, neither did the man with the
chain, and they continued talking in a sufficiently loud
tone for Cransac to hear what they said:

"My dear fellow," said one, "I much fear that you
will do no good; we may repair and patch up as much as
we can, but the place will be deuced hard to sell."

" I know that," replied the other; " it would not suit a
business man, nor a tradesman, but it would be just the
thing for some rich, eccentric fellow with lots of money,
who wished to have the finest view of Paris from his
window; and, I think, I have found my man I "

" Has he seen the place ? "

" Not yet; I want to make it look a little tidy before I
show it to him."

" And will this mug that you have raked up build, do
you think ? "

"Of course he will; and you, friend Thomas, shall be
his architect, and buUd him a charming little villa in the
style of Louis XIII., which shall cost you one hundred
and fifty thousand francs, and you shall give him an esti-
mate for two hundred thousand, and pocket the difference."

106 THE felon's bequest.

" That will suit me down to the ground; and what will
you make out of it, old man ? "

" Oh ! I shall finger a good commission on the sale of
the property. The cloth manufacturer who owns it got
it from a bankrupt debtor, and has never had a sou from
it since it came into his hands, and he would willingly
sell it for ten thousand; so that, if I can get forty or fifty
for it, he will share the surplus with me."

" Good business that ! " exclaimed the architect. ' ' I
am not surprised at your being in a hurry to conclude
the sale."

" I have fvdl power to put the grounds in order; and
after the sale, I shall get all my out-of-pocket expenses.
The first thing to be done is to jduU down the house,
which is fast falling to ruin, and that won't cost much.
It looks as if you could send it to the ground with a
breath."

Cransac was horrified. This speculator was, without
any further delay, going to puU down this mass of red
brickwork, which rose up from the garden, and he had
only one night in which to empty the hiding-place. He
was about to leave the spot for a time, when he heard a
name that was familiar to him:

" You may rely on me, my dear Lourdier," said the
man who had been addressed as the architect.

Lourdier was the advertising contractor who had been
one of the guests at Brebant's, and to whom George
Cransac owed five thousand francs. Chance had brought
him face to face mth his creditor at the very moment
when he was in search of the money to pay him with.
And -this very money was concealed in the house, and
inaccessible to him for the moment. From this point of
view, the meeting was a disagreeable one, but in com-
pensation, George had learned the destined fate of the
ruined house, which might be of service to him.

At this moment the two men turned, and Lourdier at
once recognized George. " "Well, this is a strange chance,
our meeting here !" said the advertisement agent, as much
surprised as George was.

" I came here for a walk," stammered George. " After
sitting up all night, I wanted a walk and some fresh air."

" The most natural thing in the world, and you have
just come across me at the right moment/'

THE felon's bequest. 107

" Not quite ; for after my walk I intended to go to my
banker, draw the money I owe you, and call at your
house."

" Don't speak of that, my dear fellow; we shall always
be coming across each other, and you can pay me when
you like. But this is an excellent opportunity for finish-
ing the business that I spoke of to you yesterda;^ at din-
ner."

" What business ?" asked George, who naturally did
not wish Lourdier to know that he had overheard the con-
versation between him and the architect, as in it they had
spoken of him as a dupe, and exposed their hands.

" What," returned Lourdier, " have you already forgot-
ten the bit of land of which I spoke to you ? Well, this
is it !"

" What ? — this place, all covered with brambles ? "

"It will be aU cleared away in two days, and the build-
ing you see there wiU have disappeared next week. But
come in; we can talk better then."

Cransac pushed open the gate, and then, pointing
towards Paris, he remarked: "The first look leaves much
to be desired, but the view is grand. On a clear day one
ought to be able to see the heights of Chatillon."

" And the Hills of Meudon, too — a perfect panorama,
my dear fellow; and for all that you have to pay a mere
nothing ! "

" Yes, the land can't be worth more than twenty or five
and twenty thousand francs," said George, who, now that
he knew what arrangements Lourdier contemplated mak-
ing, was able to act adroitly. " But then I should have
to build.

" For a hundred thousand francs my friend Thomas, to
whom I beg to introduce you, will build you a little house
in which you can live like a prince, and that will be much
better than succeeding Juliet Taupier in her little box of
a house in the Rue Jouffroy."

•' M. Thomas is an architect, I presume," said George,
who wished to continue to play the part of having heard
nothing of the preceding conversation.

" Yes, he is a member of the Academy of Fine Arts. If
the land suits you, I advise you to lose no time in secur-
ing it, for a purchaser may make his appearance any day.

108 THE felon's bequest.

They are asking forty-five thousand for it, but I think
that I could get it for less for you."

George paused before rej^lying, for an idea had flashed
across his brain. The simplest means of securing the
propez'ty would be to become the purchaser. When this
was once completed, no mason could strike a blow witli
his pickaxe without his permission, and if he made up
his mind to demolish the existing building in order to
erect another, it would not be until he had transferred
his gold to some safer hiding-place. There would be no
difficulty about the jsayment, for in the transfer of real
estate it was not a matter of cash down, and all that he
had need of was twenty -four hours in which to make a
nocturnal visit to the treasure, and to take away sufficient
to pay a sum on account, or, if necessary, the full amount.
Later on, when he had settled matters, and was master
of the place, he could act without hindrance, and could
wall up the grounds against nocturnal intruders. Just
now what he had to find out was with whom to treat, and
what the conditions would be, for Lourdier was evidently
only an intermediary, and the conversation that he Lad
heard between the two men had not given him any real
idea of the right value of the property.

" Forty -five thousand francs," said he, after a pause,
" is much too dear."

" Let us say forty thousand," said Lourdier eagerly .

" We are a long way yet from the pi'ice that I should
pay. I might, perhaps, go as far as thii-ty thousand,
but—"

"But what?"

" I have not this sum at my immediate disposal."

" Is that all that makes you hesitate ? As long as the
vendor gets a third upon the day on which you sign the
deed, he will give you every facility for the payment of
the balance. You shall fix the terms of payment j-our-
self. He is a rich man, and consequently in no hurry to
realize, and is only anxious to get rid of a property
that has brought him nothing since it came into his
hands."

" Then why the deuce did he buy it?"

" He did not buy it. It came to him as the result of a
liquidation, by which he lost a great deal of money.

THE felon's bequest. 109

There was a Parisian banker in it, who was a sleeping
partner with him, and who failed one day."

" And what did the banker do with it ? "

" On my word, I don't know. Perhaps it served him
for a park and country house. He most likely spent his
Sundays there. At any rate he was not a Rothschild, and
he blew out his brains when he found that he was
ruined."

" What was his name ? "

" I never heard, or if I did I have forgotten it. It is
such an old story. The actual owner may be able to tell
you something about him if you are anxious to hear
about him, but I suppose that you are not much interested
in the matter ? "

"Ob, no; not a bit," answered George, who had been
thinking of the father of Cecile Cambremer, who had
killed himself when he discovered that he was ruined.
The thought that she might have come to the house in which
she formerly Hved to commit suicide had lingered for an
instant in Greorge's imagination, but he had dismissed it
at once as preposterous and absurd.

'• Well, have you made up your mind ? " asked Lourdier.
" I press you, because I think that the purchase would be
an advantageous one for you, and also because I am
anxious to know what I have to ^do. I must have the
workpeople here to-morrow to pull that old ruin down,
and. to cut paths through all this jungle, and if you don't
intend to buy I shall set them to work to-night. If,
on the other hand, you elect to buy, I shall not send
either masons or other workpeople, unless indeed you
wish it.

" No," returned Cransac, quickly. " If I purchase I
shaU not begin to build until next summer, so there will
be time enough to clear away everything at the end of
the winter."

" As you like, my dear fellow. But just answer me
one question: Are you going to buy ? Yes or no ? You
just now spoke about thirty thousand. Put another five
to it, and the place is yours."

" No, thirty thousand; ten paid down, and the balance
in two instalments at six and twelve months."

" Ah, I see you understand business. I expect that
you have done plenty in your time."

110 THE felon's bequest.

" Only for others; never for myself."

"Yes, I heard you were with a stockbroker; but now
you belong to the paper for which I work, though in a
different line of business, but when we are in the same
boat we must all pull together. And so, my dear fellow,
I accept your offer. I will let you have the property for
thirty thousand francs, though I could, I am sure, have
sold it for forty thousand to another party. I have had
an offer of thirty-five thousand, which I refused. And
now is it settled ? If so, give me your hand."

"It is settled," answered George, after a moment's
hesitation.

" You know that according to the Code a promise to
purchase holds good. I have full j)Owers from the owner.
Will you get over the thing at once, and come with me
to the vendor's notary ? We will instruct him to prepare
the deed of sale, and you will sign it — when shall we
say?"

" The day after to-morrow," replied George, who wished
to have two clear nights in which to place himself in
funds, for, though the bank from which he intended to
draw them was close at hand, in contradistinction to the
usual run of banks it did not open until after sunset.

"Very well, then, the day after to-morrow; and you
will have to pay the costs in addition, and expenses of
registration."

" Which will amount to how much, do you think ? "

" M. Guerin, the notary, will tell you the exact amount
He lives close here, in the Place Dancourt, by the Mont-
martre Theatre. Shall we go there now ? "

" Is it absolutely necessary that I should go with you
now?"

" It would be better; but I rely upon your w^ord, given
in the presence of my friend Thomas, and can therefore
dispense with your attendance to-day. The day after to-
morrow I shall expect you at M. Guerini3 office between-
two and three o'clock in the afternoon. I don't remem-
ber the number, but you will see his name on a plate on
the door. Bring fifteen thousand francs with you, and
that wiU leave an ample margin for the costs."

" All right; and now if you will excuse me, I will leave
you. I am expected at the other end of Paris, and I see
that you have not yet completed your measui'ements."

THE felon's bequest. Ill

"I shall not be long over them; I only want to know
the extent of frontage on the Rue Gabrielle, and my man
won't be more than ten minutes over that."

" Shall I see you presently at the office of the paper ? "

" Most probably."

" Until then, my dear sir, good-bye."

Cransac shook hands with Lourdier, although he was
a person that he had not much liking for; then bowing
coldly to the architect, who was not best pleased at find-
ing all business transactions put off until the spring,
took his leave, for he felt the necessity of being alone,
to reflect at his leisure on the new course that affairs had
taken.

In agreeing to purchase he had, as the saying is, burnt
his boats, and it was impossible for him now to draw back
from the evil course into which his losses at play had
impelled him. He wanted twenty thousand francs within
the next twenty-four hours, merely to settle his card
debts, and to pay the deposit on the purchase, and so he
would have to take away thirty thousand francs at his
next nightly visit, so as not to leave himself penniless after
paying his debts. He had resolved not to content him-
self with this only. He wanted to empty the hiding-place
of its last coin, so as to see how much he had really
inherited from his neighbor of the exercise-yard of Mazas.
When he knew this he could arrange his mode of life
according to his fortune, and without the slightest feel-
ings of compunction he hoped that it might be very
large. It is only the first step that is difficidt, and this
step had been taken ten days back. Cransac rather
liked the idea of building on the site of the ruined house
a comfortable villa, in which he hoped to persuade Cecile
to live with him, for he had already begun to feel the
extreme inconvenience of having two places of abode:
one in the Rue Frochot, and the other the Grand Hotel.

Neither of these were suitable for what he wanted just
now, a place of safe deposit for a very large sum of money,
and until he should have found a more convenient lodg-
ing he saw that he should be compelled to carry large
sums of money about his person. He knew that it was
far from safe or prudent to go about the streets with his
pocket filled with gold or notes, and this to a certain
extent spoiled the pleasure he had felt in knowing that

112 THE felon's bequest.

the house in which his treasure was buried was not to be
demolished.

George had not spoken falsely when he said that he was
expected at the other end of Paris, for he had promised
to go and see Cecile Cambremer at Belleville in the after-
noon, and the day was getting on. He therefore made
all haste to the Boulevard de Clichy, where he could get
a cab to take him to the Avenue Laumiere; but when he
found himself but a few paces from the Rue Frochot, he
could not resist the temptation of calling at the porter's
lodge, to see if there was a letter for him, and so he made
his way thither, looking wearily round the corners, for fear
of encountering the terrible Cornelian, or her hideous
assistant, Goliath.

It was fortunate for him that he had thought of going
home first, for the porter handed him a letter which the
postman had just left, and on the envelope of which he
recognized Cecile's handwriting, although he had only
seen it once before. Lovers have always good memories.
On his return from London, George had not thought it
necessary to tell her that he was stopping at the Grand
Hotel, and therefore she coiild only write to him at the
address she knew, and this was one of the reasons that had
decided him to call at his own rooms before going on to
Belleville. The porter took the opportunity of handing to
George the two receipts which he had asked for the day
before, but as he had not sufficient money about him to
settle, he had to ask that they might stand over until the
next day. After making thia arrangement, he went away
to enjoy the letter from his love in private. It was a short
one, and the contents siu-prised him a little.

" My friend," wrote the flowennaker, " I have the most
earnest wish to see you, but I want to sjDare you a useless
journey. To-day I am obliged to go out, and make
arrangements with an artificial flower merchant, who
wishes to entrust me with an important order. His place
of business is a long way from where I live, and I do not
know at what time I shall get back. I am not sure either
of seeing you to-morrow, for orders are coming in from
all sides, but I shall be certainly free at six o'clock, and I
will keep my evening for you. I will dine with you, if
you like, and afterwards we can go to the theatre — never
mind to which one^ as I have not seen any of the pieces

THE felon's bequest. 113

which are being played just now. You see I treat you
like an old friend, and yet we have known each other but
a short time, but a feeling of affinity came over me at
once, and I flatter myself that this feeling is reciprocal.
I shall, therefore, come for you to the Rue Frochot, at
half-past six to-morrow. If I put you out in any way, I beg
that you will let me know; a hne by post will reach me
in time. If I receive no reply I shall come."

The letter was simply signed " Cecile," and there was
of course a postscript: "I forgot to tell you that I have
seen the good woman you sent to me and see how well
chance sometimes serves us, for I found that she knew
me when I was a child. I will tell you all about it when
I see you. I have got her some work, and I hope that I
shall not part with her again."

George read and re-read this letter, which put off the
first appointment, several times; and he saw that Cecile
was sincere in wishing to adjourn their meeting until
the next day. The hope of passing a long evening with
her compensated him for the change in the arrange-
ments, and in his heart he was not sorry to defer the
pleasure for twenty-four hours, for his mind would be
more at ease after the expedition which he was about to
undertake that night was over, as then all his plans
would be arranged and his projects settled, and he
could then open his heart to Cecile, make arrangements
for their future hfe, and urge upon her that a more
tender tie ought to unite them. He had no need to
write to her, as by his silence he accepted the meeting
for the next day.

114: THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER XV.

"halves."

NoTHiNa now remained for Cransac but to make
arrangements for his second nocturnal "visit to the ruined
house in the Rue Gabrielle. He was in haste to get it
over, and he would not have waited until nightfall had
he not feared to find the two men he had met before
still there; for, in spite of all that Lourdier had said, the
measuring might not be over until dusk, and Cransac
did not at all want to see him that day. What he had to
do was to employ his time in the best manner that he
oould before starting on his expedition, and he began by
returning to the Grand Hotel, to make his preparations
accordingly, as he wished to be better prepared than he
had been on the preceding visit. He had told Valbrec
that he would come down to the offices of the newspaper
to see him, but this was an appointment that he could
easily put off until the next day. Privacy is best for
those who have a hazardous undertaking in hand, and
Cransac preferred to isolate himself, to spending his
time in idle conversation. The great point was to make
his expedition as successful as possible, and, taught by
his former experience he thought of taking with him a
bag in which he could at one visit take away a ]arge sum
of money. He ^lad a leather one, very large and deep,
furnished with a leather strap, to sling over the shoulder,
which he had brought from England with him. He
slung this on under his great coat, and then thought how
he could best protect himself from other dangers which
might threaten him. On his last expedition he had only
met a helpless woman, but he might at any moment find
himself face to face mth some ill-disposed man, and he
desired to be in a condition to defend himself in case of
attack. He therefore took with him a heavily-weighted
stick, and a six-chambered revolver, which he carefully
loaded. Nor did he forget a good provision of matches, and
on leaving the hotel, he purchased a lantern small enough
to go into his pocket These i:)reparations occupied him
until it was the hour for dinner, which he partook of in

THE PELON's bequest. 116

a third-class restaurant, where he was sure of not meet-
ing anyone that knew him. He then sought an unfre-
quented cafe, where he sat for a long time with a news-
paper before him, as a man does whose mind is preoc-
cupied with something else than politics or literature,
until midnight sounded from an adjacent belfry.

The hour had come, and taking a cab, he drove to the
Place Saint Pierre. He had chosen this route as he knew
that the inhabitants of the Butte Montmartre avoided it
after sunset; but it suited Cransac to arrive at his desti-
nation by devious ways, and he wished to enter the garden
by the flight of steps which he had descended with Cecile,
and make his entry by the side gate which she had pointed
out to him. By taking this route he would Hvoid the
thick vegetation, and reach the front door with more
celerity. As the night was pretty clear, he was the better
able to take a view of the surroundings; he perceived that
the sloping garden had a terrace at the end of it, upon
which the house stood; but the terrace, like everything
else, was in ruins, and there were large holes in it where
the stones had fallen away, Avhich would serve as a refuge
for wanderers in search of a shelter. Cransac did not
lose any time in exploring these lurking places, for he
rightly judged that those poor wretches who had no home
would prefer a shelter in the house, dilapidated as it was,
to holes where they would be exposed to the night blasts.

At length he arrived at the house, which he determined
to explore from top to bottom before he went to work.
He began naturally by the chamber on the ground floor,
which he found in the same state as he had left it. He
made sure of this by lighting his lantern, and this seemed
a sign of good omen for the ultimate success of his expe-
dition. Then he went up stairs, and inspected each story
successively, and found that they had all been undisturbed
since his last visit. There was the overturned brazier,
and the scattered lumps of charcoal lying on the floor
where Cecile Cambremer had endeavored to suffocate her-
self, but everything seemed to show that no human being
had been there since his last visit on that momentous
night. He came back from his inspection completely
reassured, and did not lose a moment in getting to work,
for he knew well that the quicker he was, the less risk he
should run of being sui-prised. He therefore placed his

116 THE felon's bequest.

hand on the pin, which yielded to his first effort, because
it was no longer encrusted with rust. The plate opened,
and he again saw the rolls of gold pieces wrapped up in
green paper, but he no longer smelt the sickening odor
which had poured out the first time that he opened it. The
mephitic vapor which had collected inside had been dis-
pelled by the fresh air during the time that the door of
the hiding-place had remained open, and it was easy to
believe that if a dead body had at any time been thrown
down there, it must by now be reduced to a mere skele-
ton. But Cransac thought of nothing but his treasure,
and cared little whether a crime had been committed
or not at some previous time in the deserted house.
He picked up the precious parcel by handfuls without
counting them, and crammed them into his bag, and
when that was full he filled his pockets. He would have
liked to have carried all the treasure away, but beneath
the first layer he saw that there were others, and he would
have been borne to the ground by the weight of gold.
His load was already as heavy as he could bear. He was
about to close the plate when, in feeling the mass of par-
cels for the last time, his fingers encountered a soft flat
object which he had some difficulty in disengaging from
the weight that pressed on it. It was an immense pocket-
book, such as ministers, barristers and bank cashiers
carry. It was made of black morocco leather, but the
copper lock was off, the key had disappeared, and the
leather was battered and torn; on the outside could still
be read the letters B. and C, probable the initials of the
capitalist to whom it formerly belonged. Cransac opened
it, and found that it was crammed with banknotes. The
damp had stuck some of them one against the other, and
he dared not finger them lest he should tear them to
pieces. This unexpected find was most fortunate for him,
for it almost did away with the necessity of making
another perilous trip, at least for some time. He had
now many hundred thousand of francs, which in their
present shape weighed less than ten thousand in
gold, and which would cause him no trouble to take
back to the Grand Hotel, even if he had to walk
there. All that he had to do was to take care not to lose
them on the way, which he would certainly have done
had he placed the dilapidated pocket-book under hia

THE felon's bequest. 117

arm. As tlie best thing to be done lie placed it in his
breast between his waistcoat and his shirt, and buttoned
it up carefully. After having taken this precaution he
felt half inclined to throw the rolls of coin back into the
hole, but he thought that he was strong enough to carry
the lot, and so he closed the hiding-place, which was still
half full. He had had to kneel down to extract his treas-
ure, and when he strove to rise to his feet, he had great
difficulty in doing so. Cransac was young and vigorous,
but he was loaded like a mule, and his muscular shoulders
trembled beneath his burden. He extinguished his lan-
tern, and put it into the pocket with his revolver, grasped
his loaded stick firmly in his right hand, and turned
towards the door. He now found himself opposite the
window from which all the glass had been broken away.
Inside the room the darkness was profound, but outside
it was a little lighter, and on glancing in that direction
Cransac fancied that he saw a round object showing
against the light, at the height where the lower panes of
glass had been, which had something of the appearance
of a human head. At first -he thought that his eyes must
have deceived him, but the instant that he made a step for-
ward, the object disappeared, and he heard a slight
sound such as a man's feet, would make on dropping from
a certain height. Someone had evidently been hanging
on to the window sash, and had let go all of a sudden.
This spy might enter at any moment and attack George,
who accordingly stood on his defence, with his left hand
on his revolver, his loaded stick raised for a blow in his
right, and his face turned toward the door.

But no one showed themselves.

He listened, but there was not a sound in the garden.

Had the man crept away with stealthy tread, or was
he lying in wait outside the door ?

To know this it was necessary to search for him. One
thing was clear: the secret of the hiding-place had been
discovered. But by whom ? Probably by some night
wanderer, who would have no scruples in coming back
and emptying it, and who, perhaps, was now meditating
Cransac's murder, in order to rob him of his booty.
Whichever might be the case, Cransac could not permit
himself to be besieged there ; the longer he waited the
more risk he ran, for the man might summon others to

118 THE felon's bequest.

help liim, and then the odds would not be in his favor,
whilst, armed as he was, he could easily hold his own
against a solitary robber.

He resolved to leave the place at once. He pulled the
door to him, which opened inwards, and going out on to
the step looked round him. He could see no one, and in
the moonlight a man could have been seen twenty paces
off. The road to the side steps was therefore free, though
there was a chance of the man having hidden himself in
the brambles, but all George had to do was not to go too
close to them. He therefore walked slowly in the direc-
tion of the gate, weighed down by the weight of his
load. He had strong arms, good legs, and clear sight;
the gate by which he had come in was not far off, and
he hoped to reach it without any accident, and he
believed that he had hot much to fear when he was once
outside the garden. Night is very lonely in that deserted
quarter, but still there were people about, and when the
cry of " murder " or " fire " is raised, the sleepers awake
from their slimibers, and the guardians of the peace
interfere — at least sometimes. • On the outer boulevards,
the cafes remain open all the year round until two in the
morning; and dui'ing the fair at Montmartre everyone is
about — the mountebanks jDerform, the drums are beaten,
the trumpets peal, the wooden horses go round to the
sound of music, and in the midst of all this turmoil and
crowd even pickpockets find it difficult to exercise their
profession. All, then, that G-eorge had to do was to get
that far, so as to be in safety from any attack, and then
to take a cab to the Grand Hotel. At two paces from
the gate, when he thought that tlie worst was over,
Cransac saw a shadowy form rise before him, Avhich
seemed to have sprung out of the wall.

" Halves ! " cried a guttural voice, and at the same
instant he felt a heavy blow on his chest. He stepped
backwards, but at the moment when his adversary was
about to repeat the blow, he struck him heavily over the
head with his loaded stick. The man fell like a logf, and
Cransac, stepping back, prepared to defend himself
against any new opponent, or in case the fallen man
should attempt to r§new the attack; but he showed no
sign of life, and lay perfectly still, witla his anns extended.
Cransac, who had lost neither his equilibrium or his cool-

THE felon's BEQUES5'. Il9

ness, pushed him with his foot, so as to be certain that
he was not in a condition to renew the attack, and find-
ing that he did not stir, was about to proceed on his
way, when the idea struck him that he might as well
look what sort of a man his assailant was. " Halves ! "
was what the wretch had cried out as he rushed upon
him. He was therefore aware that Cransac had money
about him. Did he know this because he had watched
him helping himseK to the treasure, or because he had
been previously made acquainted with its existence ?
Had the prisoner of Mazas, after George's dischargQ>
taken anyone else into his confidence ? Did one of his
former accomplices know the secret of the hiding-place,
and had he come there to empty it and foiind Cransac
at work? Any of these conjectures were possible.
Without leaving go of his revolver, Cransac turned the
man over on to his back without his exhibiting any
signs of life. The blow of the loaded stick appeared
to have fractured his skull, and it seemed doubtful if
he would get over it, though he still breathed. He
was dressed in a torn blouse, and a tattered pair of
trousers, with heavy shoes, and one of those rough
caps so much affected by the roughs of the lowest
class. As far as Cransac could make out in the half-
obscurity that reigned, his features did not belie his
dress, and he looked like one of those miserable scoun-
drels who live on the precarious earnings of the unfortunate
women who ply their trade beyond the barriers. He was
a young man, not more than twenty-five years of age.
The blood from his wound had spread over his convulsed
features, and his eyes which were wide open, had no ex-
pression in them. It would have been useless to ques-
tion him, and if he was not already dead he was nearly
so. But the question that Cransac asked himself was,
should he let him lie there ? If he did so, the police
when they found his body would certainly cause an in-
quiry to be made. They might not find the murderer,
but in searching the house they might discover the hid-
ing-place. Cransac at first thought of dragging the
body to the public flight of steps close at hand, but he
could not bear the idea of lifting it. " After all,"
thought he, " it matters very little whether the police
put their hands on the money," as he had no more need

120 THE felon's bequest.

to return there to supply himself with gold, or whether
they would consider the murder as having been com-
mitted in a street row by a ruffian of a similar stamp; in
which case the inquiry would not be a long one. He
saw now that the fellow, after having quitted his post of
observation, had hidden himself in one of the hollows of
the wall of the terrace, to spring out on Cransac as soon
as he came within his reach. The cowardly scoundrel
still grasped in his hand a long pointed knife, with
which he had struck Cransac in the breast, and would
have infallibly killed him on the spot had not the point
of his formidable weapon encountered the pocket-book.
The banknotes, which formed a kind of breastplate, had
saved the life of the felon's heir. The steel had passed
through them, and just grazed the skin; one bundle less
and Cransac would have been a dead man. Never had a
few hundred thousand francs been placed more advan-
tageously, and the possessor of this fortune, however
doubtfully it might have been acquired, might now
believe that luck had come back to him once more.

He thought this more than once, as he descended the
steep, narrow street that led on to the boulevards. The
crowd had begun to disperse, and many of the booths
had put out their lights, but he caught a belated cab,
and drove straight to the Grand Hotel. As he passed
through the courtyard, where some persons still lingered,
he noticed that some turned and gazed after him with ill
concealed curiosity. They could not, however, have
guessed that he was loaded with gold and banknotes.
Perhaps they were surprised at his slow and steady
pace, or the way in which his overcoat, the pockets of
which were weighted with gold, hung stiffly down.

Laden as he was Cransac had some difficulty in climbing
upstairs to the third floor, where he had two rooms, and
his first care was to reUeve himseK of all his burdens;
then, in default of a safe lockup, he threw everything
pell-mell into his wardrobe, and taking out the key,
drew the bolt of his room door. He did not even
attempt to count his wealth. After so many mental and
physical shocks, he was worn out with fatigue, and only
retained a confused remembrance of the events of the
day which had succeeded each other with such startling
rapidity. It all appeared like a dream to him. All at

THE felon's bequest. 121

once he saw blood on his hands, and everything came
back to him in a moment. "A murderer," murmured
he, " I, George Cransac, am a murderer. I killed that
man to preserve tbe secret of a fortune which is not
mine; a fortune which I inherited from a robber." He
gazed at himself in the glass, and it seemed to him that
the very expression of his face had changed, and to
avoid the reflection, he staggered back to his bed upon
which he cast himself. After a time his wearied brain
sank to rest and he fell asleep, with the terrible words
" a murderer, a murderer I " still dropping from his
lips.

CHAPTER XVL

THE LURE OF THE FOWLER.

When Cecile wrote to George that orders were coming
in, in shoals, she had only spoken the truth, for she had
gained a name in the business; not only for punctuality,
but also for superiority of execution. It was therefore
not very hard for her, in spite of her brief absence, to
push herself in the trade, and to pick up the connection
which she had let slip. One of the business houses with
which she had been formerly connected had written to
her to supply it with an assortment of artificial roses, and
on her return home Cecile had found a letter waiting for
her from a Mrs. Georgina Acton, who begged her to
call at her house in the Avenue de Boulogne at five o'clock
on the next day, to discuss an important order for artifi-
cial flowers for transmission to the United States. Cecile
had certainly never heard of Madam Acton, but she had
occasionally received an order from America, and she
never for a moment doubted that the order was genuine
Both hour and time were convenient to her, as she had
promised to come to the Rue Frochot at half-past six;
but in spite 6f that, she fancied that her interview with
the foreign lady would not detain her so long as to pre-
vent her arriving in time, by taking a cab after it was
over. The poor woman whom George had sent to her
address had called in the meantime, and by a curious
chance, in a place like Paris, where friends may live for

122 THE felon's bequest.

years without ever meeting, she had discovered that they
were old acquaintances. The poor woman had formerly
been a friend of the nurse in M. Cambremer's service, and
Cecile, who possessed a wonderful memory for faces,
remembered her, though she had not seen her for mor*
than fifteen years. This was quite sufficient to make
Cecile take the greatest interest in her, for she was on the
lookout for an elderly respectable woman to superintend
her work girls when she was unable to be present herself,
and so she soon made an arrangement with her. Josephine
Sureau, who had been deserted by her husband and left
with three young children, was almost dying of hunger
when George Cransac had come to her assistance in the
office of the Government Pawnbroking Establishn.ent,
and she felt herself only too happy to enter Cecile 's ser-
vice, who had not lost a moment in' endeavorirg to
extricate her from her difficulties. In twenty-four hours
Cecile had found an asylum for her children: the two
eldest she had apprenticed, and the youngest was placed
in a public nursery, where it would be taken care of for
the day. Josephine was thoroughly grateful to Cecile,
but she unfortunately had two defects: she was very
talkative and excessively ciu-ious. When she talked to
her mistress about by-gone times, she tried to woim out
the story of her troubles, and how she, the daughter of
wealthy parents, had been reduced to gain her liveli-
hood by the manufacture of artificial flowers. Cecile
had taken care to tell her that her father had died
without leaving her anything, and had entreated her to
ask her nothing further regarding her past life; but she
had felt it necessary to speak to her regarding her
acquaintanceship with M. George Cransac, and to tell
her that the young man was her best friend. Upon
the day of her visit to Madam Acton she thought
it would be as well to take Josephine with her, to carry
her boxes of samples to exhibit to the American lady
and to let her see afterwards upon what footing she
was with the gentleman residing in the Rue Frochot.
Josephine was delighted at the idea of accompanying her
new mistress, and went off to get a cab, into which they
both got, with their sample boxes of flowers. Cecile had
taken extra pains with her dress, not only that Madam
Acton might not take her for a woman in a small way of

THE felon's bequest. 123

business, but also that George might feel proud of the
companion that he was taking to the theatre. Slie still
possessed a dress, one of the last relics of her days of
prosperity, and an excessively becoming mantle which
she had taken out of pawn. She knew how to dress her
hair, and her boots and gloves Avere simply perfection.
Upon this occasion she had used all her taste, and the
effect was really charming. Happiness invariably increases
the good looks of a woman, and joyous anticipations had
thrown a mantle over her naturally cold expression of
countenance. She still resembled an antique statue, but
the glow of life had now shed a glow through the marble.

It Avas a long drive in a cab, for almost the entire width
of Paris had to be crossed, but Cecile did not feel wearied
at the time consumed in it. The future was now all rose-
colored, and, contrary to her usual liabits, she spoke freely
to her companion of lier business matters, and her hopes
of extending them. She had an idea that a great deal
might come of this Adsit, which would doubtless open out
to her an extensive foreign connection, and she had great
hopes that this Madam Acton might be the head of a
large similar business in NeAv York. The snare had been
cunningly set, and poor Cecile fell headlong into it.

Josephine Sureau threw a little cold water on her
enthusiasm, by remarking innocently: "It is a strange
part of the town for a lady in that line to be stopping in."

" It is the part that the Americans frequent the most,"
returned Cecile.

"Yes, those who are well off, but a tradeswoman "

" Over there very large fortunes are made in trade, and
I am not certain that Madam Acton wishes to buy on her
own account; she may only be a representative."

" Oh ! I see. I thought people in business stopped in
the streets off the main boulevards, near to the Palais
Royal, but I never thought that there were lodging-houses
in the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne."

" Generally they are all private houses, but, of course,
there may be furnished apartments; but we shall soon
find out all about it."

As she spoke the cab passed the Place de I'Etoile, where
the evening before a Aile plot had been hatched.

Cecile grew more and more silent as the time passed
on. She began to ask herself if she was not committing

124. THE felon's bequest.

an act of great imprudence in thus keeping an appoint-
ment which she had made with a woman entirely unknown
to her; but even now she had no fear of any serious
danger. "Whom should she distrust : the man upon whom
she had so unwisely la\ished her first affections, who, after
draining her of all her money, had so cruelly cast her off?
Certainly not; for she felt that he would never again
attempt to re-possess himself of her love, after her eyes
had been so cruelly opened to his treachery. Nor could
she for a moment imagine that some wealthy voluptuary
had cast his eyes upon her, considering how rarely she
left her home, and that she lived in one of the poorest
quarters of Paris. The cab drew up at the corner of the
Rue Pergolese, in front of a carriage gateway which opened
upon a large garden.

" I think that the driver must have made a mistake,"
murmured Cecile.

Josephine put her head out of the window and shouted
something to the coachman.

" This is the number you told me to stop at," returned
he.

" But here we are at the door of a private house," said
Madam Sureau to her patroness.

" Perhaps Madam Acton is staying with some fellow-
country ijeople of hers," said Cecile; but we will soon
find out. Get down, and ask for her. If the porter says
he knows nothing of her, come back and tell me and we
can go away."

Josephine hastened to obey her, and Cecile followed
her with her eyes. She saw her ring the bell and say a
few words to the porter, who at first seemed inclined to
shut the door in her face. Then he appeared to think
better of it, and began again to enter into conversation
with Cecile's messenger.

Mile. Cambremer remained seated in the cab, and
could see a conversation going on, although she could
not hear a word of what was said; but she could not help
feeling surprised at the time the conversation lasted.
Surely it would have been more natural for the man to
have replied, "No," or "Yes," as to whether Madam
Acton lived there or not; and yet he seemed to be ques-
tioning Josephine. At last the woman came back to the
cab-door, and the first words she said were :

THE felon's bequest. 125

" She is in."

Then, as Cecile was about to ask her the cause of all
this delay, she added:

" But she doesn't wan't to see everybody, for he began
by telling me that he did not know any such person. He
stared at me from head to foot, but at last he looked
up the street, then he caught sight of the trap, and says
be:

" • Who are you, and whom do you come from ? What
do you want with Madam Acton ? '

"It seemed as if he would never have done. I
answered plainly, 'I am Mile. Cambremer's servant, who
received a letter from Madam Acton, making an
appointment for five o'clock.' Upon which he growled
out:

" ' So your mistress must employ a messenger, must
she ? Well, let her come in, since she is here ; but we
don't wan't you here.' The cove ain't a bit civil; and so
I just turned sharp around and came here. The Yankee
woman must have lots of coin for her flunkeys to be so
cheeky; at any rate, however, she is ready to see you.
So just go in; I will wait for you in the cab; and if she
wants to see any patterns, you will have to send for them,
for they certainly won't let me come in."

Cecile hesitated for a moment, all these precautions
appeared rather suspicious. On the other hand, she had
no desire to lose an affair which might turn out highly
advantageous.

"Well," said she, "I will go in. Mind and wait for
me. I shall, perhaps be some time, for these foreigners
take a long while to decide. But if I am detained
longer than you think is reasonable, ring at the door,
and have me called down by the servant. I will come
even if the business is not settled, for I must be at
19, Rue Frochot, M. Cransac's lodgings, at half-past
six."

" That is the gentleman that gave me twenty francs
and sent me to you. I would go through fire and water
for him, and you are quite right not to keep him waiting
he is a right down good one, he is."

126 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER XVIL

> A. Pi.ItISIAN BEBAOLIO.

HEAPiNa these encomiums on George's head, Josephine
opened the door for Cecile, who at once entered the
house. The man-servant, who had remained standing on-
the threshold, immediately allowed her to enter without
any questions, for the fellow at once saw that the expected
visitor had at length arrived.

" If you will have the goodness to follow me, made-
moiselle," said he, " I will take you to Madam Acton."

Oecile found herself in a large courtyard brilliantly
lighted with gas, and separated by railings from a gar-
den fall of venerable trees. The house was on the left-
hand side, and all the windows were lighted up.

" Madame Acton," continued the servant, " occupies
the little detached dwelling at the end of the garden.
She is only here for a day or two, and did not wish to be
in the general's way."

" The general ? " repeated Cecile, in tones of astonish-
ment.

" Yes, mademoiselle; this house belongs to General
Burdett, the relative and countryman of Madam Acton."

The man had learned his lesson well, and these last
words entirely cleared away Cecile's doubts. She had
only to pass through the garden, which was as well
lighted as the courtyard, and some thii-ty paces in front
of her she saw an elegant little building covered with
ivy, like an English cottage. Cecile thought that this
little bower of verdui'e could not have been built for the
commission of dark deeds, and that Madam Acton, who
resided in it, must be a person of the highest respecta-
bility; she, therefore, had no further grounds for fear.
The servant knocked discreetly at the door, which was
at once opened, and an elderly woman appeared dressed
in black, with her grey hair gathei-ed up in a net,

" Here is the young lady for Madam Acton," said the
man.

« Very good," said the old woman, in a strong foreig^n

THE felon's bequest. 127

accent. " The lady can come up; Madam Acton is wait-
ing for her upstairs."

For a moment Cecile again hesitated, for she fancied
that there was something suspicious about the old
woman's appearance; but it was now too late to draw
back. She ascended a white marble staircase, and on
arriving at the landing on the first floor, she turned to
question the woman as to her next movements.

" You will find Madam Acton in the room in front; go
straight in."

And with these words she turned round and disap-
peared.

Cecile had half a mind to retrace her steps, but she was
ashamed of her nervousness, and went on. She first came
into an ante-room hung with Cordovan leather, a di'awing-
room, all gilding from top to bottom, and a boudoir with
plush-silk hangings. These three rooms were only separated
from each other by curtains which hung across the door-
ways. All were lighted up with candles, and fires were burn-
ing in the hearths ; but there was no Madam Acton. Cecile,
who had now made up her mind to carry the matter
through, went on further, and came to a fourth room, very
strangely furnished. Here there were nothing but cir-
cular divans, luxurious couches, lounging-chairs, and
cushions all covered in black satin, with huge bear-skins
spread about o^er the Persian carpet. There were looking-
glasses everywhere, even on the ceilings. Upon the walls
were pictiu-es representing nude female figures in various
attitudes; but still no Madam Acton. It could not cer-
tainly have been she who had arranged these rooms in
so singular a style; the couches, the hangings, and the
pictures so free in their execution, more suitable for the
boudoir of a fast woman than the rooms occupied by an
American lady, with all her national airs of prudery.
And yet it was not Madam Acton's fault if her fellow-
countryman who Uved in Paris had a v/eakness for eccen-
tric furniture or indelicate pictures. All this mattered
very little to Cecile as long as she could find the lady,
who, up to the present moment, had remained invisible-
She pushed her researches on further, and came to a
bedroom, the appearance of which was hardly more respec-
table. The bed was placed in a recess draped with lace,
and surrounded with mirrors. All the toilet aiTange-

128 THE felon's bequest.

ments were of the most luxurious description, the ewers
and bowls on the washing-stand were of agate, and there
were vaiious implements in ivory, silver, and old china,
scattered about. A respectable woman would have
blushed to have dressed in such a room, and for an instant
Cecile thought that she had fallen into a trap. She could
hear no sound, and see no one, and yet everything around
her looked as if some one was expected.

Who was it that w^as waited for ? Was it herself ? And
if so, was it for the mere purchase of artificial flowers ?

She was frightened, and her only thought was to escape.
But how was she to do so ? The woman whom she had
met on her entrance had doubtless closed the door of the
cottage, and even had it remained open, the main gate
was, perhaps, closed and guarded. Would the porter let
her pass through? She did not wish to remain for
another moment in this abode of abomination; the very
carpet seemed to burn her feet. She turned back sharply,
and was already in the room with the circular divans when
she fancied she heard some one come in. It was a soft,
steady step, but it came nearer and nearer, and did not
sound at all like the tread of a woman. Cecile was rooted
to the groimd with terror; had she been able she would
have hidden herself like a child behind a chair, or under
a couch, but she was too late. All at once she saw the
figure of a man coming towards her, dressed in a brocaded
dressing gown; his bare neck emerged from a red silk
shirt. He wore a beard and moustache, and his eyes
glowed like coals of fire.

At the sight of this unexpected appearance, Cecile
drew back, but the nearness of the danger gave her cour-
age.

" I am waiting for Madam Acton, who sent for me,"
said she.

Instead of making any reply, the man took a step
towards her; she hurriedly drew back, he advanced, and she
still retreated, until she was driven back to the wall, and
now she could recede no further, and was in the position
of a duelist driven backwards to the wall by a more power-
ful adversary.

THE felon's bequest. 129

CHAPTEB XVin.

IN THE TI&EB's cage.

The man was still there standing in front of her, and
devouring her with his eyes. The mirrors reflected his
foim, and Cecile saw him on all sides of her. Then fright
overcame her. " What do you want with me ?" stammered
she, " I do not know you."

" Did you really think that you came to see an American
lady, who was to buy flowers of you?" asked the man
with a sneer.

" Certainly, I did."

" What ! did you not know that you were coming to see
a gentlemen who is fond of pretty girls, and is always
generous to them ? "

And now Cecile understood him, and her blood froze
in hor veins.

" You are very innocent, and yet I could wager that
you have had a lover before now ! Come, come, confess
that you knew well enough what was coming."

" I forbid you to insult me," said Cecile, drawing herself
up haughtily.

" No grand airs here, please. You are in my power,
my pretty one, so I advise you to be more himible. I
only wish to act for your good. Before seeing you, I had
not made up my mind; but now the case is different, and
I will risk everything to possess you !"

"I order you to let me leave this."

" You are right to speak like that; you look superb.
Your eyes are blazing with rage; were you more deeply
affected, you would be adorable. I should like to see you
weep."

"Wretch!"

" Go on — abuse me — I want your anger to melt away
in tears," returned the pretended compatriot of Madam
Acton. He enjoyed her agitation and despair intensely.
His face gleamed with ferocity and passion; he had all
the appearance of a satyr.

" I desire to leave this house," said she, firmly.

" To vyrish and to be able are two different things. My

130 THE felon's bequest.

servants have orders not to let you out. Give up the
foolish idea of leaving," returned the dastardly Simancas,
seating himself astride of a chair, two paces from where
Cecile was standing. " And now, let me explain my
ideas to you. I don't care whether you love me or
not; indeed, I should, I think, prefer you to hate me. You
can't understand that, because you have always lived a mere
humdrum existence, and have no idea of the strange tastes
of a man steeped to the lips in luxury as I am. Well,
now listen. As long as my fancy for you lasts, you shall
wallow in gold, and when it is over, you can carry your-
self and your riches where you hke. Whilst you are
with me, you shall do just as you like; no doubt you will
deceive me, but when that happens — and be sure I shall
hear of it — I shall not send you away, but I shall chastise
you, and that will be an additional pleasure."

" You may kill me, if jo\i like," returned Cecile, " but
in life I will never be yours."

" KUl you?" sneered Simancas; " I should be sorry to
do that. I would much sooner make you suffer. I want
you to learn the fate that awaits you. You shall be as
much my slave as if you were shut up in the harem of the
Sultan of Constantinople, with this difference, that you
may go for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne when you
like. You will say that we are not in Turkey, but in
Paris; but a man with millions at his command, as I have,
is beyond the reach of the law. If you venture to tell
anyone that you were decoyed here, I shall deny it, and
no one will believe that you did not come here of 3'our
own free will and accord. I could not even be prose-
cuted on account of your age, for I have learned that
you are twenty-two."

Terrified out of her life, Cecile asked herself how this
odious voluptuary had learned so much concerning her,
and never lor a moment conceived that Juliet had fur-
nished Simancas with them, having in her turn procured
them from the dastardly Arthur.

" But things will never go so far as that," continued
the marquis, " for we are going to make a bargaiu."

" I do not think so," answered the young girl in a firm
voice.

" But I am sure of it, and you will not leave here until
all is settled. I will set you up as the woman should be

THE felon's bequest. 131

that I honor with my countenance. You shall have a
house, horses and carriages; indeed, I desire that you
should do me credit, and as I told you before, I will not
be too exacting as regards your fidelity to me."

" And I tell you that I will never be yours whilst I
live. If you keep me here in spite of myself, there are
those who will come here to seek me. I did not come
here alone, and the person who is waiting for me at your
door, when she does not see me come out, will go and
tell some one, who will not leave me long in your power."

" I am glad you have told me that," replied Simancas,
coolly, " and I thank you for the information, which I
will act on at once." As he spoke, he rose from the
chair, and moved towards the bell.

" What are you going to do ? " exclaimed Cecile, over-
whelmed with surprise.

" You shall see, or rather, hear."

In another moment, the old woman appeared:

" Send the footman to tell the woman who is waiting
for this lady at my door that her mistress will remain
here this evening, and does not require her to stay here
any longer ! "

The woman left without a word, silent as the mutes
who obey the orders of the Sultan.

Cecile now felt that all was indeed lost, for Josephine,
of course, could not guess what was going on in the inte-
rior of the house, and would obey what she conceived to
be her mistress' orders.

"Would she go to the Kue Frochot to tell George that
Cecile would not keep her appointment ?

This was the only hope that remained to Cecile ; and
certainly had the execrable Simancas known that Cransac
was likely to be informed of what bad happened, he
would have taken other steps, for as Cransac knew his
address, he was not likely to be deceived by the story of
the false Madam Acton.

" Well," said Simancas, rubbing his hands, " are you
satisfied that no one will now take any steps to find
you?"

Cecile made no reply. She was seeking for some
means, not of flight, but of death, by which she might
escape from the fate that the villain was preparing for her.
She had no sort of weapon, and the accursed chamber

132 THE felon's bequest.

had no windows. She might have endeavored to dash
her head against the mirrors, but Simaneas could easily
have prevented her doing so ; and besides, she might not
succeed in killing herself at the first blow. Could she
call out for help? No one would come to her. Her
cries would not even be heard; the thick hangings would
deaden them like the vaulted roof of a dungeon.

Should she implore for mercy ? As soon ask it from a
tiger. Even the tiger, when he has satisfied his appetite,
disdains the living prey that passes within reach of his
claws; but the appetite of Simaneas was begiuning to
develop. He gloated over Cecile's anguish, and would,
if he could, have drunk her tears, as a tiger diinks
blood.

Simaneas evidently took a fiendish pleasure in pro-
longing this painful situation, for CecQe was absolutely
defenceless, and entirely in his power, but he preferred
to dally over his approaching victory. He could see
hatred and disgust painted in the young girl's exquisite
features, and the sight of these roused his passions to the
maddest extent. The end was very near, but it seemed
as if he considered that she had not yet suffered enough,
and his obj ect was to give himself the pleasure of gloat-
ing over her agonies. " You have done well," sneered he,
" in having endeavored to repulse me. Had you yielded
to me I might have accepted you, but my passion would
have rapidly passed away, but you draw back, you affect
virtuous instincts, and you are ready to tear out my
eyes. Delicious; that is just the seasoning that I require.
If I could hope that I could never bend you willingly to
my desires, I should like it all the better, for then I
should have found what I have for a long time been
seeking for, a woman that I could torture, and who would
yet be mine."

" Coward I " cried Cecile.

"Yes, yes, abuse me, and prepare to tear my eyes
out. You cannot think how pleasant you are making
things for me." As he spoke he crept up slyly to
her.

" Coward I " she repeated, and as she spoke she spat
in his face.

The villain at once made a rush at her, but she escaped
him by diving under his outstretched arm, and darting

THE felon's bequest. 133

beHnd an ottoman. As she rose from her recumbent
position slie caught sight of the poker, which, having
been placed between the bars, was now red hot, and
would prove a formidable weapon, even in the hands of a
woman. She darted upon it. " One more step," cried
she, " and I will bum out your eyes."

" Ha, ha," laughed he. " Do you force me to proceed
to extremities ? Well, well, it is your own fault," and
as he spoke he pressed the button of an electric bell
which was near him in the wall."

" I will have you tied hand and foot by my servants,
and then we shall see what you will do. I might even
tell them to gag you, but I woidd rather hear you beg
and entreat for mercy, so that there was no one but me
to hear you."

Cecile felt that she was indeed lost, and gazed around
her for some fresh means of escape. Simancas kept at a
distance from the flaming weapon in her hand. He was
waiting for help to enable him to accomplish his object
without risking his skin. There was a candelabra full of
candles on the mantel-piece; Cecile seized it, and set fire
to the brocade hangings which concealed the walls.
Before Simancas could wrench it from her hand, the
whole place was in a blaze. As the smoke began to fill
the ^oom, he made another rush at her, but she hurled
the red hot poker at his head, and he started back with
a shriek of agony. Cecile profited by this moment's
respite to make her escape. She rushed into the next
room, and almost fell over two footmen, who had
answered the bell, but who now only thought of rescuing
their master, who was in the burning room. She let
them pass by her, and ran down the staircase, crying out
" fire, fire." As the footmen had entered they had
omitted to close the door; Cecile was therefore able
to make her way iuto the garden without any hindrance.
The porter had left his lodge, and was gazing stupidly
at the smoke which was beginning to pour out of the
building, and she crept past him without his seeing her
and then opened the door, without pausing to see what
progress the conflagration had made. All she thought
of was to escape from the clutches of Simancas, who wao
quite capable of sending his servants in pursuit of her
She felt that she wovdd not be in safety until she reached

134 THE felon's bequest.

the Avenue of tlie Bois de Boulogne ; it was not far off,
and she hurried to it. She knew that she should be able
to get a conveyance there, although at that hour the
number of vehicles decreased, and the streets were
almost dark, but she ran with all her speed to the Arch
of Triumph, which she could see towering up in front of
her, and which, in her eyes, looked as a beacon on a rock-
bound coast appears to storm-tossed mariners. Beyond
it was the haven of safety. There was Paris, living,
moving Paris, in which she was certain of finding aid and
assistance.

She fancied that she coidd hear the sound of hurried
footsteps pursuing her, but she never stopped to ascertain
the correctness of her supposition. Cecile had looked for
the cab in which she had come, and which she had left at
the corner of the Rue Pergolees, but it was no longer
there. Evidently Josephine had beheved the message
that the footman had given her, and had gone away. All
that she had to do was to find another conveyance, and
could she but reach the Place de I'Etoile she felt sure that
she could do so, for there was a cabstand at the end of
the Avenue of the Champs Elysees. Then all she would
have to do would be to drive to the Rue Frochot, for she
had resolved not to return home without having seen
George Cransac. Would he still be at home, or would he
have grown tired of waiting for her ? The time had flown,
whilst she was defending heraelf against the villainous
attempts of Simancas, and it was now seven o'clock. Her
drive to the Rue Frochot would take at least forty minutes
more. If Josephine had gone direct to George, and
repeated the message that had been given, what would
he think of her, and of her having at the last moment
changed her mind, and broken her appointment? It was
enough to make him believe that she was faithless to him,
and had been deceiving him all along. Such thoughts as
these were not suited to soothe her feelings after the terri-
ble shock that she had sustained, and she reached the Rue
Frochot in a state of extreme nervousness and anxiety.
She almost hoped not to find the man sbe had so ai'dently
desired to see, so great fear had she of being received
unkindly. How was she to narrate to him the trial that
she had passed through in all its native hideousness ?
How could she tell him all the shameful details ? Might

THE felon's bequest. 135

he not then demand satisfaction from the man who had
insulted her, and in a duel might not George's life be
sacrificed ? Unable to come to any decision, she resolved
to leave all to chance, and felt that everything depended
upon the reception that he would accord her.

As a beginning the porter made an unpleasant remark.
"What, auother ! " muttered he; "it seems as if it was the
day for visits." Then, as she persisted in going upstairs,
he added: "As you Hke, but I have not seen her come
down."

Cecile went upstairs more troubled in mind than ever.
The words, "What another?" evidently referred to
Josephine, who must have been there a short time before.
What could she have said to George ? Had she contented
herself with stating without further comment that her
mistress would not come ? Cecile could not guess what
had taken place, and every puise in her heart throbbed
as she rang at the door of the man she loved.

CHAPTER XIX.
"can we not trust each othek?"

As Cransac had never had a servant in his life, he
opened the door himself, and a sudden change came over
his face as he recognized his visitor. " I did not expect
you mademoiselle," said he, with a frown.

" Was I wrong then in coming ?" asked she, in deep
distress.

" No, only I expected you earlier. May I ask you to
come in?"

He ushered her into a plainly furnished room, which he
used as a study, offered her a seat, and remained standing
in front of her.

" K you only knew what I had gone through to-day,"
faltered she.

" I know perfectly," answered George, coldly. " You
received a letter from a lady who wished to give you an
order, and you took the trouble to write to me that you
were going to wait on her at five o'clock; but you did not
tell me that you would remain there. Therefore I was a

136 THE felon's bequest.

little surprised at learning that you would not be here
this evening."

" Ah I then you have seen ? "

" The woman I introduced to you, and in whom you
were kind enough to interest youi'self. Yes, mademoiselle,
I have seen her."

" And she told you ? "

"Hardly anything. She told me that the lady to whom
you had gone had kept you — to dinner, I suppose, and
would have gone into further explanations, but I wished
to hear nothing further, and dismissed her."

" Happily he knows nothing," thought Cecile. But for
all that she covdd see that he suspected her; his reserved
manner, his icy tone, and the distant manner in which he
addressed her, all indicated that he did not trust her.
To convince him that he had no cause to doubt her it
would be necessaiy to tell him the whole truth, and she
had never before so thoroughly understood the truth of
the old adage " Truth is not always palatable."

"I am glad to see," continued George, in the same
sarcastic tone, " that the lady has at last been able to
disjpense with your company; at least I presume so, since
you have obtained her permission to come and see me."

" Why do you speak to me in this manner ? " asked
Cecile, sadly. " What have I done to you ?"

" Nothing at all, mademoiselle, for I have no right to
expect anything of jon, not even the courtesy of punctu-
ality, and I trust you will not do me the unjustice of
thinking that I am complaining about having missed my
dinner on jour account."

" No, I think that you are angry with me for other
reasons, and much more serious ones. Well, if you have
any friendship for me, tell me what they are, and let me
know of what you accuse me."

" I accuse you of nothing, mademoiselle. I have not
the right to do so, nor have you any account to give me
of your conduct; but I have the right to be grieved,"
returned George, speaking with an emotion that he strove
in vain to hide. " I am foolish I know, but how can I
help it ? I had put my whole confidence in you. I had
dreamed of a possible future for us both, and I had
fancied that this very evening was to have been a com-
mencement of that sweet life which you yourself had

THE felon's bequest. 137

mapped out for us; but the vision lias fled. I might have
looked for its doing so."

"And so," returned Cecile slowly, "you think then
that I have lied to you, and that this story of an order
which compelled me to go from one end of Paris to the
other was a mere invention on my part ? You must
think me very silly, for there was no reason why I
should have written to you making the appointment, and
had I wished to Lave acted unfairly to you, I could have
chosen my opportunity better."
" Perhaps you had no alternative."
" You mean that I was forced to obey an order. From
whom, pray, should I receive one — I who am at no one's
beck and call ? " Then, as George made no reply, she
continued: "Be open, and speak out; you believe that I
had an appointment with some man, which it was impos-
sible for me not to keep."

" And why should I not think so ? " asked George, gaz-
ing steadily into the young girl's face, whose eyes never
for a moment fell before his.

"You have a wretched opinion of me," said she,
bitterly. " Would you beHeve me if I showed you the
letter which I received, a woman's letter, signed Georg-
ina Acton ? "

" I do not ask to see it."

" And if I swore to you by the memory of my father,
that I left my home this morning on a mere matter of

business "

" I should not doubt you, but I beg you to explain
to me how it was that the woman who was with you
came to me to tell me that I should not see you this
evening ? "

" I did not send her."

" What ! do you mean she invented the whole thing ?
And to what end pray ? "

"She invented nothing; she believed what she was
told."

"Then she was deceived; but by whom? Tell me, I
beg of yon, and do not not leave me in suspense; this
doubt is killing me. You are stiU silent. Can you not
see how I am suffering ? "

Cecile too was suffering terribly. To put an end to
this embarrassing dialogue all ahe had to do was to

138 THE felon's bequest.

narrate her unfortunate adventure and this she did not
dare do for fear of future consequences between George
and Simancas.

After some consideration she resolved to tell him what
had occurred, >vithout naming the villain who had endea-
vored to draw her into the snare. "Well," said she,
after a short silence, " if you must know all, listen. The
letter that I received was a lure to draw me into a trap,
and I fell into it. I thought that I was going to the house
of some wealthy foreign lady, who would give me an exten-
sive order for artificial flowers for the United States.
And, in proof of the truth of this assertion, I took
Josej)hine Sureau with me, with samples of my work.
All this she would have told you had you only listened
to her."

"I allow all that; but when you came to the address
that had been given you, you must have seen that you
had been hoaxed, and that there was no American lady
at all."

" The villain had foreseen everything; his servants
were in the conspiracy, and when 1 asked for Madame
Acton, they told me that she was expecting me. How
coiild I guess what was going to take place? I told
Josephine to wait for me in the cab, and even took the
precaution to tell her to come and ask for me if I was
detained for any length of time. '

" And instead of obeying your orders, she, who was
everything to you, deserted her post ? "

"Not exactly; a footman was sent to her, presumably
from me to teU her not to wait. The poor woman be-
lieved the message, and drove to your house, because I
told her that you were expecting me."

" Why did I not question her ? " asked George, strik-
ing his forehead.

" Alas ! she could not have told you the danger to
which I was exposed."

" Tell me what it was."

" Can you not guess the danger a young woman runs
when she is betrayed into the clutches of a monster. It
is not her money or her life that he demands "

" What, a man dared ? "

" I had no distrust; I was taken to a detached building
in the garden, and left alone there. As soon as I per-

THE felon's bequest. 139

ceived that I liad been entrapped, I tried to fly, but the
doors were closed on me. Then a man came in "

" Ah ! this is too terrible."

" He addressed me in the most insulting manner. He
had the audacity to tell me that he had bought me, and
that I belonged to him soul and body."

« But did he stop there ? "

" I spat in his face, and then he rushed upon me "

" And in the unequal strife you were overpowered ? "

" No," answered Cecile, with energy.

" How did you contrive to escape him ? "

" I seized a candle and set fire to the hangings of the
room. I burnt my hands, but as his servants rushed in
I managed to escape."

George fell upon his knees, and taking in his hands
those delicate fingers, which still bore the trace of the
fire, bathed them with tears, and covered them Avith
kisses. " And I — I who accused you," faltered he.

Then, suddenly starting to his feet, he exclaimed :
" His name — give me the villain's name ! "

" His name ? " stammered Cecile; " I do not know his
name."

" What ! " cried G-eorge. " You went to his house, and
you do not know his name ? "

" Forgive me, but it was to Madam Acton's that I
went."

" You at least know the address ? "

" It was near the Bois de Boulogne."

" Give me the exact address."

" For what reason ? "

" That I may punish the scoundrel."

" You mean to challenge him ? No, you shall not fight
for me."

" I will, unless indeed I find that he is one of those
men with whom one cannot fight without degrading
oneself."

" And he is one of those. He has acted like a villain
of the lowest stamp, and should be treated as such."

" You are right. He has committed an offence in the
eye of the law, and I will denounce him, and let him
pay the penalty of his crime; that wiU be the better
course."

" Then all will know that I was in his house for an

140 THE felon's bequest.

hour, and do you think that he will hesitate to calumni-
ate me ? He will say that I came to him willingly; and
how can I prove the contrary ? No, you must not do
that."

" Then I must kill him," replied George, in a deter-
mined tone.

" He will refuse to fight, he will deny every thing, and
will swear that I came to his house of my own free will."

George grew deadly pale, and a sj)asm of j)ain con-
tracted his features. " Good," he said, in broken accents.
" Since you insist on it I will do nothing, but I shall be
at liberty to think what I like of this obstinacy of yours,
in refusing to give me this man's name and address. Ah !
mademoiselle, you had better have kept this tale to
yourself; there was no need for you to have told it to
me.

" You are right, and that proves the truth of it. Had I
wished to deceive you, it would have been easy for me to
have invented a more plausible story to have justified my
want of punctuality."

•' You cannot always think of everything. You hoped
that this one would have been sufficient for me, and now
that you see how determined I am to sift the matter
thoroughly, you seek to stop. I now begin to xinder-
stand."

" You believe that I am deceiving you; this was all that
was wanted to fill my cup to the brim," sobbed Cecile.
" What can I do, great heavens ! to convince you that you
have no grounds on which to reproach me ? "

" Give me his address then."

" So that you may risk your life against his, against
that villian's ! Never ! Sooner let me die, and then later
on you will know that I was not guilty, and will shed a
tear for me."

" How can I put faith in your story ? Do I even know
that you have received this letter with the English
signature ? Had you done so you would have shown it
to me."

Cecile could hold out no longer; to lose George's love
and to rest under the weight of his contempt was too
much. She drew the letter from her bosom, and handed
it to him. " Here it is," said she; " will you believe me
now ? "

THE felon's bequest. 141

George took the letter and read the address. *' How
did this foreign woman know where you lived ? " asked he.

" Bead the letter; you will then see that the woman or
the man who wrote it got my address from a wholesale
dealer, with whom I have done business for a long time."

George took the letter from its envelope, his eyes were
dim, and his hands trembled, so deep was the emotion
he felt. He perused it all down to the very signature,
from which he learned nothing, as it was a false one; but
beneath the signature " Rue Pergolese, at the corner of
the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne." When she gave
him the letter in her own justification, Cecile had for-
gotten that she had handed him the clue to the identity
of the man who had so basely ensnared her.

" That man ! " vociferated George. " Is that the man
who has laid this devilish trap for you ? Ah ! this time,
I have got the villian firmly."

" What do you mean ? " asked Cecile, who did not know
of George's old grudge against the marquis.

" I mean that the man who lives there has already
treated me in a most scandalous manner, and that I will
now be revenged on him for all the insults he has heaped
on my head."

" How can he have insulted you? Tou must be deceiv-
ing yourself."

" Not at all. At the corner of the Rue Pergolese, on
entering the avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, there is a
house, and that house belongs to Simancas."
'"Simancas? "

" Yes; a Spaniard who calls himself a marquis, and lias
his lackeys Cidl him General. The man y.ou saw was a
foreigner, was he not ? "

"I think so; but "

" What is he like ? "

"Rather tall, broad shoulders, very dark, wearing a full
black beard."

" It is the same man, I tell you. Where can he have
seen you, that he set this timj) for you ? "

" Nowhere; at least, I do not recollect seeing him any-
where."

" Then he was ignorant of your existence ? You must
have been pointed out to him. He pays unsexed women
to find out poor and virtuous girls for him. Who can

142 THE felon's bequest.

have found you out ? Ah ! but I seem to recognize this
writing."

George examined the letter more attentively. " Now I
know it," cried he, after a strict scrutiny. " It is Juliet."

"Juliet!" repeated Cecile, as though the name had
suggi^sted a vague, indefinite recollection to her.

" Yes, Juliet, a woman who, to my misfortune, I for-
merly knew."

" Were you her lover ? "

" Yes, with many others ; but, I confess it, I was fooHsh
enough to show myself with her, and she rewarded me
by slandering me everywhere. She hates me, and I
return the feeling cordially. She dealt the blow at me,
in endeavoring to throw you into the aims of Simancas."

" Have you spoken of me to her ?" -

" Never. I have never seen her since I met you."

" Then how was she able to learn that jon knew me ?"

"How can we tell ? Perhaps she saw. you in the street,
and your beauty attracted her attention, and as she has
fallen so low as to pander for the jjassions of a wealthy
voluptary, she may have followed you."

" I should have noticed it, as I did when that man fol-
lowed us on the day Avhen we were last together."

The recollection which the gii'l roused in George's
mind caused a fresh suspicion to come across him. This
spy was the servant and ready tool of Cornelian. Had the
Lion Queen and Juliet conspired together to remove a
rival from their path? It seemed hardly likely; and yet
he was aware that they had met since his first visit to the
menagerie, when Juliet had told Cornelian his address in
the Rue Frochot.

Quivering with emotion, Cecile for a few moments
reflected deeply. " "What is that woman's name ?" asked
she, suddenly.

" I told you— Juliet."

"Juliet what?"

"Juliet Taupier."

" Ah ! sobbed Cecile, hidiiig her face in her hands, " I
had guessed it aU, only too truly."

" What do you mean ? "

" Her lover is "

" Finish your sentence."

"The man whom I fancied I loved; but I could hardly

THE felon's bequest. 143

believe in such infamy. Now I understand all. He has
mentioned me to his new mistress, and they have plotted
together to hand me over to that man."

"And I saw the scoundrel with Juliet; his name is
Arthur."

" How do you know that ? "

"I heard Juhet call him so, when she insulted me
before him, and I struck him."

" You struck him ?"

" Yes, and he did not return the blow."

A flush of shame passed across Cecile's cheek as she
heard of the cowardly conduct of the man she had once
loved. And this thoroughly feminine feeling did not for
a moment injure her in George Cransac's eyes, whose
heart was a sufficiently noble one to understand her com-
pletely. " I cannot comprehend how it was I did not
recognize his portrait the moment that I saw it at your
rooms," remarked he, to draw her mind away from the
painful flood of recollection that had evidently swept
over it.

"I thought I bad told you," returned slie, "that since
he had shaved off his moustache he had altered greatly.
But now you have the portrait. I entreated you to burn
it, or to tear it up. I do so no longer, but supplicate you
to cast it into the common sewer."

As Cecile spoke the fire flashed from her eyes; and if
George had still any doubts of her, the transport of pas-
sion which pervaded her whole being showed plainly
that she had nothing with which to reproach herself.
The noble-minded girl, who showed such anger against
a debased man, could not stoop to a lie. " No," replied
George; " I will keep that portrait. It may be of use to
me later on, when I know where to find the original of it;
but I promise you that I will not lay hands on either this
rogue or his accomplice ; the police will have them in good
time; but it is Simancas that I want."

" "Why so ? " asked Cecile, eagerly; " he is no better or
worse than the others, and is, therefore, as much beneath
your anger as they are."

"He has what they have not got — a certain social
standing, which prevents his shrinking back if he is
challenged."

144 THE felon's bequest.

" Are you then resolved to do so, in spite of my tears
and entreaties ? "

" More so than ever. I have an old score to settle "with
him, and finish off that and. the new one at the same
time."

" But it is I that he has insulted — I alone, for he did
not know that I lo — that I knew you. "

Cecile had, in a moment of forgetf ulness, ahnost uttered
the words " I loved you."

" Are you defending his conduct to me ? " asked George,
harshly.

" No, certainly not; but I can see what he will reply
to your demands that I am not your wife, nor even your
mistress, and that you have no authority to act in my
defence."

" I shall not argue the point with him. I shall strike
him across the face to begin with, and, if he is not the
veriest coward upon earth, that will make him fight ! "

George forgot the wise words of warning that Valbrec
had given him: that people who were acquainted with
his case would refuse to cross swords "with a man sus-
pected of forgery, and discharged in default of sufficient
evidence to convict him.

Simancas would certainly take this view of the case,
and would refuse to fight, even if the provocation he
received was followed by an act of personal violence.

But of this Cecile was ignorant. AU she desired was
to prevent an encounter which might prove fatal to the
man she loved. " Once again I ask you as a favor,"
pleaded she, taking his hands in hers, " do not risk your
life for me. Do not honor this "vdllain by crossing swords
with him."

" Take care," returned George, bitterly; " if you per-
sist in your request, I shall begin to think that you have
a tender feeling for him, and are afraid that I shall kill
him ! "

" How can you say so ? " replied Cecile, deeply humili-
ated at the idea.

"How do I know?" answered George, ironically.
" You are perhaps in fear for him. You are right to be
so. I am a dead shot, and can use my sword fairly well.
I vow to you that I will not be too gentle with this noble
marquis from across the sea, who affects to treat France

THE felon's bequest. ' 145

as a conquered country, and our women as if they were
purchased slaves, that he could trample on as he liked.
Is it his high position or the lofty aii-s he gives himself
that have pleased you, or is it the magniiicence of his
mansion that has turned your head ? "

" Do not say such cruel things," faltered Oecile; " you
knoAv that I despise him, and that I love you."

" You love me ! " exclaimed George, drawing her to
him. " It is the first time that you have ever told me so.
I will believe you when j'ou prove it to me. I am sure
if I were youi- husband I should be unable to resist your
entreaties ! "

CecUe closed his mouth with a kiss. Once more their lips
met in a burning, passionate kiss, as they had met before
on the stej) of the ruined house ; but this time Cecile did -
not take him for another, and knew that she was clasped
in the arms of a man that she loved \vith all her soul.
The past was all forgotten in the mutual transports of
their love, and the thought of those degraded beings who
had plotted against their happiness passed completely
away; they lived only for each other.

That night Josephine waited vainly for the return of
her mistress to Belleville.

146 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER XX.

A PENNY-A-LINER.

Happiness drives away gloomy thoughts — makes the
heart joyous. For the past few days Cransac had been
the happiest of men. Life looked bright, and he firmly
believed that all his troubles were at an end.

There was to be no more doubt, no more hesitation.
He was no longer going to hide his riches from anyone,
not even from Cecile Cambremer, who had promised, after
much hesitation, to share his wealth with him. She under-
stood that by remaining separated from him she would
always be exposed to the attacks of her cowardly enemies;
and she loved George too well to refuse to agree to his
wish, that she should never leave him. She had, however,
stipulated that she should still continue the business which
insured her independence.

She was to direct the operations of her workroom from
a distance, and Josephine Sureau was to perform the
active duties of overlooker. The project seemed rather
impracticable to George, but he had been induced to
assent to it.

He had resolved upon quite a different class of existence
when he had secured and fui-nished a fitting place of
abode. He was on the lookout for one, and in the mean-
time Cecile took up her residence in the Rue Frochot, to
the utter bewilderment of the porter, who had been all
smiles and civility since he had heard that George was a
great deal richer than his master, the landlord. The
lovers lived without a cloud to mar their happiness. They
took their dinner at a restaurant, the porter's wife looked
after the rooms, and all went smoothly and happily.

George told her the whole story of his arrest, and his
detention in Mazas, but refrained from informing her
from what source his wealth had come. He repeated the
old story of the anonymous inheritance, and she believed
what he told her implicitly.

The gold and banknotes which George had brought
away on his last visit to the ruined house wei'e now sec-
urely stored away in a safe, which George had purchased,

THE felon's bequest. 147

and wliich was fii-mly secured to the floor of the bed-
chamber, where a safe had never been seen before, for
the simple reason that those who had previously occupied
the room had never possessed anything worth putting
under lock and key.

G-eorge, the first time that CecUe was absent for a short
time, had removed to his present abode all his wealth,which
he had temporarily placed in the wardrobe at the Grand
Hotel. He had not said a word to her regarding his inten-
tion to build at Montmartre : but he had concluded his bar-
gain for the land, and it was now in course of being sur-
rounded by a hoarding, which would prevent robbers and
loafers from entering the place. Therefore, George had
no real cause for anxiety of any description. He heard
no more of Simancas and his vile accomplices; the
failiu'e of their plot must have discouraged them, and
it would have been foUy to have thrown himself in their
way. " Let sleeping dogs lie," is an old saving, and in
nine cases out of ten, a very sensible one. Cransac
hoped never to find them in his path, for he might be
tempted to forget himself, and disastrous results might
follow. Chance had also smiled upon him, by deliver-
ing him from another source of anxiety.

The fair of Montmartre was over, and the men of the
shows had packed up their abodes, and betaken them-
selves, with their performers and wild beasts, to other
parts of France, and so Cransac was no longer apprehen-
sive of meeting ComeUan, who, he presumed, had gone
oflf like the rest. He had entirely forgotten that at
Valbrec's dinner some of the better informed among the
guests had mentioned that the Lion Queen of the Boule-
vard de Clichy was about to make her first appearance
at one of the Paris theatres, whilst he thought that she
was far away giving her performances in some provincial
fair. He had not given up all idea of a joumaHstic
career, for Cecile, who dreaded the effects of idleness
upon her lover, urged him to seek for some opening in
the literary world, and he felt no disinclination to follow
her advice. Since Cecile had given herself up to him, he
had neglected all his former friends; and Valbrec, who
was much occupied, hardly noticed the disappearance of
his young friend. Of all those who had assembled round
that merry dinner table, Lourdier was the only one that

148 THE felon's bequest.

Cransac liad met again. He liad gone witli him to the
to the notary to settle about the property at Montmartre,
and had also called upon him to pay him the money that
he had lost at cards.

Cransac desired to be absent from Cecile's side as little
as possible; and it was she who, with a true woman's
instinct, understood that to make love endure for ever it
was not good to be always together. One fine morning
after breakfast she proposed a new arrangement for the
day. She had resolved to go alone to the workroom to
give her orders to Josephine, whilst George should go to
the office of the newspaper upon which Valbrec was
employed, and endeavor to enter into some definite ar-
rangement for employment with him. George was to
spend the morning at the office, and meet Cecile for din-
ner at the Cafe Anglais, after which they were
to go to the theatre. On that evening a new piece
was to be played at the Porte Saint Martin Theatre,
and Cecile, who had never been to a first performance,
was most anxious to be present. It had been settled that
George should go and secure seats, if there were any
still vacant, and after a tender farewell the lovers separ-
ated. The office of the newspaper was on the mezzanine
floor of a house in the Boulevard des Italiens, and as Val-
brec was never there before three o'clock, George had
plenty of time in which to go to the theatre, which he did,
leisurely smoking a cigar on the way. Upon his arrival
at the box office he was informed that there was not a
seat in anj portion of the house available; and yet, after
all, it was only one of those spectacular pieces, a mere
extravaganza, with plenty of ballet, certainly not a work of
any literary merit, and yet all Paris was in a f ennent to be
present at it. George did not care a bit what they were
playing, he had not even read the posters; but, as Cecile
had expressed a wish to see it, he was much annoyed at
not being able to gratify the first wish she had expressed.
In Paris, however, everything can be obtained for money.
As Cransac was leaving the box office he was accosted on
the pavement by an individual with a red scarf round his
neck, who offered to sell him a ticket for one of the stage
boxes for two hundred francs. Since George had stilled
the admonitions of his conscience, he did not at all care
what money he spent. He therefore followed the man

TSE FELOK*S BEQTTEST. 149

into a neighboring wine shop, and the bargain was con-
cluded over the counter. Two hundred francs was a
large sum to pay for a box, and Cecile would have been
the first to blame him had she known that he had done
so, but he resolved that he would say nothing to her
about the price, and was only too delighted at being able
to gratify her wishes at any cost.

After completing this stroke of business, George turned
back to the office of the paper, and was ushered into
Valbrec's sanctum, a little ill-furnished den opening into
the public room, where visitors were continually coming
and going. Yalbrec was just commencing his society
jottings, but he was quite willing to put by his work for
a moment, for he was not one of those who are too fond
of work; besides, he was really pleased to see George
once more.

" "Where the deuce have you been hiding yourself since
our dinner at Brebant's ?" cried he. " I began to ask
myself if you had not gone back to London to collar the
rest of the money that fell on you from the skies."

"No," returned George, who did not care for too many
questions regarding his wonderful heritage. "I have
not had to cross the channel again. My banker has made
me a remittance and all my business is now settled.

" Bravo ! Tour fortune will be better invested here in
France, where you have it in your own hands." Then, as
George seated himself at the ink-stained table, at which
he had been writing, he continued: "I heard of j'ou
from Lourdier. It seems that he landed you over the
ground at Montmartre."

" Yes, though I did not much fancy the bargain. I let
myself be inveigled into it."

" He tells me that you are going to build there ? "

" I have not made up my mind about that."

" I adA-ise you to look twice before you do. Lourdier
is a very good fellow, but he is shrewder than you are,
and if you go in for building from the plans of his friend
Thomas, you will be plucked pretty bare. Take some
comfortable rooms in a good part of the to^^^l."

" I am looking for some."

"Yeiy good. Make yourself comfortable in them, and
don't take all the responsibility and expense of a house

150 THE felon's BEQtEST.

on your shoulders. Spend your money on yourself, my
boy, not in rent and taxes, and servants."

" I agree with you entirely."

" Well, now tell me what you have been doing with
yourself since the last day we met. I hope that you
have not begun to play again. Ecarte does not agree
with }^ou, and the next time you may not get off for a
few thousand francs."

" Where could I have played ? I don't belong to any
club now ? "

" No more do you," answered Valbrec, who recollected
too late the insulting manner in which George had been
treated in the Rue Volney. " Let us talk of something
else. You have, I hope, given up the idea of sending in
copy?"

" Well, no; I came here expressly to ask you if I could
be of any use here."

" You have plenty of talent and intelligence, but that
is practically saying nothing."

" I don't understand you."

" My dear fellow, general talent in no particular line
is not adapted to journalism. To succeed you must have
a special aptitude, and I cannot see that you possess
this."

" You spoke to me of writing paragraphs."

" If you fancy doing so you can try, but I predict that
you will soon grow weary of it. If you were poor, and
had to stniggle for a living, you might perhaps succeed;
but a man only arrives at the goal of success when he is
spurred on by necessity, and between ourselves, old
man, an amateur journalist isn't up to much. I know
that they are not much gi-eater fools than the others. We
make use of them by sending them into society to report,
because they know how to dress and behave. Journalism
resembles diplomacy; to succeed in it you must be bom
to it."

" Why do you endeavor to discourage me ? "

"You are in error; I only want to open your eyes.
Come, do you want to wi-ite for the pleasure of seeing
yourself in print?'

" Certainly not."

" Or for the sake of ' interviewing political and literary
celebrities ?' "

a?fiE felon's bequest. 151

« still less so."

" Then rest satisfied with enjoying your fortune, and
if the mania for ■s\Titing seizes upon you, write a book.
That will fill up your time, and after all you may have
something in you; but don't try to get on a paper."

" You spoke to me quite in a different tone when I met
you after my mishap."

"Because then you were absolutely without resources,
and poverty works wonders. But now that you are roll-
ing in money, if you try to write you will lose time that
you might use in a better way. "Why do you not look
out for a nice girl. You will have no trouble in finding
one a great deal better than Juliet Taupier, as I told
you before,"

" I have found one already."

" "Why did you not tell me ? It would have saved me
the trouble of preaching a sermon to you. "Well, amuse
yourself in this Hfe, and leave conceited ones to
endeavor to pass themselves off for what they are not. Is
she pretty?"

" Perfectly lovely."

" I don't suppose it is she that has put it into your
head to write in the papers ? " asked Valbrec, with a
smile.

" But she is the one that has done it," answered
Cransac. " She does not wan't me to be idle."

" Good, idleness is the mother of all the vices. The
lady is veiy sensible, .but it seems a strange idea on her
pai't to imagine that a rich man like you wants to work.
"What class of society does she belong to ? Is she a
literary lady? If so, I pity you."

" Not at aU. She is an artificial flower maker."

" Curious one doesn't often meet one with such ideas;
but no matter, both of you will soon lose this desire for
literary distinction."

" Perhaps; but our connection is not a slight one. "We
are going to set up house together."

".^Jie more reason not to quarrel, for what you have
underttiken is a serious matter. You watch your treasure
carefully, and hide her from all your friends."

" Not at all. You shall see her."

" I shall be charmed, especially if, after having seen

152 THE felon's bequest.

her, you ■will permit me to tell you my opinion of her
frankly."

"I am sure you can only form a favorable one of her."

" You lovers are always in extremes, and you appear to
have gone in for it seriously. Don't be afraid, however,
I am not going to undertake to cure you; indeed, I should
only give myself useless trouble. Go on, dear boy, only
don't run into any foolishness for her. All these romances
come to an end somehow, and it is the woman who takes
upon herself the duty of untying the knot."

" Cransac was a little annoyed at hearing his old com-
rade speak so Hghtly of Cecile, and he was about to pro-
test that this was not a mere passing fancy, when he saw
Valbrec beckoning to some one who had just entered the
adjoining room, the door into which had remained open.
" Forgive me," said he, " but I have taken the sub-editor's
place to-day, who is away goodness knows on what busi-
ness, and I have to look after the paper." Then, tur^iing
to the new comer, he cried out: " Come in my dear
Saintonge, don't put yourself out; this is a friend of
mine who is with me. What interesting items ha^ e you
brought me ? "

The man he had called came in, and Cransac saw a
young fellow shabbily dressed, his features as much worn
as his coat, but still shrewd and intelligent-looking.
" Cransac," said Valbrec, " peimit me to introduce you to
our head reporter." Cransac bowed, and prepared
to take his departure.

" I have two matters," returned Saintonge, " a big one
and a little one. They are not quite fresh, but I am the
only one who has got hold of them."

" Let us hear what they are," said Valbrec.

" First, a fire in the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne.
The conflagration broke out in a detached building, which
burnt like a box of matches — not government matches,
you understand."

" But, Saintonge, that has been in all the papers. It is
a very stale piece of news."

"Wait a bit; the papers all attributed it to an act of
negligence on the j)art of a servant, who held a candle
too near some lace curtains. Well, they are wrong; the
place was set on fire on purpose by a woman."

" Look here, you are telling me some made-up yam that

THE felon's bequest. 153

will land us in an action for libel. Axe you sure of tlie
facts of the case ?"

" I had them from the servant who was discharged on
account of the accident."

" Did he mention the woman's name ? "

*' No, he had never seen her before, but the story he
told was a funny one. A girl had been decoyed to the
house, and in saving herself from the violence of the
master had set fire to the place, and that was why the
marquis had not given her in charge."

" \Vhat marquis ? "

" General, the Marquis of Simancas, the man who has
that fine house at the comer of the Rue Pergolese.
The house narrowly escaped being burnt down, and the
hidalgo being roasted."

" Hulloa ! " exclaimed Valbrec, looking atCransac, "that
is your man, my dear fellow."

" Does the gentleman know the marquis?" asked Saint-
onge.

" Very slightly," returned George, very much vexed.

" You know enough of him not to like him much," re-
turned Valbrec, " and here is an excellent opportvmity
for you to pay ofif yoiu' grudge. Shall I give him a first-
class slating in to-morrow's issue ? It will please our
readers, for they all detest these insolent foreigners.
Saintonge can begin this evening by a few carefidly con-
sidered lines, which he can slip in amongst the events of
the day.

" * Great scandal in a princely abode in the Avenue du
Bois de Boulogne. Commencement of a drama which
may be played out in a court of justice, in camera.' Next
day I will write a scathing article on the disreputable
class of foreigners who now infest Paris, and if Simancas
comes here to ask for an explanation, I will receive him;
unless, indeed, you would like to take that duty on your-
self ? "

Cransac was in no hurry to reply, for two separate
feehngs were contending in his bosom; on one side he
was rejoiced to find an unbiassed witness confirm the
recital of Cecile Carabremer; and, on the other, he did
not wish his friend Valbrec to make a violent attack upon
Simancas in his paper. The marquis had kept silence on
an adventure in which he had not played a very distin-

154 THE felon's bequest.

guished part, but if he were puslied hard, he might
accuse Cecile of having set fire to his house, and swear
that she had come there of her own accord.

" Well," said Valbrec, " what do you say ? "

" I should prefer another mode of revenge. I have a
personal quarrel with the man "

" And you would rather take your own method of re-
venge? Perhaps you are right, and the paper would
have a chance of losing the case. The servant who gave
Saintonge the information would very likely leave us in
the lurch at the last moment. We should never be able
to find the woman who had been insulted and Simancas
would get damages and costs against us. No, we will
say nothing more. We have noticed the conflagration,
and we will say nothing about the incendiary, or what is
hidden in the background."

" Just as you like," muttered the reporter.

" And now for the second item of news that you have
brought me, my dear Saintonge."

CHAPTER XXL

THK MTJRDER AT MONTMARTEE.

" That is a more serious matter. It is about the man
who was murdered the other day on the Hill of Mont-
martre."

At this unexpected announcement George turned
deadly pale. It seemed as if this collector of accidents
and offences w^ould never have ceased darting poisoned
arrows at him. The murdered man was doubtless the
scoundrel that George had struck down on the night of
his last visit to his treasure. His recent happiness had
almost made him forget this tragic adventure, and if he
did occasionally think of it he did so without any feel-
ings of remorse, as it was a legitimate case of self-defence,
and he hoped that the world of Paris would not occupy
itself much vnth. an occurrence which was so constantly
to be seen in the columns of the joiu-nals. And now this
unpleasant history was all at once recalled to him by a

THE felon's bequest. 155

man whose profession it was to sliow up such events in a
manner to satisfy the curiosity of the pubHc."

" Pooh ! " returned Valbrec, " a loafer about the out-
skirt knocked on the head in a drunken row by one of
his companions. That is not very interesting, Saintonge."

" I thought as you did at first, but I have changed my
mind since I heard some unexpected news at the inquest.
The police think that they have got a clue."

" A clue to what ? "

" To this. As there were no papers on the dead man,
he was taken to the Morgue, and in three days the body
"was recognized. He was a convict who had just come
out of the Central Pi-ison at Melun, after having done
seven years."

A feeling of relief passed through George's heart
when he heard that the man he had killed was after all a
mere malefactor."

" The rogue," continued Saintonge, " had been sen-
tenced for complicity in a robbery which made some little
noise in its day from its extent and audacity: the safe of
a banker in the Rue du Faubourg Poissoniere was taken
away one night, and carried no one knew where. Tbei'e
must have been three men at least engaged in the busi-
ness, and the messenger of the bank was their accom-
plice. The latter has never been heard of, and they only
managed to arrest one of the thieves, a man named
Mahossier, in whose possession five rolls of gold coin
were found, which were recognized by the banker from
their being wrapped up in green paper. Mahossier is
the fellow who has just been made away with on the Hill
of Montmartre."

" This is serious," remarked Valbrec. " Let us hear
the end of it"

George said nothing, but he was struck with the men-
tion of the green paper, and he redoubled his attention.

" The end is that the police hope to discover the safe.
Mahossier was killed in an open garden, where he was
either going to or coming from a ruined house, which
formerly belonged to the banker upon whom the robbery
was committed. It seems the safe held over two millions,
and its loss ruined the owner of it. The question is
what Mahossier was doing ou this spot, to which he can-

156 THE felon's bequest.

not have come alone, since he had been killed by the
blow of a stick "

" Given by a fellow of his own stamp, who will never
be seen again. Well, my dear fellow, if this is your
famous bit of news "

" They will very likely not find the murderer, but they
may discover the treasure."

" What treasure ? "

" Why, the safe that was stolen seven years ago. It is
suspected that the robbers buried it in this garden."

" Of course they may have done so, but it is a deuce of
a long way from the Faubourg Poissoniere to the top of
the Hill of Mohtmartre; and if they did so, I should think
that they would have emptied it first."

" It is supposed that they had very little time after the
robbery, for immediately after it had taken place they
were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment for other
crimes, so that they had to wait for their liberation before
they could dig it up. It has therefore been decided to
make a thorough search of the premises."

" Two millions are worth looking for."

" The banker would be pleased if tTiey were found."

"No; he is dead. It appears that he committed suicide
when he became insolvent."

"But I suppose he left some heirs; and I hear that he
has left plenty of creditors, and they would be delighted
to get hold of the money. The search will begin to-morrow,
and it would be interesting to be present at it."

"So it would."

" Besides, our paper would be the first in the field, for
I am the only one that knows all about the matter."

" Bravo, my dear fellow. You have a week's work before
you at the very least, and can send in plenty of copy, for
they won't find the safe at the first go off. Ah ! if we could
only get hold of another affair like the Tropmann murder.
That was a magnificent piece of business; they found a
fresh body CA^ery eight days. We brought out drawings
representing the pick-axe and the shovel which the mur-
derer had used to dig the graves with. Our sale went
up ten thousand a day."

" We shan't have such luck as that. TrojDmanns are
rare unfortunately; they only occur once in a century.
But I will engage to get aU I can out of this business."

THE felon's bequest. 157

" "Well, I rely upon you. Go to work boldly."

"Be easy on that head; I won't miss a single perform-
ance, and will make the thing go. The most curious thing
about it is that the land belonged to a business man, who
gave it to our advertisement agent to seU for him."

" What, Lourdier ? "

" Just so ; if he had only known that there was a gold
mine underneath it, eh 1 "

" But here, George," cried Valbrec, "why, Lourdier has
sold the laud to you ? "

" I don't know if it is the same bit of land," answered
George, whose feelings it would be difficult to describe.

" The land that I am speaking of, " said Saintonge, " is
bounded on one sidFby tlie Rue Gabrielle, and runs up
the hill to the Place de Tertre, near the Church of Mont-
martre. There is a brick building in it, that is falling to
pieces rapidly."

" Is that yours ? " asked Valbrec.

" I think it must be," stammered George.

" You ought to know. Hang it all, man, you didn't buy
it without seeing it, did you ? "

" I saw very little of it; besides, I don't know, after all,
whether I shall build or not. I may not even set foot in
it again."

" Ha, ha ! And suppose they find a treasure, you would
have a share in it. According to law, unless I am deceived
the owner has a right to a third of the sum found."

"Yes, when there is no owner for the money; but you
say that this is stolen property, and you may be sure that
a claim will be put in for it."

" Besides, you don't want it; but there it is just like
your luck to buy a piece of land and find a treasure
buried in it ! "

George did not think much of his luck; on the con-
trary, he considered that he had attained to the pitch of
misfortune in having attracted the attention of the police
to the house in the Rue Gabrielle, by unfortunately kill-
ing a rogue in self-defence, though he might have known
that an inquest invariably follows when a dead body is
found bearing traces of violence. But even had he
thought of this, who would have supposed that this had
anything to do with a robbery committed seven years
before ? He had felt quite secure that no one would

158 THE felon's bequest.

accuse him of having murdered a criminal who he had
never seen before that night, and he had hoped that all
efforts to find the murderer would be speedily abandoned.
But the affair had now assumed an entirely different
complexion; the papers were going to take it up, and
would doubtless give it enormous publicity. A search
would doubtless reveal the scene of the hiding-place, in
which a very large sum still remained; a sum which he
had not intended to make use of, for since his last visit
he was sufficiently wealthy, but which he certainly did
not wish anyone else to appropriate. Of one thing he
was almost sure, and that was that it would be impossible
to implicate him in the old story of the bank robbery;
and yet he had cause for uneasiness. The man of the
exercise-yard at Mazas could not denounce him as having
taken possession of property knowing it to be stolen, for
he knew him neither by name or sight. But he might
make up his mind to confess everything, and tell how he
had thrown a note, containing full information as to
where the treasure was, over the w^all to another prisoner.
"What had become of the robber who had signed his
name Pierre ? Had he been sentenced, as he expected,
to twenty years' penal servitude, and already shipped off
to New Caledonia ? Might he not manage to effect his
escape before embarkation ? and might he not, on reach-
ing Paris, be retaken at any moment in the ruined house ?

" Yes," continued the reporter, recurring to the sub-
ject, " we have an almost inexhaustible sensational topic,
for if the search proves fruitless, the police can make
what they call a ' rat-trap ' of the house, and the odds
are that Mahossier's murderer will be caught there."

" Sarntonge, my boy, you are immense," cried Paul
Valbrec. ' " Don't let us have anything to do with the
Simancas matter. Occupy yourself entirely with the
* Mystery of Montmartre ' — a good title, eh ? "

" Excellent; and now, if you have no more need of me,
I will get back to the police-station," said the reporter.

George was half inclined to ask him a few questions,
but he did not dare do so, for fear of letting him see the
interest he took in the matter; but Saintonge reheved
him from his perplexity.

" If, sir," said the reporter, who was anxious to make
himself agreeable to any friend of Valbrec's, " you would

THE felon's bequest. 159

care to follow the operations of the police, I can, I think,
obtain permission to take you with me, as, in yoiu* posi-
tion as owner, you have certainly a right to be present at
the search on your own property."

" I should go, if I were you," exclaimed Yalbrec.

" I don't say that I v,nR not avail myself of your offer,"
said George, " for I am anxious to know the details of
the robbery, which is the point from whence this strange
story starts, and with which I never was acquainted
before."

" Because you were too young. You could scarcely
have left school at the time. I, who am older than you,
recollect it, but not perfectly; but I can get you all the
information that you require. AU I have to do is to send
some one to the National Library to consult the back
numbers of the Gazette des Tribunaux for the years '77 and
'78. My man can take notes, and you can learn all you
want. He can tell you the exact date of the crime, and
the name of the banker who was plundered."

" As for the name," broke in Valbrec, " you have only
to ask Lourdier, who ought to know it, as he is the
representative of one of the creditors of the bankruptcy."

" I never thought of that. When Lotirdier sold me the
land there was no question of this strange affair. But I
need not ask him, since this gentleman has been good
enough to say that he will furnish me with all the details."

" Just as you hke. Well, good-bye, Saintonge. I shall
be here until five o'clock, so don't be later than that, if
you come back to-day."

The reporter took his leave without ever having sat
down, for it is the nature of his tribe to be always in a
hurry. George, too, was anxious to get away, for he was
not in the humor to carry on a gay conversation; but
Valbrec, who was in a mood for a gossip, did not feel
inclined to break off the conversation that Saintonge had
interrupted.

" How improbable fact is," cried he. " You came here
to teU me of your projects and your love affairs, then that
capital fellow Saintonge drops down upon us, and tells
us two stories, in both of which you are interested.
Simancas, and your piece of land. It seems as if he had
done it for the purjDose."

" Oh !" said Cransac, endeavoring to assume an easy

160 THE felon's bequest.

air, " I am not thinking now of that blackguard of a
Spaniard; and as for the land I was fool enough to buy,
I shall see it again as little as jDOssible, for I don't care
about living in a spot where jpeople are knocked on the
head."

" You do not wish to dwell upon the ' theatre of the
tragedy,' as the Public Prosecutor would term it; the
more so as you are going to set up house with your new
friend, for it might prevent your sleeping. By-the-way,
where have you built your temporary nest ?"

" At my own place."

" What, have you taken her to the Grand Hotel ?"

"No; I have gone back to my old rooms in the Rue
Frochot. But she does not live there entirely; she has
kept the apartments she had before, and she goes there
every day; but, apart from that, we are almost always
together."

"Ah; that is the usual commencement; but I am a little
surprised, for I should have thought that Juliet's con-
duct to you would have given you a distaste for women."

" Of women of her stamp, certainly, and I have a per-
fect horror of them ; but allow me to remind you of what
you said just before the reporter came in and interrupted
us, and which you had said before when you left me in
the Boulevard de Clichy, upon the day I had been dis-
charged from Mazas, and had been overwhelmed with
insults and contempt the whole day. Well, the public
affront that that girl had put on me had determined me
to blow out my brains."

" Happily you did not carry out this fine idea."

" It was you that made me relinquish it by saying: ' Live
for some woman; all are not Juliet Taupiers, and you
will come across one deserving of your love.' I quote your
own words to you."

"I don't deny them; and, since you have found your
dream, all is for the best, for I believe in true love, as the
only thing to enable a man to sail safely on in the voyage
of life. Shall I be indiscreet if I ask you how and wh ere
you met the lady ?"

"It was a chance meeting," answered George, evas-
ively.

" Doubtless the incidents that decide our lives are always
the offspring of chance. My life would have been entirely

THE felon's bequest. 161

different if at a certain hour of the day I had passed
through such and such a street, but yet I do not regret
having carried out my destiny. My principle is always
to bow to circumstances, and therefore I am not surprised
at a chance meeting, and prophesy that good will come
of it. All I now ask is to be introduced to this charming
personage. You promised me that you would do so, but
if you regret having done so, I shall not insist on it"

" I don't regret it at aU."

"Then when will you introduce me? "

As soon as we sbaU be regularly installed; and then
you will always find a place laid for you at our table."

"Very good; and pray believe that I shall often take
advantage of it — at least, if the lady does not object."

" "What an absurd idea !"

"My good fellow my experience has shown me that
women do not like their lover's former friends, for they
distrust, and often with reason, the advice they give
them."

" She knows that you will give me nothing but good
counsel, and that nothing could separate me from her.
You may therefore be sure that she would receive you as
she woiild my brother, if I had one."

" Even when she knew that I have dissuaded you from
becoming a journalist, which you tell me is her latest
whim?"

" And a very reasonable one. She wanted me to have
some occupation, but I can easily find other means of
employing my time; and, besides, Cecile will see the
validity of the objections you urge."

" Ah ! her name is Cecile is it ? — a very pretty name.
Cecelia is the patron saint of musicians; is your friend
one?"

" Keally, I don't know. All I can tell you is that
I saw no piano in her rooms; perhaps because she had no
time to play."

"Well, don't buy her one," said Valbrec. "Of all
sounds, music is the most expensive. But let us talk
seriously. It is settled, then, that we shall see each other
constantly when you are definitely installed, but in the
meantime you must give me an opportunity of making
Mile. Cecile 's acquaintance. Why don't you bring her to

162 THE felon's bequest.

dine witli me at a restaurant one of these days ? Not
to-night, for I am going to the theatre."

"And so axe we."

"Well, any other night; you will always find me here
from five to seven. And now, my dear fellow, I have an
article to write."

George rose from his seat. " But deuce take me if I know
on what subject," resumed Valbrec. "Stay; I have it!
suppose I fall on the police, who never by any chance
discover the authors of a crime ?"

" That is not a very new business."

" About the police, who, after a lapse of seven years,
begin to look for the robbers of two millions of money !"

" I hope you won't refer to that unpleasant affair at
Montmartre."

" What do you take me for ? In the first place, I never
speak of ray friends in the paper; and, besides, I know
how unpleasant you would find it to have public atten-
tion attracted to you. The error which led to your com-
mittal to Mazas has been acknowledged, but an anony-
mous denunciation would lead to inquiries as to your
accession to wealth, and I suppose you don't care about
having to make a public explanation. By-the-way, you
have not been questioned yet, have you ?"

" No."

" And I do not believe that you vnl] be, although all those
who know you are aware that you have become a million-
aire; besides, even if you were questioned, it would be the
easiest thing in the world for you to explain matters.
But, for all that-, it would be better that you should
not be troubled; and now, my dear George, I won't
keep you any longer. I have just time to write my
article, and I don't want to keep them waiting for my
copy."

George shook his friend's hand warmly, and left the
office, glad enough to find himself alone, after a visit so
full of unexpected incident, which had roused feeUnga
vnthin him which he was compelled to conceal.

When he came to see Valbrec, to ask for some employ-
ment on the paper, he had not expected to hear two
matters in both of which he was much interested, dis-
cussed, Cecile's adventure was most satisfactorily cleared
up, but he foresaw that some trouble might result from

THE felon's bequest. 163

Hs last nocturnal visit to Montmartre, and he almost
regretted that he had consented to be present at the
search that the police were about to institute on the
morrow; but, on the other hand, curiosity urged on him
to assist at the operations. He knew that nothing would
be found in the garden, but the ruin would most cer-
tainly be searched; the chances were that the hiding-
place would be found, and he was anxious to be there
to see if the piles of gold did not conceal a decaying
body, the odor of which he fancied he had perceived on
his first visit. But yet he could not disguise the fact
that his presence would draw upon him the attention of
the police and he sought in vain to persuade himself that
he could avoid this danger by begging M. Saintonge to
present him as a mere reporter for the press, and not as the
actual owner of the property. In this difficulty he could
not consult Cecile, who upon any other matter would
doubtless have given him excellent advice; but she
knew nothing of his visits to Montmartre the night after
he had saved her life. She did not even know that he
had bought the property, which she must have known
long before she had met him, as she had come there from
Belleville to put an end to her hfe; and as he had made
up his mind not to build there, he resolved that he would
never tell her, for he wished that she should remain in
ignorance of the strange adventiu-e which had not only en-
riched him, but thrown him into a series of the most cruel
perplexities. He saw only too plainly that he ran the
chance of being accused of ha^•ing had a hand in a rob-
bery, and of having murdered one who, robber as he was,
was still a man. As all this turmoil of thought seethed
and bubbled in his brain the idea again came to him that
if luck changed he could still shoot himself, as he had
determined to do on the day he was discharged from the
prison of Mazas. He would now, perhaps, regret hfe the
less, because he had experienced the supreme happiness
of living, and being beloved; for before his committal to
prison he had only known a mere burlesque of love. All
that he could do now was to keep up appearances before
Cecile, who knew nothing of what was going on. He
would have preferred not taking her to the theatre that
evening, for he was not in the vein to amuse himself
with the magnificent scenery, or the puns and jokes

164 THE felon's bequest.

of a burlesque; but he bad not the courage to deprive
Cecile of a pleasure which she so ardently looked for-
ward to.

CHAPTEK XXIL

"and slandeb with hbb venomed tongub."

Cransac's interview with Valbrec had been a long one,
and it was now time for him to return to the Rue Frochot,
where Cecile was to meet him. Night had closed in, and
the lamps were lighted as George came out on the boule-
vard. It was that hour of the evening when the loungers
crowd the cafes, and the young ladies on the prowl sally
forth, trusting for lucky meetings, or even in quest of a
mere invitation to dinner, for after all that is better than
returning home hungry. They can be seen walking
along the pavement, casting smiles around them upon
the young gentlemen sipping their absinthe, or upon the
older ones, taking a brisk walk to promote a failing
appetite. And yet the poor girls have no cause for
smiles and laughter, for if they return unsuccessful from
their man-hunt they will have nothing to eat, and will be
beaten into the bargain, for Alphonse is sitting at home
waiting for money, and the bully's temper is not of the
sweetest when he does not get it. There are women
about who could live, and live well too, without sweeping
the muddy streets with their skirts, and who yet will not
disdain to profit by what they term an opportunity.
These do not stare into the faces of the passer by, but
cast down their eyes when a man looks at them. A
young felloV from college would be deceived, and a man
from the coimtry would apologize to them ; but, for all
that, they take care to turn down the first street they
come to, and slacken their pace, so that the man whose
notice they have attracted may come up with them, away
from the glare and din of tbe boulevards. They make a
halt before the shops, especially before those of the
jewelers, as it is convenient to enter into conversation
there without people noticing them too much; and then
— who can tell ? — they may, perhaps, find some generous

THE felon's bequest. 165

being who may open the acquaintance by the present of a
ring or a bracelet.

G-eorge, however, was well acquainted with all the
manoeuvres of this class, and did not think their pro-
ceedings worth noticing. He walked on without looking
at anyone, and was about to turn down the Rue Lafitte,
when he involuntary remarked a woman, with a profusion
of yellow hair, walking in front of him, who had turned
round to look at him three or four times, without his
being able to see her face, which was thickly veiled. As
this was one of the usual performances of these clandest-
ine wanderers, it would not have attracted his attention;
but the figure of the woman, and the color of her dyed
hair, recalled to his memory Juliet Taupier.

He could not, however, believe that it was she. A
month back she had beeu living in good style in a pretty
little house in the Rue Jouffroy, and she could hardly
have fallen so low in so short a space. He turned the
comer of the Maison Doree, without occupying himself
any further with this " lady of the night," who had done
the same. She did not go very far, for after passing a
tobacconist's some five doors down, she turned sharply
round, and, raising her veil, stood still in the middle of
the pavement, so as to bar his way. Cransac was about
to step into the road to avoid her, when she accosted
him. " Good evening, my little George," said she,
softly.

Cransac lifted his eyes to her face, and recognized
JuHet Taupier. " You wretched woman ! " exclaimed he;
" how dare you speak to me ? "

" Are you still angry with me ? " asked she, endeavor-
ing to take his arm.

He thrust her from him so roughly that she staggered
back against the street door hard by. In an instant, he
regretted having done so, and expected to hear a volley of
shrieks, which woiild have roused the neighborhood;
but Juliet contented herself with moaning out: "Oh, my
dear George, do not beat me 1 I was wrong to say all those
wicked things that I did about you in the booth at the fair
of Montmartre; but — what shall I say? — I was so angry
because I had been worried by the police on your accoimt.
I have heard since that it was not your fault, and now I
humbly ask pardon ! "

166 THE felon's bequest.

" This is too much," muttered George, between his teeth.

" Don't be angry, I entreat you, but listen to me. If
you only knew how unhappy I have been since I lost you. I
I have done nothing but cry. I should like to tell you all that
I have suffered, but I cannot here in the street; take me
somewhere to dinner." Then, as George remained silent,
utterly overwhelmed at her impudence, she continued, in
a whining tone of voice: "Oh! I have been so unlucky.
My furniture has been seized, and my house sold; but
you will not desert me who used to be so nice to you in
those days when you were not rolHng in gold as you are
now 1 "

Now George began to understand how matters stood.
The vile woman had heard of his good fortune, and was au-
dacious enough to endeavor to gain him over once more. A
cold feeling of anger came over him — an anger that left
him all his judgment to treat her as she deserved. " And
so," said he harshly, " you have become a mere street
walker ? "

Juliet was about to deny it, but he cut her short
""\Miat is the good of lying; 1 saw you just now in the
boulevard ! "

" Well, and suppose I am," returned she, " is that a
reason for you to look down upon me ? There are ups
and downs in a woman's life. Those who are up in the
stirrups one day may have to seek their bread in the
streets the next: and, instead of abusing me, you ought
to pity me."

" I might pity another woman of your class, or a dog,
but you I hate and despise. K I saw you dying of hunger
in the gutter, I would not stretch out a hand to help you."

" Ho, ho ! " said Juliet, in quite another tone of voice.
" You have grown infernally insolent since you have got
a httle money; fifteen days ago you were humble enough.
What did I do, after all, when you were with me ? I was
unfaithftd to you, I suppose you will say. Well, did you
expect, for the few francs you gave me, that I was to be
yours entirely?"

" What have you done ! " exclaimed George, looking
at her in a manner that "would have made anyone with the
slightest feeling of shame sink into the ground. " Do
you think that I am going to reproach you for having left
me for that scoundrel whom I struck across the face ?

THE felon's bequest. 167

Why, you are admirably suited for each other; but I will
teU you what you have done "

"Go on, then; I am anxious to hear."

" You sold and handed over to Simancas the woman I
loved."

" What — ^you know that, do you ? " sneered the woman,
who, now that she had no chance of getting hold of
George again, did not care to conciliate him. " Pray,
how did you know that ? "

" I saw the letter that you wrote to draw a young girl
into a trap."

" A young girl, indeed."

" Don't say a word against her, or I will twist your
neck."

Juliet was frightened, although the street was not by
any means deserted, for she knew that George was able
to strangle her before she could utter a cry. " Yes," contin-
ued George, coming up close to her, "you sold her; and
it was your pitiful hound of a lover who pointed her out
to you. I will settle my account with him the first time I
meet him; but as for you, your destination is Saint Lazare,
the prison for abandoned women."

** Just you try and put me there, my good feUow 1 "

" You will go fast enough without my sending you there,
and I will not degrade myself by denouncing you ; only
remember this, that if you act in any way- against my wife,
for my wife she shall be soon "

" Pooh, pooh ! And so you have made it up with her
again, and are going to marry her into the bargain ! What,
after her little adventure with the marquis ! Well, there
is not an ounce of jealousy about you, and you have no
hesitation in taking up the leavings of a generous gentle-
man."

" What is that you dare to insinuate ? "

" I say that Simancas could tell you a good deal about
your florist. She went to his house, and once there — well,
the marquis is not a man to let anything stand between
him and his whims ; and, prude as she may have been, it
was the same with her aa with the rest of them."
" You lie ! "

" Oh, I dare say she told you quite a different story.
Perhaps that she set fire to the liouse to escape from the
clutches of the marquis." <

168 THE felon's bequest.

This blow struck home, and Juliet had shown her sense
in speaking of the conflagration. That there had been one
was certain, but had Cecile lighted it in her endeavor to
preserve her honor ?

"Ah, ha ! " sneered Juliet, "I see it all. She told you
that she had risked being burnt in defence of her virtue.
"Well, I was not there myself, but Simancas's housekeeper
told me exactly what really happenend to our fine friend
was shut up with Simancas for an hour. I can't say what
took place. She may have scratched him for all I know;
he likes that sort of thing. But of one thing you may be
sure : he attained his end. The place was set on fire a little
too late, my friend, and she was very foolish to do it, for
it has made Simancas very angry. He was ready to do a lot
for her, and now he never wishes to see her face again.
That is all. When you Uke you can go and order a wreath
of orange blossoms, if your heart urges you to do so; but
remember what I have told you, and remember later on
that you may be sorry for the act of folly you say you are
going to commit."

George was tortured with suspicions, but he would not
for a moment discuss the question with the vile woman
who stood before him, nor would he deny the assertions
that he did not desire to believe. He could, however, now
that he had the chance, tell Juliet plainly the opinion he
had of her. "Be silent," cried he; "you are a viper that
I ought to crush beneath my feet."

" Not here, my good fellow," sneered Juliet; "they would
lock you up if you tried to do so. Besides, you are wrong
to be angry, for all that I have told you is for your good;
and you are wrong, too, to bear malice, because I sent the
girl to the Rue Pergolese to make some money, for I did
not then know that you had anything to do with her."

" You are lying again."

" No, I am not. It was not written on her face that she
belonged to you. And besides, I didn't know her; it was
Arthur who knew her."

" Yes, the cowardly scoundrel that I thrashed."

" Who has taken your place with me and preceded,
you in the heart of your fair florist. I suppose you know
that, eh ? "

"I know that he is a most degraded blackguard; and

THE felon's bequest. 169

,<mce be lives •witli you, tell him from me that when I
meet him I will beat him to a jelly."

" You are angry with him because he was your woman's
first lover. You ought to be more of a philosopher than
that. Why, if he had not been, some other would."

Burning with rage George raised his hand to strike
her to the ground for her insolence, but a sudden scru-
ple restrained him. Seeing this, Juliet attacked him
again. " None of that, my good man," cried she, raising
her voice so that the passers-by might hear her. " You
are not General the Marquis of Simancas, nor am I a little
workgirl from Belleville, so don't think that I am going
to stand and be beaten. If you lay a finger on me I'll
call the poHce, and then we shall see if you have the
right to thrash me, not counting that if the police poke
their noses into your affairs again you may not find it
pleasant. I should like to know where you got your
money from, and what you would say to a magistrate if
he questioned you about it; and you may be sure you
wiU be questioned, for your friend Valbrec goes about
everywhere saying that you have had a bequest left you.
A bequest left to you, indeed ! Why, you haven't a soul
belonging to you on this earth, for you are only some-
body's bastard. Where have you stolen your money
from ? Perhaps you picked up a packet of bank notes in
a cab ? "

George ground his teeth in anger.

"That goes home, does it?" cried Juliet. "All the
worse for you. You should not have stood out as you
did. I only wanted to be on your side, because I am a
good sort of a girl after all, and we might have helped
each other. For the moment I am in a hole, but I shall
get out of it. If you had chosen peace you would have
seen what the help of a woman like me was worth, but you
prefen-ed war. Good, you shaU have it i " and -with, this
threatening conclusion Juliet emerged from the doorway
where she had been standing at the commencement of
this stormy interview, and hurried away to the boulevard.
George made no effort to follow her, but proceeded on
his way to the Rue Frochot, overwhelmed by this flood
of calumny and insult, with his heart deeply wounded,
and his feelings painfully lacerated. He had left his
house fidl of joy, in order to bring back good news from

170 THE felon's bequest.

Valbrec's office, and he had met with nothing but decep-
tion, humiliation, and increased anxiety. He certainly
put no faith in the perfidious statements and plain-spoken
accusations of Juliet, but he could not conceal from him-
self that the abandoned woman could do a great deal of
harm 'both to Cecile and himself; especially to him, for
she would not hesitate to spread about all sorts of mali-
cious reports regarding the origin of his fortune, which
might be productive of serious embarrassment to him.
He had never for a moment had a shadow of doubt
regarding the truth of the story that Cecile had told
him, and the poor girl, who was now dressing to accom-
pany him to the theatre, could not for a moment guess
that a vile creature had stopped her lover in the Eue
Lafitte, and accused her of having basely deceived him.
He resolved not to say a word to her about his unfortu-
nate meeting with Juliet; but the harm was done, and
the poisoned dart which the vile woman had cast at him
rankled in the festering wound.

CHAPTER XXm.

▲ rrasT kight.

Dwellers in foreign lands can hardly realize the seusation
that a first representation in a Parisian theatre excites.
In Italy and Germany, where music is so highly thought
of, a new opera will collect together an " appreciative,
sympathetic audience. But in Paris, whether it is a
masterpiece or a mere bit of foolery, a lyric drama or
burlesque, or a simple farce, a first night is always an
event: not for the worthy citizens, nor yet for the work-
ing classes, who do not visit the theatre through vanity,
but for that section which styles itself Parisian society,
in which the idle and vicious are in the majority. Some
come because othei-s are going, as sheep follow their bell-
wether, and others in the hopes of their names appearing
m the papers next day. It matters little to them whether

THE felon's bequest. 171

the piece be interesting or the reverse; indeed, they sel-
dom listen to it. It is quite sufficient for them to be seen,
and to attain this object they will lavish their gold to
procure places. Some of them who have been unable to
obtain seats have been known to parade in front of the
theatre during the waits between the acts, in evening
costume, so that it may appear that they have been pres-
ent. They believe that it would be a slur on their repu-
tation if they were not present at a dramatic solemnity
of this kind, and will perform incredible acts of meanness
to attain their object. It must be understood, however,
that this only applies to some theatres, as others are cer-
tainly unknown to the fine gentlemen of society. The
Ambigu was never " the thing," and the Porte Saint
Martin was not so until melodramas by populai- authors
began to be played there. This evening this was not
the case, for a grand spectacular drama was to be played
by some unknown ^vriters, but marvels were reported of
the scenery and the stage effects. The fashionable world
were to be there in great numbers, and their humble fol-
lowers and admirers would not aUow so favorable an
opportunity of mixing with them to sUp. There was
therefore a crowd, and a very fashionable crowd, too, at the
theatre. Fashionable evening dress in the stalls, and
private boxes fuU of diamonds which glittered on the
whitest of shouldei"s; nothing, indeed, was wanting.

George and Cecile did not arrive until after the first
act was over. They had had a protracted dinner, though
not a very merry" one, at the Cafe Anglais, albeit Cecile
was enchanted at enjoying a new pleasure ynih. the man
she loved, for she had never been present at a first rep-
resentation. Greorge had taken good care not to say a
word regarding the incidents which had vexed him so much
in the course of the day ; but his mind continually wandered
back to them, and he could not force himself to ajDpear
joyous and merry during the dinner. Even the cham-
pagne had no effect on him, and Cecile was a little
uneasy at his moroseness, but she did not let him see it,
and trusted to the performance to drive it away. Cecile
wore no jewelry. G-eorge had not yet thought of giv-
ing her any, and, had he offered to do so, she would have
most probaljly refused it; but she was dressed in perfect
taste, and her toilet enhanced the charms of her face and

172 THE felon's bequest.

figure. There was not a womau in the theatre who could
be compared to her. When, therefore, they drew aside
the screens, after taking their seat in the stage-box, there
was a sudden sensation amongst the occupants of the
stalls. Twenty opera glasses were turned in her direc-
tion, for an unknown beauty is a grand treat to the fre-
quenters of first nights at the theatre, who are accus-
tomed to see the same female faces over and over again.
Not one of them could remember ever having met the
handsome brunette before, but some of the men con-
nected with the Stock Exchange recognized the gentle-
man who escorted her; and Cransac could see some of
them whispering to each other remarks which he felt
sure had reference to him. His appearance puzzled
those who knew of the trouble he had been in, and
scandal and gossip flew about freely.

Cransac might have foreseen that all this was certain
to happen, but he was not the less amazed by finding so
many eyes fixed upon him, and almost regretted that he
had come.

Cecile guessed his thoughts. " Shall we go away ? "
asked she suddenly.

"^Tiat, and deprive you of your night's pleasure,
because a lot of fools are staring at us! Certainly
not," answered George, deeply moved at this unsohcited
offer on her part. Very few women would have con-
sented to sacrifice their evening's amusement to gratify
an unspoken desire, only to be read in their lover's
eyes.

" It seems that they are looking at me," said she, with
a smile. "Well, they shall have their trouble for
nothing," she continued, " for I will turn my back on
them."

She had, of course, the best seat in the box — that is to
say, the one most remote from the stage — and she took
such advantage of her position, and used her fan with
such discretion, that she became almost invisible to the
audience.

Cransac still remained the mark for the opera-glasses
of a few of the more obstinate gazers, but he retaliated
by directing upon them the barrels of an exceUent pair
of binoculars which he liad brouglit with him, which
ended at last in putting a stop to their rudeness.

THE felon's bequest. 173

When he had achieved this victory he began in his
turn to inspect the audience, and found familiar faces
in all parts of the house. In the box facing him was
Lourdler with his wife and daughters. In the dress
cu-cle was the theatrical critic of the paper to which Tal-
brec belonged; and in the first row of the stalls was 7al-
brec himself in full evening costume, waiving friendly
greetings to his brother journalists in the different parts
of the house, and occasionally despatching a gracious
smile in the direction of some lady of his acquaintance.
Cransac was delighted to see him, and thought that this
would be an excellert opportunity to introduce him to
Cecile, according to his promise.

" There is Paul," said he, pointing him out to Cecile;
" shall I go and bring him here ? "

" Why should you disturb him ? " murmured Cecile,
who would have much sooner remained alone with her
lover.

" Because he would be far more comfortable with us
than with all those swells in the stalls. If he had seen
us, I think that he would have been round before, for he
is most anxious to make your acquaintance. Indeed, he
asked me to bring him home as soon as we were properly
settled down."

" As long as he does not find me too ugly," said Cecile,
softly.

"Nonsense, he loves pretty women too well not to
know one when he sees her."

" Or too foolish."

" He is too clever himself not to see at once that you
have plenty of talent, so let me introduce you to him this
evening."

" You know that I will do all you wish," returned Cecile
extending her hand to him, wluch he kissed under cover
of the sheltering screen.

" Then I will go," said he. " But no, it is useless; his
stall is empty, and he is coming here."

Valbrec had at length noticed his friend and, having
waved his hand to show his delight at the recognition,
began to perform that unpleasant operation of gliding
between unwilling paii^ of knees and the backs of the
stalls. In a few moments Cransac, who had opened the
door of the box, introduced him to Cecile in these words:

174 THE felon's bequest.

" This is Paul, my dear; Paul, my best friend, of whom
I have so often spoken to you."

" Pray, be my friend too," said CecUe, gracefully.

" Faith, I ask for nothing better," returned Valbrec,
bluntly. " I nerer saw you before, my dear madam, but
I feel sure that we are destined to meet very often, and I
am perfectly certain that we shall get on well together.
You don't believe me. Well, then, listen to my creed.
Not only will I do all I can to concentrate all George's
love on you, but if he ever thinks of leaving you, I will
quarrel with him at once."

" What compliments I " answered CecUe, merrily. " But
take care, sir, I always distrust those who make use of
them."

" As a rule, you are right," repHed Valbrec; " but I
always say what I think. Ask George, if under any cir-
cumstances, I ever hid my sentiments from him, and he
will tell you that it is the first time that I have ever con-
gratulated him on the object of his love."

Cecile understood the allusion to JuHet Taupier, and
the rough frankness of the journalist took her fancy at
once. " I thank you for your good opinion," replied she,
" and I hope that when you know me better you will
have no cause to change it, and that you will still pre-
serve a little esteem for me."

" Oh ! esteem is far too cold a word. I openly offer
you my friendship, and I beg you to beheve that I do
not abuse the ties of friendship, especially with ladies."

" What are you two arguing about ? " asked George,
whose good humor had been entirely restored by the
arrival of his friend. " You are to be good friends, and
so there the matter is settled. And now tell us all tht
news of the day, for you always have them cut and dried
and first, about this piece, ' The Martyr.' What on eartl
is it all about ? I have read the biU, but it does not teL
me much."

" I don't know any more than you, for I was not at th<
dress rehearsal. I think that it is only a tag upon whicl
to hang scenic decoration. It commences vdth. the crea-
tion of the world, and ends with the taking of the Bastile
The first act takes place in Edem and I saw there an Eve
with a magnificent pair of legs, * ut as foolish as a goose
for she could't say two words without making a mistake

THE felon's bequest. 176

After that there is the amphitheatre at Rome, and then
we glide at once into the Middle Ages, and come to the
persecution of the Albigenses, and the act after that is
the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. It ought to have
been called the history of rehgious persecution from the
earliest times, but it appeal's that in the end the perse-
cuted have their revenge."

" The deuce," said Cransac; " it doesn't seem to me as
if it would be very lively."

"I am afraid so, too; and I am certain that, in spite
of the manner in which it has been put on the stage, the
management wouldn't rake in a sou if it were not for a
' draw ' that will bring all Pai'is here."

" What do you mean by a ' draw ' ? " asked Cecile, with
a smile.

" In theatrical slang, it means a sensational scene, dear
madam," answered the journalist; "and George knows
what the di-aw is this evening."

George made a sign in the negative, and Valbrec was
rather surj^rised, but presumed that he did not wish him
to speak of the Lion Queen before Cecile; for the great
draw of the Porte Saint Martin this evening was to be
Cornelian, who, in very scanty attii-e, was to perform
with her lions in the scene of the Roman amphitheatre,
und Valbrec could not believe that George was ignorant
of this fact, as her aj)proaching appearance at the theatre
had been spoken of at the dinner at Brebant's. A man
must have a very bad memory to forget such informa-
tion, but the fact is that truth is always stranger than
fiction. George did not recollect a word about it; and
even the name of Cornelian, printed at the bottom of the
bill in large letters, had not excited his attention.

" "Well," said Valbrec, " if you don't know the most
exciting episode in the piece, I shan't tell you what it is,
but let you have the pleasure of a surprise."

" Yes, I beg that you will do so," cried Cecile, " I am
not yet tired of the emotions that a theatrical perform-
ance gives rise to, and do not wish to lose one of them.
If you tell me all about it beforehand, I shall miss half
my pleasure, and I want to enjoy a real shiver, for I
suppose the scene is a terrible one."

" Oh, most terrible if^ "

" Not another word, please. I don't want to know

176 THE felon's bequest.

anything. You will think me very foolish, but it is so
long since I have been to the theatre; and then I am a
Parisian by birth, and that means that I have adored the
theatre from my earliest youth. When I was a little
thing my dream was to have been an actress."

" Had you carried out your desire, you would have had
a tremendous success!"

" I don't think so. To be a good actress you must have
plenty of self-possession, and that is a quality that I am
entirely lacking in. Besides, the wish passed away very
quickly. When I grew older, my dream was to know
the actresses, and to see them near."

" That is a wish I can gratify this evening. I have my
entree behind. The manager is my friend, and if you
have still the desire to go behind the scenes, I can take
you there."

'• Oh ! I should like it immensely."
" I will pilot you through in safety. George has no
more idea of the world behind the scenes than you have,
and if I did not act as a guide to both of you, you might
fall down some trap, or get a piece of scenery on your
head; but with me you wUl have nothing to fear."

" You will come, will you not ?" asked Cecile of George
who had made no reply to the proposal.

"Certainly, if you wish, only I think that you will
regret having put yourself out," returned he. " It is not
so strange a place as you imagine — pulleys, ropes, rough
stage carpenters and dirty supers."

" We won't stay long; but if you do not wish to go, I
will give up the idea at once."

"Oh, no. I won't stand in your way; and since Paul

guarantees us against all accidents "

" There, then, that is all settled," cried Cecile, joyously.
"Thanks, my dear George. You cannot imagine the
pleasure you have given me. At last, I shall meet the
actresses face to face."

At this point, Valbrec was on the point of mentioning
Cornelian, but he thought that George might think it bad
taste on his part to mention her name. He therefore
had no scruple in taking his two friends behind the scenes,
where Cornelian would very likely not notice them, taken
up as she was by her part.

Suddenly Cecile began to examine the curtain with a

THE felon's bequest. 177

great deal of attention, and certainly she was not engaged
in reading the various advertisements with which it was
covered. At one of the small round apertures pierced in
the curtain for the convenience of those on the stage who
wished to look for any one in the body of the house, was
an eye, a dark flashing eye, which was obstinately fixed
upon the stage box. Who was it watching? Was it
the eye of some young lady friend of the journalist, who
was well known to many of the members of the chorus ?
At any rate, Valbrec paid no attention to it, being just
then engaged in watching one of the ladies of the demi-
monde, who had just entered the upper boxes with a
great deal of noise. But the eye never moved from the
object upon which it was fixed, and Cecile began to
fancy that that object was George. She asked herself
why that flashing eye was so steadily watching her lover.
Had he made a conquest of one of the actresses ? for he
was good looking enough to have done so. Whatever
might be the case, he did not reply to it, nor indeed seem
to notice it. A feeling of uneasiness came over her, and
at last she was compelled to draw Valbrec's attention to
the pertinacious gaze.

" Has that eye been gazing for so long a time at you,
M. Valbrec ? " said she.

" What eye ? " asked he, turning his head towards the
curtain. "Ah, I see the black diamond shining through
a hole in the curtain. Why, it must belong to one of the
vestals, for in the coming act you will see the vestal vir-
gins seated on the benches of the Roman amphitheatre,
and I have been told that they have been selected for
their good looks but I don't know any of those young
ladies, so I expect that this one is trying to mash one of
the orchestra."

" No, no; she is looking at our box."

" Perhaps it is because she sqxrints."

This reply made Cecile laugh though she was only half
reassured. At that moment the eye disappeared.

" There," said Valbrec, " the vestal has fled. The
musician did not return her loving gaze, and she is weary
of making eyes at him."

Cecile felt more satisfied now, and reproached herself
with having suspected George, who was standing up and
gazing round to show those who had stared at him that

178 THE felon's bequest.

lie did not fear them at all. Valbrec began to criticise
the audience, telling Cecile theii* names, and keeping up
a running commentar}^ upon each of them. "Ah," said
he, " there is the little Countess of Benserade, about
whom and the Italian tenor there was so much talk. The
box next to her is occuj^ied by the old Countess of Ba-
rancos, who is in love with her coachman. AMiy, there
is Fanny Carrelet with a Brazilian all over diamonds.
It would seem that she has left the baron, then."

" Why, you know everybody," said Cecile, in profound
surprise.

" That is my business," said the journalist, calmly;
" but the more I see of them the more I dislike them. All
these beautiful ladies and handsome men disgust me.
Ah, if I might only say what I Hke about them in my
paper ! But I must give in to my subscribers, and if I may
chaff them a little, it is all that I am permitted to do."

" AY ell, you exercise that privilege pretty freely,"
remarked George.

"I do; but I often get hauled over the coals for it.
Why, you yourself persuaded me to hold my tongue
about that vile foreigner's conduct. I did as you asked
me, and I was wrong. I ought to have denounced, or
let Saintonge denounce, this satyr from across the sea,
who attempts to corrupt our wives and daughters."
Cecile shuddered; she had a presentiment that this was a
reference to her adventure in the Eue Pergolese. " We
might have been fined smartly, but I should have done
my duty, whereas now the villain, encouraged by the
impunity with which he can act, will recommence his
infamies again."

"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Cecile, much
excited.

" Why, of that elderly dandy, stuck up there in front of
us in one of the boxes on the grand tier. He has just
made his entrance, and is looking round for a fresh flower
that is for sale. He looks like an ogre on the scent of
human flesh."

George and Cecile raised their eyes at the same instant,
and recognized Simancas. He had not yet caught sight
of them, but he M^ould not be long before he did so, for
he was sweeping the wliole house with his glass.

George was pale with rage, and for a moment forgot

THE felon's bequest. 179

the wise resolution that he had made to have nothing fur-
ther to do ^vith the villian. It appeared as if Simancas
had come there on purpose to insult them, as if the odious
voluptuary covdd have known that Cecile, "who had so
miraculoiTsly escaped from his clutches, would have been
present with Cransac at the first representation of " The
Martyr." Without saying a word, George was about to
leave the box with the intention of striking the marquis
before the whole audience; a mad project, which he had
tjiken care not to impart to Valbrec. Cecile, still paler
than her lover, only wished to quit the place so that she
might no longer see the man who had so grossly insulted
her, but flhe did not know what motive to assign for so
sudden a departure.

" Why, what is the matter with you two ? " asked Val-
brec. "You don't seem able to sit quiet. Are you afraid
of that wretched old foreigner ? "

" No*. afraid," muttered George between his teeth, "but

I hftve in account to settle with him, and I am going "

"Too must settle your account elsewhere," said Valbrec.
"You are really too revengeful. What, because he did
not receive you politely when you went to see him three
weeks ago, you want to set on him here at the theatre.
That would be absurd, and I beg that you will remain
quiet, and you too, dear madame. Have you also grounds
of complaint against Simancas, for you seem to tremble
from head to foot ? "

" I don't feel very well," stammered Cecile. " It is so
hot in this box."

" Yes, of course that is it. Shall we go and take a turn
on the promenade? You have plenty of time for a breath
of fresh air before the curtain rises."

" Thank you, but "

" Ah, of course, why you want to go behind."
" I thought that you would have taken me there after
this act was over."

" Let us go now. You will not find it much cooler, but
you will come into the midst of a regular hurly-burly,
which will distract your attention, and you can afterwards
come back here and see the end of the piece."

George felt that the change proposed by his friend
would give him the necessary time to calm down and pre-

180 THE felon's bequest.

vent his committing an act of folly. " Very well," said
lie, " then take us with you."

Cecile made no objection, for she wished to be certain
that George had no acquaintance amongst the actresses,
and she resolved to leave the theatre with him as soon as
the second act was over. She guessed the feelings of the
poor fellow, and she desired to prevent all chance of a
meeting between Simancas and her lover.

" Come, then, my children," cried Valbrec, who had no
idea of the true state of their feelings. " All that we have
to do is to make haste."

Cecile woiild have liked to have got her mantle, but the
box opener who had charge of it was not at her post, and
Valbrec assured her that it was very warm behind the
scenes. He practiced what he preached, for he had left
his own coat in his stall, and George followed his example
by depositing his in the cloak-room. One of the officials
of the theatre was seated on a chair in front of the door
of communication, and performed his duties as Cerberus
with incorruptible fidelity. No one, although many heavy
bribes were offered to him, had ever managed, unless
properly authorized, to pass through that door. Paul
Valbrec, one of the staff of a well-known paper, had his
right of entrance, but the man looked rather queerly at
Cransac as Paul, slipping a five-franc piece into the man's
hand, whispered, " A member of our staff."

" And the lady ? " asked the official, timidly.

"She belongs to it too," answered the journalist, with
the most admirable coolness.

"Very good," returned the man, inserting a key in
the lock. " Go in, sir."

Valbrec ascended the steps of a short ladder, he then
turned and aided Cecile in her assent, George followed;
the door was shut, and they found themselves in almost
total darkness. " This is funny," said Valbrec; " I have
been here twenty times, and I don't know where I am a
bit."

They could see nothing, but heard all sorts of strange
noises: the shouts of the workmen setting the scenes, the
tramp of the supers collecting in the passages, the clash
of metallic substances; and above all these sounds was a
loud, sustained growling, varied by an occasional roar
like a peal of thunder. Cecile was rather alarmed, and

THE felon's bequest. 181

Eressed close to George, -who reassured her as much as
e was able, although he too was quite out of his element
in this iU-Ughted locahty. At this instant three loud raps
were heard. This was the signal given by the stage man-
ager for the raising of the curtain. " Hang me, if I know
where I am," muttered Valbrec. " On the stage perhaps,
and we shall be in a nice predicament if the curtain draws
up before we have got awaj. Just fancy what the pubHc
would think, for with aU the good-will in the world they
could not take us for Early Christians about to be cast
to the beasts, and I fear we should be hissed. Let us
endeavor to escape, my children."

"I am quite agreeable," returned George, "but which
direction shall we take? Must we go on, or retreat?"
" Let us go in the direction of the light."

CHAPTEK XXIV.

A HCES-E FROM ANTIQUE BOME.

Cransac and Cecile, in order to follow the advice of
their guide, directed their course towards an oil -lamp
fastened ovet a door; and, as they did so, they saw Val-
brec, who was in front of them, fell across an elderly
man who came out of a low door, bending his head to
enable him to do so.

" Look out there, you stupid animal ! " cried the jour-
nalist.

" Look out yourself," returned the other; " but first
tell me how you came in here."

" Because I have the right to do so. I am Paul Valbrec,
editor of the "

" What ! is that you, M. Valbrec ? Pardon me, but I
did not recognize you in the dark. You know me, I am
the stage manager."

" What, you. Father Ralingue ! WTiy, we came across
you at just the right moment. You can get us a good
place; I have two friends with me."

" So I see. If the manager knew of it he would make
a nice fuss; he gave the strictest orders this morning to
let no one behind but the press."

" Quite so; but you, my good fellow, would not be so

182 THE felon's bequest.

cruel as to turn out the charming lady who is with my
friend."

" It is my duty, and I certainly ought to do ho; but if
you will promise to remain perfectly quiet in some
comer "

" "VVe swear it; but tell me, what on earth have you
done to the jDlace. I can't find my way about at alL"

" It is the new star that is the cause of it all."

" Well, your new star takes up a deuce of a lot of
room."

" My dear sir, just think: a Koman amphitheatre just
like the real one, with solid benches, not painted canvas.
Why, over a hundred supers will be seated on them, with
senators in their togas, vestal virgins, and — and — I don't
know what others; but you, who are up in Koman his-
tory, know all about them. Everybody wlU be delighted,
and we small make heaps of money."

" I believe you, my friend; but it seems to me that we
had much better have remained in front, for it appears
that we shall see nothing here."

" You won't see everything; but, if you are not too
hard to please, I can put you in a corner where you will
be quite at home and will not lose a bit of the acting."

"I don't suppose there will be much acting," said
Valbrec, who knew well enough that Cornelian would not
be devoured by the lions on the stage.

"Well, the act is a short one; but it will make jour
hair stand on end, I can tell you."

Cransac paid but little attention to what was going on,
for he was thinking of Simancas, whom he had left seated
in front.

Cecile beheved that a gladiatorial contest was to be
exhibited in the arena, or else that the semblance of the
martyrdom of one of the early Christians was to be por-
trayed, and joyfully began to anticipate a scene which
would fill her with pleasurable emotion.

" Come, Ralingue," continued Valbrec, who knew what
they were going to see, "where must we place ourselves?"

" There, in that space under the benches. You must
stoop to get in; and there is only one chair, which I had
brought for myself; madame can use it."

" That is all we want. Neither I or my friend car©
about seeing much, certainly I don't."

THE felon's bequest. 183

" Then you had better stay where you are; and now,
if the lady will jDermit me, I will take her to her seat ?"

For a moment Cecile hesitated, as she gazed upon the
dark hole into which she was invited to enter, and looked
at George, as though to ask his permission, but he made
no objection; indeed, he was anxious for a little privacy
to taUi with Valbrec about Simancas. " Go, dearest,"
said he, eagerly. "Paul and I will not move from here;
and when you have had enough of it, jou can come
back to us."

Cecile did not wait for him to repeat his permission,
but at once followed the obliging stage manager, who,
giving her his hand and cautioning her to stoop low, lest
she should strike her head, conducted her to her place,
and left her with these words: "There is not the shghtest
danger, but do not come too forward. You must not be
seen from the front of the house, and a couple of feet in
ad\ance would bring you into view."

Show herself indeed ? Cecile vowed that she would
take the greatest care not to do so whilst Simancas was
there; and yet she thought that she was now quite safe
from him, and, with a thrill of anxious expectation, she
asked herself what she was going to see.

From her solitary position in the chair, Cecile could
see nothing in front of her, though she looked with all
her eyes. A fine curtain, made of some sort of gauze,
sepai-ated her from the scene, and intercepted the gleams
that fell from the sunlight in the centre of the house.
But if she could not see, sne could hear close to her the
sound of deep drawn breathing, which partially drowned
the noisy overture the orchestra was performing. "With
a kind of apprehension she asked herself whence these
heavy, harsh sounds could come from, and as she did so
the curtain rose slowly to the flies, and a flood of Hght
inundated the whole scene. Then it was that Cecile saw
the famous scene that the stage manager had boasted of.
It was a magnificent representation of the Colosseum at
Rome, as it was in the days of the last of the Csesars.
An enormous amphitheatre, with its rows of benches
dwinding away in the distance, and the seat of the Impe-
rial Master in the centre. The scene had been copied
from one of Gerome's most celebrated pictures, and to
produce it in all is entirety and correctness the manage-

184. THE felon's bequest.

ment had spared neitlier care nor expense. The supers
who occupied the benches fairly represented the Roman
populace; the senators were well chosen, and an old
ticket seller had been found to take the place of the Em-
peror, and from his corpiilency and Roman nose could
easily have sat for a portrait of Vitellius. The vestal
virgins were simply superb; perhaps the distinguishing
characteristic was wanting, but it is impossible to provide
everything. Dazzled by this magnificent scene, Cecile
could not take in everything at a first glance, but as she
looked a second time she saw that the arena swarmed
with lions; some were lying down, others pacing up and
down, with heavy thread, on the planks, which creaked
and groaned beneath their feet. One was lying down
quite close to the curtain that separated Cecile from the
stage. This was the one whose heavy breathing she had
heard. She was not, however, alarmed for an instant,
for she was sure that the authorities would not permit an
exhibition in which there would be danger of Hfe or limb
either to the audience or the performers, and on looking
more closely she saw that all these lions, who seemed
entirely at liberty, were shut up in a huge cage, the bars
of which, being painted a pale grey, were almost invisible
from the front of the house, and made the illusion most
complete.

A thundering peal of applause from all parts of the
house testified to the success of the arrangement, and, as
if to render the scene more real, some of the lions,
excited by the noise, began to roar. Cecile had read
sufficiently to know that in the time of the Roman Empire
the Christians were thrown to the beasts, and she wondered
how she had not guessed what was coming from the title,
" The Martyr," which she had read on the playbill, and
she was now most anxious to see how the programme
would be carried out; for she could hardly think it possi-
ble that any of the perfoi-mers would volunteer to be
devoured on the stage. She would have gladly ques-
tioned George, but she did not dare to move, for fear she
might miss some interesting episode.

At this moment George was explaining to Valbrec the
fresh offence which Simancas had committed, and the
latter was listening to Inm with a grave expression of
face, like a man who will not commit himself to an opinion

THE felon's bequest. 185

until he has heard every detail. George could not help
seeing that Valbrec had some doubts as to the entire
veracity of Cecile's story, and George was endeavoring
to convince both himself and his friend that she had
escaped unharmed from the Bluebeard's Castle of the
Spanish marquis. Cecile was beyond the reach of their
voices, and was entirely wrapped up in the scene that was
being developed before her eyes. AU of a sudden she
saw a real iron gate open beneath Caesar's chair, and a
group of martyrs of both sexes thrust through it by bare-
armed executioners. The martyrs were loaded with
pasteboard chains, and the executioners brandished whips
above their heads, while the victims endeavoring to evade
the blows, raising their hands to heaven in supplication.
The lions, smelling human flesh, drew slowly nearer to
them, and, as the bars of the cage were invisible, the
illusion was perfect. Simancas was the only one upon
whose face there was an evil smile, perhaps because he
hoped that some of the precautions might fall, and that a
blow from one of those heavy paws which were thrust
through the bars might cause blood to flow. Cecile, who
was on the stage, could see the deception, but to the
audience in front the illusion was perfect. Evidently this
was only the preliminary portion of the scene, and was
to be followed by one still more thrilling, as has always
been the custom in all theatrical perfoimance from the
very beginning. The Martyrs did not advance, but soon
another executioner appeared dragging along a woman.
She was clothed in tight fleshings, and seemed entirely
nude ; her unbound hair floated wildly over her shoulders,
her beautiful head was haughtily erect, and her extended
arms seemed to protest against the horror of the punish-
ment that awaited her. The executioner was a hideous
object, the features of a bulldog surmounted by a mass
of shaggy hair; a bull neck and brawny limbs. Enthusi-
astic applause rang through the house, and if Cecile did not
join in them it was because she remembered the injunc-
tions of the stage manager to keep herself perfectly
quiet. She thought the tall, handsome woman simply
superb, but she could not refrain from trembling when
she heard the lions, excited no doubt by the prospect of
so luscious a repast, begin to roar, and saw them lash
their flanks with their tails. The man who dragged the

186 THE felon's bequest.

woman along touched a hidden spring; the bars sUd back
without a sound and closed again upon the pretended
martyr, who remained in the inside of the cage in the
midst of the ferocious beasts. All was effected with such
ingeniiity that it seemed as if every one on the stage ran
the same risk as the woman inside the bars. Cecile never
took her eyes off her for a moment, although now she
understood what was about to take place, but she waited
with impatience for the conclusion of this perilous per-
formance. To carry out her part as a martyr the Lion
Queen was unable to go through her usual performance,
which was to flog the lions, and to make them dance about
like poodles. It was necessary for her to run hither and
thither, as though in terror of being devoured; and yet
how was she to effect this, with wild beasts who had been
trained to obey hei", and to crouch at her feet ? The Fair
of Montmartre looked forward to something fresb, and
they were not disappointed.

CorneUan, after raising her eyes to heaven, as though
to show that she died for her faith, crossed her arms
and advanced boldly into the middle of the cage. The
lions, as if the order had been given to them, formed a
circle round her, roaiing loudly. They had been trained
to this for the last fifteen days under Cornelian's skillful
tuition; but the audience who were not in the secret,
looked on the performance in another light. From all
sides ran the cry; "Enough, enough!" It was really a
terrifying spectacle, but it was not all over yet. Cor-
nelian fell on her knees, with her hands clasjDed together,
and at this signal the lions rose upon their hind legs and
roared hideously. This roar found an echo all over the
theatre; many of the ladies were ready to faint, others
hid their faces in their hands and a stifled sob burst
from almost every bosom. But the excitement grew
more intense when Groliath commenced to irritate the
animals with his pike. Then the savage beasts began to
bound backwards and forwards, showing their formidable
teeth and claws, sometimes leaping over the kneeling
woman, rushing madly at the man who was harassing
them, and then coming back to the motionless figure in
the centre of the cage and throwing it to the ground by
pressing their ponderous paws on its shoulders, and
finally hiding it completely beneath their bodies, as a

THE felon's bequest. 187

pack of hounds will cover the body of a stag that they
have pulled down. Then fear seized on all the spectators,
and a general rush took place. Men and women crushed
and crowded in their efforts to escape. The performers
on the stage, especially the vestal virgins, looked most
uncomfortable, and the fat man who represented Caesar
prepared to decamp without the least regard for his
imperial dignity. Everyone believed that this mad rush
of the angry lions on a defenseless woman had not been
contemplated, and that the performance had terminated
in a hideous tragedy. More dead than alive, Cecile
wished to fly, but was imable to stir hand or foot. The
lions did not seem inclined to relinquish their prey.
Nothing could be seen but a hideous mingling of waving
manes, heavy paws, savage growls, collected over a white
figvire, of which a glance coiild only be caught at inter-
vals. This was a draw, and a most wonderful one, for
never since the fall of the Koman Empii-e had such a per-
formance been witnessed in a modern theatre. It was
time to let the curtain fall to prevent an accident in
front of the house; a minute later and there would have
been one of those terrible crushes which follow a
mad effort to escape from a building.

" Curtain ! " cried the voice of the manager, and the
curtain came down a little quicker than usual.

But the stage was not dark now, for the gas was
lighted, and from her hiding-place Cecile could see the
lion Queen calmly disengage herself from the lions and
rise to her feet, whilst the beasts dispersed themselves
with low gvowls, incited to do so by the ever-ready pike
of Goliath. Martyrs and executioners, senators and ves-
tals, all hurried out pell-mell by the passage under
Caesar's chair, for it was now necessary to leave the stage
free for the men whose duty it was to roll forward the
cage into which the lions were to be placed. The duty
of shifting the terrible animals from one to the other
was performed by Cornelian and Goliath, who seemed to
think nothing of it, and in a very brief space of time the
savag<4 beasts had been shifted into the cage which was
their uoual residence, and which the public had not yet
seen.

188 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTER XXV.

A SCENE IN MODERN PARIS.

Nothing now remained but to shift the scene, and the
stage carpenters and the workmen hastened to their
duties at once. Cecile had only just time to msh into
the passage, where she found George and Valbrec, argu-
ing with much vehemence on a subject that was evi-
dently far more interesting to them than the scene which
had caused her so much emotion. The two friends were
still discussing how Cransac shovild treat Simancas.
George persisting in asserting that now was a most
excellent opportunity to assault this insolent foreigner,
and Valbrec vainly endeavoring to calm him. Neither
of them had taken any notice of the performance,
and when CecHe clasped George by the arm, and
exclaimed: " Oh ! how frightened I was, I thought
they would have eaten her," he could not understand
what she meant.

At that moment there was a rush of supers, which
carried them away with it, and it was only after a severe
struggle that they had a chance of speaking.

" Was it so touching as all that ? " asked Valbrec.
" Did you really think for a moment that the girl was in
any real danger ? "

" I was not the only one that thought so," answered
Cecile, who was still trembling. " Did you not hear the
noise in the front? Why they were crushing each other
to death in order to get out."

" What has been the matter ? " asked George, still
absorbed in the idea that Simancas was within his reach.

The stage manager, who came up puffing and blowing,
with a face as red as a boiled lobster, answered for her:

" Ah, the jade ! " muttered he.

" My dear Ralingue," said Valbrec, " you ought to be
highly pleased with your new performer. The piece
will run a hundred nights at the least. Whom are you
abusing ? "

THE felon's bequest. 189

" That infernal beast-taming woman. Ah ! if the hons
had eaten her I should not have been sorry. Thanks to
her, our season has been ruined."

" How is that ? Why, the lady here has just told me
that the success was prodigious."

'• Prodigious ! Why, they have smashed the seats, and
the hospital of the theatre is full of injured persons and
fainting women."

" Well, and do you complain because the audience have
found it too realistic ? All Paris will gladly pay you to
feel a touch of nature like this."

'' Don't you understand that the pohce will stop all
future performances, and that to-morrow, at the latest,
the manager will receive a notice to that effect. All our
expenses wasted — fifty thousand francs at the lowest. I
tell you that it is simply ruin. We have nothing ready
to go on with. We shall have to close for a month, or
play some stock piece that won't bring in a sou; a nice
look-out indeed for the winter."

" But you surely knew what your performance was going
to be like. It is your own fault if you let her frighten
your audience away."

" Not a bit, the hussy ! She would not rehearse before
anyone; the only one she admitted was that keeper, a
kind of animal that played the executioner."

" I know him, I have seen him at the fair — an awful
looking brute."

" I never thought that an audience would be such a set
of asses as to take a scene that had all been arranged
before as a serious mattei*."

" Ha, ha ! my good sir, when your principal actors
have teeth and claws you don't know what may happen."

" I assure you, sir," said Cecile, " that I, too, thought
that there had been an accident, and I cannot help ask-
ing myself even now if the poor girl escaped without a
scratch."

" She ! " exclaimed the stage manager disdainfully;
" she isn't likely to get hurt in an affair of this kind. A
respectable woman would have been* stifled or torn to
pieces, but the minx is just now sitting smoking a cigar-
ette, and laughing in the face of the manager, who is
abusing her for her conduct. I will lay what you like

190 THE felon's bequest.

that if lie dismisses her she will sue for damages, for she
has an agreement with him."

" And she would have right on her side; but he won't
send her off. The public know all about it now, and
won't be a bit afraid to-morrow."

" Can't you hear them howling now ? "

" They want to know how she is, man; why don't some
one go forward and make a speech. It is yovir only way
to get out of the scrape."

" Yes, that is a good idea."

" And one you ought to have thought of long ago.
Don't lose a minute. Draw up the curtain, and take your
beast-taming woman on to the stage."

" But they are not calling for her."

" Because they believe that the beasts have eaten her,
but when they see her safe and sound they will applaud
her to the skies; there will be a mad outburst of enthu-
siasm, and you will see what the papers will say to-mor-
row. They fought to get out this evening, next time
they will fight to get in, the theatre will make its fortune,
and the girl hers, into the bargain."

" You forget the prohibition to perform that we shall
most likely receive to-morrow."

" The poUce won't do anything of the kind unless they
are compelled to. You can appeal to the Prefect, to the
Minister, and when you have clearly demonstrated that
the girl does not even risk her skin, they will permit you
to go on with the performance. Only look sharp if you
don't want to miss your effect. Strike the iron whilst it
is hot."

" I will," exclaimed the stage manager, rushing to the
back of the stage.

" They will owe me one for this," cried Valbrec ; " but
we must not stay here, for they will be able to see us from
the front when the curtain goes up." And speaking thus,
he drew them away into a position of comparative secur-
ity.

The scene shifter had already removed the cage with
the invisible bars, and only a portion of the scene remained
behind, which wa *the cage which formed the permanent
dwelling-place of the lions; the front of the stage there-
fore was completely free. All at once, without the
customary warning, the curtain went up, and the noise in

THE felon's bequest. 191

the auditorium ceased as if by magic. There were some
cries of " Sit down in front, sit down," and then profound
silence reigned. Everyone expected to hear an announce-
ment that nothing remained of Cornelian but a few
mangled remains that had been rescued from the lions,
but when they saw her led forward by the stage manager,
more full of life and beauty than ever, there was a burst
of applause that was almost enough to bi-ing down the
roof. Cornelian looked superb, as, proud of her triumph,
she stepped forward to the footlights, her head erect, and
her eyes sparkling with animation, then drawing herself
up she let go Father Kalingue's hand and saluted the
audience with her whip, as a colonel does when his regi-
ment marches past. Then she rapidly brought it down
to the j)ort and remained motionless, as though waiting
for the verdict of the audience. Three thousand voices
were raised in her praise. She had won her cause, and
made the fortune of the theatre. The audience, who had
just before been execrating Cornelian and the manager
for the fright it had sustained now praised them both to
the skies, and the stage manager mentally blessed Valbrec,
for the advice he had received from the journalist had
saved the piece. As Cornelian retired slowly, keeping
her face to the audience, her eyes sought the box where
she had seen George and Cecile sitting through the hole
in the curtain. She had paid no more attention to them
duiing her performance with the lions, for she well knew
that a moment's inattention might cost her her life, but
she had not forgotten that she had seen him. She did
not know Cecile, but she had easily guessed who she was,
and her rival's presence had revived all her feelings of
jealousy. She fancied that George had brought his mistress
to the theatre expressly to insult her; and she hated both
of them with a deadly hatred, and revolved a thousand
plans of vengeance in her brain, without knowing when
or how to execute them, for it was impossible for her to
appear in front during the performance. She would have
been turned out if she had done so, and reprimanded by
the manager. She had almost resigned herself to wait
for another opportunity when she saw that the box was
empty, and wotdd have dismissed all her plans of ven-
geance had not some busy friend mixed himself up in the
matter. George Valbrec and Cecile, huddled up together

192 THE felon's bequest.

in the wing, were standing immediately under a jet of gas,
which threw a flood of light over them. Cornelian caught
sight of them, and all her jealous fury burst forth again.
She had no time to lose, for when the curtain dropped
those whom she wished to attack would doubtless return
to their box, so she was about to rush on them at once,
when she was checked by the appearance of the manager
and various officials connected with the theatre, who came
to congratulate her on her brilliant success. " It is to M.
Valbrec that we are chiefly indebted," cried the worthy
Ralingue. " He advised me to take Mile. Cornelian for-
ward, and by it he saved us; and the idea of me, who
have been stage manager here for twenty years, not think-
ing of such a thing, and yet it was as simple as it could
be!"

"Valbrec !" cried one of the shareholders i a the theatre
" why, there he is ! "

Just then some of the workmen had removed a portion
of the scene, which disclosed the journalist. " We will
carry him in triumph," said another;" "he is with a
very pretty woman, and she shall shai'e it wi^^^h him."

" Who is she ?" asked the manager.

*M think she is the sweetheart of the young gentlemen
who is with him," replied Ralingue.

"She ought not to have been allowed behind; but since
she is here, I will go and do the honors of the place to
her, all on account of that splendid fellow Valbrec, who
has got us out of such a hole, for the representative of
the pohce has just told me that his report wi]l not recom-
mend the suppression of Cornelian's performance; but it
seems as if they were going back to the front of the house
for fear lest I should send them there. E un, and stop
them."

Several gentlemen, including Father Ralingue, hast-
ened in the direction of George Valbi-ec and Cecile.
Tbis junction of the two parties did not meet Cornelian's
views at all, for she percieved that she could not attempt
to assault her rival before so numerous a comjDan}'. Had
there only been supers about she would have beaten her
without hesitation, but in the presence of the manager
and so many influential gentlemen, she had to think twice
of what she was going to do. She was therefore forced
to remain quite close to the cage in which her lions were.

THE felon's bequest. 193

" Haye you seen her, mistress ?" asked Goliath, point-
ing out CecUe from the position where he stood, with his
back to the bars of the cage. Cornelian took him aside
into a cornel', and a dialogue in a low voice began between
the Lion Queen and her servant.

During this time Valbrec had prevented his friend
leaving the place with Cecile, as he wished to do, and
introduced him to the manager as a literary friend of his.
Upon this the manager, who was a most courteous gen-
tlemen, begged that he might be presented to Cecile,
upon which occasion there was much handshaking, and
an interchange of compHments, and then the polite man-
ager offered his arm to Cecile, who did not dare to
refuse it. Cransac was greatly annoyed, but he felt that
he could make no objection to Cecile 's being shown round
that mysterious locality termed " behind the scenes.'

" No doubt, madame," said the courteous manager,"
you were greatly alarmed just now, but I want to prove
to you that these lions are perfect lambs, and of a much
more gentle disposition than their mistress, a young
woman to whom, believe me, I shall not introduce you."

" She is very handsome," murmured Cecile, innocently,
" and, oh ! so courageous I "

Cransac followed the pair in high vexation, while Val-
brec whispered in his ear: " I can see where the saddle
galls you. You fear lest Cornelian should go on again,
as she did on the night we first saw her. There is no
fear of that, my friend. Those kind of girls haven't a
very good memory. Don't be afraid, she won't eat up
Mme. Cecile, and will keep her anger to herself. It will
be amusing to watch her."

But George was not at all convinced, and made no
reply, but contented himself with keeping an eye on
Cornehan, who, leaning against a support, looked on with
an expression of face that boded no good. Goliath had
turned his face to the cage, and was keeping the animals
in motion by pricking them with his pike, as if he wanted
to keep them moving.

"If you will permit me, madame," continued the manager,
"I will take you to the green-room; I only wanted you to
to see our menagerie first because the cage will shortly be
rolled away to make room for another scene." Then,
|;urning to Goliath, who continued to thrust his pike

194 THE felon's bequest.

between the bars of the cage, he called out: " Here, you,
sir, kindly let the animals alone, or you will make them
want to bite some of us. There, that will do."

Goliath stepped back, and the lions began to grow more
calm.

"You see, madame," continued the manager, "they are
lying down. It would almost make one believe that the
beasts understand that they are no longer before the pub-
lic and need not, therefore, assume airs of ferocity. Now
that the fellow has ceased to annoy them, they have
stretched themselves out like rugs. It really seems as if
one might recline on them."

" And so their mistress can," saidValbrec, with a laugh;
*' but I should not advise you to try it, my dear sir, though
I have often seen her do so at the fair of Montmartre."

" I have no intention of trying the experiment, I assure
you. It even seems to me as if we were a little too near
the cage, the bars are very wide apart, and I should not
like to catch a blow from the claw of that big fellow with
the black hairs in his mane, who is pretending to b^e
asleep, with his muzzle on his fore-paws. He has a sly
look, has he not, madame ? "

Cecile hardly glanced at the lions, but kept her eyea
on Cornelian, who stared at her in return, Their eyes
had met, and Cecile asked herself why those of the Lioia
Queen were fixed upon hers with such steady persistence..

She no longer saw Goliath, who had come close up to
her, and was now plajdng with his pike, throwing it up in
the air, and catching it again. No one paid any attention to
him. Valbrec contented himself "with admiring the
artistic attitude of Cornelian. Father Eallingue was giv-
ing his last orders to the workmen, who were to roll away
the cage to the stable where the Hons were kept; the
manager was only thinking how he could best be agree-
able to Cecile; and George, absorbed in his own reflec-
tions, tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, without
noticing what was going on around him. He could not
take Cecile away from her obliging guide, but he was very
p,nxious that the trip behind the scenes should be brought
to a speedy conclusion.

" And now, madame," said the manager, politely, " ii
you have quite done looking at these ill-favored animals,
pft^ I conduct jov^ to the green-rooni— ^r--"

THE felon's bequest. 195

He never finished his speech, for at that moment Goliath
missed catching his pike, which, in falling,^.pricked the
nose of the black-maned Hon, Injured in a most sensitive
part, the animal leapt to his feet "with a loud roar, and
dashing himself against the bars, which quivered under
the shock, remained standing on his hind legs, his mouth
wide open, his paws in the air, with every claw show-
ing like a Hon rampant of heraldic lore. And to add
to the misfortune, Gohath, in dashing forward to pick up
the pike that he had so clumsily let fall, pushed against
Ceciie, who fell with her face against the bars of the cage

The terrible claws of the lion closed at once upon
Cecile's shoulder, she bent beneath the weight, and was
within the reach of the monster's teeth, who had now
assumed a crouching post\u-e. Ceciie fainted without
having uttered a cry, and the hideous Goliath made no
effort to rescue her. George alone rushed to her aid,
and endeavored to tear her from the savage brute, but a
blow from the other paw lacerated his hand, and the
grasp on Cecile's left shoulder did not relax for a mo-
ment. But the brave young fellow, bleeding profusely,
was about to retiu-n to an attack which might possibly
cost him his life, when assistance arrived from an unex-
pected quarter. Cornelian, who up to this time had re-
mained perfectly still, dashed between him and the cage,
and dealt the lion a couple of heavy blows on the head
with the but-end of her whip. The savage beast recog-
nized its mistress and retreated, with a stifled growl, to
the other side of the cage.

Although severely injured, George profited by the
moment's delay to snatch up Ceciie in his arms and carry
her out of danger. All the workpeople had fled at the
sight of this terrible accident, and taken refuge at the
back of the stage; thither George followed them, and
placed his insensible burden on a bench, which fortu-
nately stood near. The stage manager wi-img his hands,
repeating, " I said that there would be an accident ! "
The manager shouted for a surgeon, and one of his
friends ran ofi" in search of one. Valbrec alone retained
his presence of mind, and endeavored to calm George
and to learn the cause of the accident. He suspected
that Goliath had let fall his pike on purpose, and that h«
had also pushed Ceciie against the bars of the cagej but

196 THE felon's bequest.

why Cornelian should have come to the rescue of her
rival from the claws of the lion he could not understand,
for all seemed to indicate that the keeper bad only exe-
cuted his mistress' orders. All of a sudden he per-
ceived that she was close behind him, and before he had
time to question her, she whispered in his ear: "I
wanted her to have been eaten, but my heart failed me at
the last minute. I hope that she will not die. I have
ha,d enough of vengeance. Tell your friend to mistrust
his old love and that scoundrel Arthur. It was they Avho
sold the girl to the Spaniard." With these words Cor-
nelian disappeared, and George, who was on his knees
by the side of Cecile, did not even catch a glimjDse of the
Queen of the Lions, who had rejoined Goliath, and was
engaged with him in superintending the removal of the
cage in which the animals, excited by the sight and
smell of blood, were roaring savagely. At this moment
the doctor arrived and examined the wounded woman,
who had not yet recovered her senses, Cecile's left arm
was broken in two places, and the claw had penetrated
her shoulder, and had lacerated her breast above and
below the collar bone.

" This is serious, most serious. The upper and lower
bones of the arm have been broken, and there is a chance
that the lung has been injured. I can do nothing
here. Send for an ambulance, I will go with her to the
hospital."

" No," said George, in a determined tone; "let her go
to my house."

Cecile's eyes opened; she had heard what he said, and
thanked him Avith a look of gratitude.

" To your house ? Do not think of such a thing," said
Valbrec ; " it is too far."

" It is my wish," answered George.

" I see no harm in that," remarked the doctor. " I
will see to the injured lady's removal, and she will be
better off in a friend's house than in a hospital, and if the
case is entrusted to me, I will do my best"

This arrangement suited the manager completely, who
wished to proceed with the piece, and had no desire to
see his green-room transformed into a hospital. He there-
fore gave all the necessary orders. A mattress was
brought, upon which QQciXe, who had again relapsed into

THE felon's bequest. l97

a state of insensibility, was placed, and it was carried
downstairs by four carpenters to the stage door which
opens into the Kue de Bondy. George, supported by
Valbrec, followed the mournful procession, which was
headed by the medical man. Father EaUngue had
remained with the manager, and they were both hard at
work in getting up the scenery for the third act. At the
stage door they had to wait until the litter with the
striped canvas covering could be procured from the near-
est ambulance depot, and the wounded woman might
expire in the dark passage in which the mattress had
been placed before it anived; but the doctor, who had
again examined the wound, declared that there was no
immediate danger, and that his patient could easily
endure the transit from the Theatre of the Porte Saint
Martin to the Rue Frochot, but he could not answer for
what might take place afterwards. George, crushed
down by this unexpected blow, remained silent, and Val-
brec strove to cheer him up. " It is all my fault," said
he. " ] ought to have warned you that Cornelian with
her lions was the star of the piece, but as a matter of
fact I could not have supposed that you had not read the
playbills.'

" I will kill her ! " interrupted Cransac.

" Who ? CorneUan ? You are wrong. Without her aid
Cecile would have been a dead woman, for the lions
would have torn her to pieces. The keeper is the real
criminal. I advise you to leave him alone, for you can-
not prove that he did it all on purpose by letting fall his
pike, and besides, what good would it be ? You will gain
nothing by denouncing him, and may injure yourself, for
there will only be too much talk in Paris about this
melancholy accident. How long the litter is in coming,"
added Valbrec, stepping out into the street. George
remained by the side of Cecile. The doctor was endeav-
oring to make her inhale some smelling salts, but was
unsuccessful in arousing her from the state of insensi-
bility into which she had fallen. A small crowd had
collected outside the door, and Valbrec was endeavoring
to prevent them approaching the spot too closely, when
a man ran up quite out of breath, and endeavored to
pass.

"Haiti" cried the journalist, barring the passage;

198 THE felon's bequest.

then he added immediately : " What ! is it you, Saintonge.
Where the deuce are you going ? "

" I was looking for you," rephed the reporter.

' And for what reason ? "

" I went into the theatre on the chance of something
turning up, and managed to get a stool in the orchestra.
I saw you in a stage box, then you suddenly disappeared,
and the box-opener said that you had gone behind with
some friends. They would not let me through, and as I
wanted particularly to see you, I went round by the Eue
de Bondy."

" What had you to saj^ to me that was so urgent ? "

" Well, there was a report in the house that a woman
had been eaten by the lions, and I came to ask you about
it that I might run off with it to the paper. It would
make a famous paragraph, and perhaps we should be the
only ones that had it."

" You are too full of zeal, my good fellow, and have
had a run for nothing. Nobody has been eaten."

" All the worse," returned Saintonge, innocently.

" Yes, it is much to be deplored," retiu-ned Valbrec,
sarcastically; "but go back and re-seat yourself on your
stool, if it is only for the sake of letting people see that
there has been no accident at all."

" Yes, it is a pity. Never mind, I shall make up for it
to-morrow at Montmartre. Will your friend be there,
eh?"

"I don't think so. Now be off like a good fellow, and
meet me at the office at midnight."

The reporter went off sadly, asking himself what the
deuce was the matter with Valbrec that he shoidd dismiss
him so cavalierly.

At that moment Valbrec perceived the bearers bring-
ing the litter at the other end of the street, and just then
the doctor came out on to the steps of the door, and said
to him in a low voice : " She will not die of the wound
from the claw, but the bites that the lion has given her
are terrible. The forearm is all of a mash, and I much
fear we shall have to amputate. Poor woman ! " added
the doctor, in a tone of voice which showed that he had
but faint hopes of her.

tHE felon's bequest. 199

CHAPTEK XXYL \

WHAT THEY CAUGHT IN THE TRAP.

Poor Saintonge had experienced a great disappoint-
ment at the Porte Saint Martin Theatre. The paragraph
which he hoped to get inserted had been reduced to
nothing, for on his visit to the office of the paper, after
the conchision of the piece, Valbrec had again forbidden
him to mention the accident that had occurred behind
ihe scenes, or even to make any fresh inquiries regard-
ing it for, as a friend of George Cransac, he wished that
this iinfortunate affair, which was only known to a few
persons, should be completely buried into oblivion, and
Saintonge could not help feeling that by thus preventing
liim from making use of an item of news which would
have proved highly interesting to the general public,
Valbrec was absolutely taking the bread out of his
mouth. He was not even able to recoup himself by nar-
rating the panic that had taken place when it had been
supposed that a fatal accident had happened to Cornelian,
for it w^as the special province of the dramatic critic of
the journal to report all such matters, and he would
permit of no intrusion in his own domain. But by a
mere chance the unlucky reporter had another string to
his bow, and the next day might be a very profitable one
for him, for Valbrec had in no way prohibited him to
follow and report the search operations which were
about to be undertaken at Montmartre, but had, on the
contrary, encouraged him to sift the matter thoroughly,
and hoped that he would bring back with him a mass of
information which had, as yet, not appeared in any of
the other papers, and he had, therefore, made arrange-
ments to hear, and see as much as possible, all that was
going on.

One of the greatest advantages a reporter can have is
to be on friendly terms with the police, and if he cannot
open relations with the heads of departments, to be well
acquainted with some of the higher classes of detectives.
And Saintonge knew them all, and was quite intimate
with some of them. He had gained the good graces of

200 THE felon's bequest.

some of the leading men in the police by getting them
l^raised in the paper to which he was attached, and as he
was not proud he had conciliated the subalterns by stand-
ing them an occasional drink at the wine shopa Besides
all this, he knew how to be discreet when it was necessary
to be so, and this quality, and a very rare one it is amongst
reporters; had won for him the respect and esteem of
some of those in high places, men who are not, as a rule,
too prodigal of their civilities to outsiders. The magis-
trates themselves looked upon him with a very favorable
eye, and permitted him occasionally to assist indirectly in
a complicated case, for he had more than once given them
valuable hints by di-awing their attention to certain points
which might otherwise have escaped notice; for he was very
clear-sighted, and his great experience in his profession
had given him the instincts of a detective, an accomplish-
ment which he took good care not to boast about. In
return for these little acts of courtesy they gave him scraps
of information which they hid carefully from other jour-
nalists, and it was by these means that he had learned,
before his other professional brethren, of the search that
was going to be made in the house and garden in the Rue
GabrieUe, and how they hoped to connect the murder of
Mahossier, who had just been released from the prison
at Melum, with the famous robbery of a bank in the Eue
Poissoniere in 1877.

What is usually termed a judicial investigation does
not take place without the persons of the neighborhood
taking some notice of it. In a little provincial town it is
looked upon as a great event, especially when it is carried
out with all magisterial pomp during a sitting of the
Court of Assize, with the judges in their robes, the jury in
charge of their foreman, and the police closing the proces-
sion on foot. It is an imposing spectacle, and, with very few
exceptions, a perfectly useless one. In Paris a similar
matter is conducted with less ceremony, and this one was
to be carried out in a highly populated and little fre-
quented neighborhood. The examining magistrate, the
commissary of police, and a sub-inspector of the detec-
tive force, had arranged to meet at nine o'clock; that is to
say, shortly after it grew light, for the sun rises late in
December. These gentleman were to assemble in the Eue
GabrieUe, which had been placed in charge of a squad of

THE felon's bequest. 201

policemen and a posse of detectives. Saintonge, being
duly warned of the time and place of the meeting, arrived
there at half -past eight, and found no one to speak to hut
an old sergeant of the detective force, with whom he was
intimately acquainted. The veteran was engaged in
giving orders to his men as to the positions they were to
take up, and who, according to the orders they had
received, dropped in one by one from different directions.

" Good-day, Daddy Pigache," said Saintonge, coming
up to him. " I see that our ideas coincide."

" I do not know, M. Saintonge, if we both see matters
in the same light, but I believe I understand my busi-
ness fairly; a search is a good thing but a surround is a
better one."

" And as the piece of ground is open on three sides,
you have posted men above it, below it, and on its right
side. I had guessed you would do so, and I see that you
always follow out the old principles, which are the best
ones after all."

" Of course, we may not nab anyone, but we are just
going to make a rat-trap "

" In which you hope to take the man who knocked
Mahossier on the head ? "

" Him, or another."

" Do you reaUy think, then, that this scoundrel has been
killed by one of his accomphces of days gone by, and
also in the story of a safe being carried off like a mere
pocket-book ? "

"I should think I did believe in it; and what is more,
may my hand be burnt off if I don't think that it has been
brought here and hidden, either in the house or the
garden. Those who did the trick have not made a move
for seven years, because they have been under lock and
key. But now that their time is up they will come to fish
up the treasure."

" But I should think that that has been done already;
Mahossier's former pal, after having got rid of him, would
doubtless have clapped his hands on it."

" That is not so sure; there are no traces of the ground
having been disturbed."

" How are you going to work ? "

" That will depend on the orders I receive. Whilst
waiting for my superiors, I have posted some men at the

202 THE felon's bequest.

top to watch the exit by the Place de Tertre, others to
guard the gate that opens on to the public flight of steps,
and a third lot here in the Kue Gabrielle. So that if there
should happen to be a fish in the net, we shall have him
to a certainty."

" Here they come," said Saintonge, pointing to a cab
which had drawn up some few yards from the gate. Three
men dressed in black got out, followed by a fourth, who
carried a barrister's bag full of papers.* They came up to
the sergeant, who at once saluted his superior officers.
Saintonge did the same, and then stepped on one side;
but the magistrate, who was well acquainted ^\ith him, at
once said: " Pray stay with us, sir, you may be of service;
but I shall expect you to send nothing to your paper until
we authorize you. It may be that we shall have need of
the publicity which you can give to our proceedings, but
it is much more probable that we may ask you to keep
silence regarding the whole matter. This we shall decide
on the completion of the search, at which I permit you
to be present."

Saintonge promised the most implicit obedience to the
orders, of whatever kind they might be.

"Has the owner of the property been summoned?"
asked the magistrate of the commissary of the police, who
replied that he had been requested to attend at nine
o'clock.

"We can begin without him," remarked the former,
and I think that it would be as well to commence with the
house. Later on, if there is any necessity for it, we can
dig up the garden; but I do not believe that the robbers
would have taken the trouble to dig a hole in the ground
when it would be so much more easy for them to make a
hiding-place in the walls. Sergeant, select four men to
come with us, and let the others keep watch on the gate
during our absence. "

The order was at once executed. Pigache, who was ac-
quainted with the locahty, led the way, whilst Saintonge
modestly brought up the rear.

The procession had not much trouble in making their
way through the vegetation, which Lourdier had had
thinned before the conclusion of the sale of the property
to Cransac. When they ai'rived at the path on the right
which led from the front door to the flight of steps at the

THE felon's bequest. 203

side, the comimssary pointed out the place where the body
of Mahossier had been found, and made the remark that
the mui'dered man and the assassin must have walked
Bide by side on the broad pathway on leaving the house.

"Or before going in," remarked the magistrate; "for
there is nothing to prove that they touched the stolen
money, even if it is in the house. But let us inspect it first;
we can argue the case afterwards..'

The day had now fairly commenced — a dull, gloomy
day. Paris was shrouded in fog and mist, and the forms
of a few passers-by, who had been attracted by the sight
of the poUce, could be dimly distinguished at the other
end of the garden.

" Let us go in," said the magistrate, pointing to the
ruined house. Two of the police went in first, but they
had no sooner crossed the threshold than they drew back.

" What is it that you have found ? " asked the commis-
sary, who was following them closely.

As they made no reply, he stepped forward, and at the
other end of the room saw a man lying on his face in a
heap of fallen plaster. The man was in so sound a sleep
that he never woke when the commissary called out in a
loud and triumphant tone: " We have got one of them, at
any rate."

Everyone pressed forward, and the magistrate, without
a sign of emotion, remarked: "That is fortunate; wake
him."

ThepoHcemen seized the sleeper, and shook him so
violently that at last he opened his eyes. His first word
was " Copped;" then, as he scrambled up in a sitting pos-
ture, he muttered, " Just like my luck."

The man was dressed in a brown jacket, and had large
iron-shod boots on; his face was clean-shaved, and his
closely-cut hair smacked strongly of prison discipline.

" What I another released prisoner ? " asked the magis-
trate.

"No; an escaped one this time," said the commissary.
"I know him," and placing his hand upon the man's
shoulder, who looked at him with a stupefied air, he said:
" You are Pierre Trouillard."

The man turned pale, but recovered himself in a moment;
then shrugging his shouldera, replied with a sneer: "No

201 THE felon's bequest.

use in saying I ain't. Why, it was you as nabbed me
three mouths ago."

" For robbery from the person with violence. You were
sentenced to twenty years by the Assize Court of the
Seine on the 26th of last November. You refused to appeal,
and were sent off to the Isle of Rhe fifteen days ago. You
were most anxious to be sent to New Caledonia, but it
seems that you have altered your mind, since we find you
here."

"It seems like it," growled Trouillard.

" How did you contrive to escape ? '*

" You ought to know well enough."

" I know that you jumped overboard during your transit
from the prison to the vessel, and that you were reported
as dead."

" Well, then, the report was wrong, you see; but it
proves that I swim well, and dive bettei'."

"Then you must have reached the coast and come to
Paris ? "

" Yes, tramped it in seven nights, at the rate of twelve
leagues each night; and all that for you to come and nab
me here. It is just Hke my luck."

"Oh, I dare say you had good reason for turning up
on the Hill of Montmartre ? "

" You didn't expect me to go to the Grand Hotel, did
you? I came here, as I might have gone anywhere else. I
found the crib empty, and I did my ' doss ' here. It's
always better than to sleep under the ' blue blanket ' in
the middle of winter. I am generally pretty wakeful,
but I slept too late. Fact is, I was done up. It's along
way from the sea to Paris."

"So it is; but since your arrival you have had plenty
of time for a rest."

"Have I? Why, I got here at three o'clock this
morning, and was in my first sleep when your 'blue
bottles' clapped their hands on me."

"You lie. You were in Paris eight days ago."

" What rot ? At that rate, I should have walked as
fast as the trains."

This answer struck the commissary, who was acquainted
with the exact date of Trouillard's escape, and if the man ■
had walked the distance, as he said he had, it would have

THE felon's bequest. 205

been practically impossible for him to have reached Paris
sooner than the past night.

The magistrate noticed the embarrassment of his col-
league, and came to his aid.

"Do you know a man named Mahossier?" asked he
suddenly.

" Mahossier ? Yes, I knew a bloke of that name, before,"
answered the man, without the least hesitation.

"Was he a thief?"

" Well, yes, he was on that lay; and the proof of it is
that he got seven years in the Central, which he ought to
have about worked off by this time."

" He was Hberated last week."

" All the better for him. He has done his time, whilst
mine is beginning again, and this time I shan't get off
so easily. But why do you ask me about him ? Has he
been copped again already ? "

" He is dead."

"EeaUy. What did he die of ? "

" He was murdered, most likely by some of his accom-
plices."

"Ah ! see what a bad thing it is to have disreputable
acquaintances."

" He was murdered here in this garden."

" That's rum. What was he dodging about here for ?
This isn't his part of the toAvn."

" He came upon the same errand as you did."

" I don't tumble to your patter."

" I mil endeavor to help your memory. You knew, I
suppose, that Mahossier was sentenced in 1877 for having
taken part in the robbery of a banking house in the
Faubourg Poissoniere. Five rolls of gold were found on
him which belonged to the safe that had been plundered,
but no one has ever found out what became of that safe,
which contained nearly two millions."

" That was good business," sneered Trouillard, who
was evidently growing uneasy.

" Well, when Mahossier came out of prison, he lost no
time in going to look for this money; only, unfortunately
for himself, he did not go alone."

"I shouldn't have thought he was such a fool."

" He came with some accomplice of former years, wljo
killed him with a blow of a stick,"

206 THE felok's bequest.

« Oh 1 so Mahossier had an accomplice, had he ? "

" Two at the le^st, as you know perfectly."

" How should I know it ? I — ah ! that is coming it
too strong. If I had nicked two millions, I should not
have spent my life in prison. You just look at my sheet.
I have been senten ced four times in seven months, three
of which were police court affairs, for twopenny-half-
penny thefts; then I got twenty years, and was on my
way across the herring pond ; but as for this banking
business, I wasn't in it. Since then I haven't been out
of the stone jug for three months at a time, and I was
forbidden to remain in Paris."

" That explains why you didn't take the money from
where you had hidden it after the robbery. You were
so well watched that you did not dare to come here.
Mahossier ventured, but that was after he had been
released."

"He may have done so, but he didn't come with
me. After I had got over my hunger, I used to tramp
along the roads by night, and slept in the woods by
day."

"Why were you in such a hurry to get to Paris, .
then ? "

" Because one can hide oneself better in Paris than
anywhere else."

" And because you were anxious to get hold of your
two millions."

" What ! do you think they are here ? "

" If they are not it is because Mahossier's murderer
has carried them off."

" Good; but if I had done the trick should I have
come back to hang about the empty place when I had
pouched the swag ? "

" We shall find out if it is empty, and pull down the
house if necessary."

" That will make the owner grin on the wrong side of
his mouth."

" And so it will you, though you pretend to joke about
it. The search is about to commence, and you shall be
present at it.

" Very good. I am anxious to look on ; only let your
chaps put me on my feet, for they are holding me lijje ft
trussed fowl,"

THE felon's bequest. 207

On a sign from the magistrate, the policemen aided
Trouillard to rise to his feet, but did not relax their hold
on him.

During this examination the sub-inspector had been
examining the walls and corners of the ground floor
room, where Cransac had been surprised by Mahossier,
and he had not neglected to inspect the chimney-piece,
and bent down to get a better view of it. After having
sounded it, he went up to the magistrate and whispered
in his ear. Trouillard, who was securely held by the two
policemen, still affected indifference, but he had lost
much of his self-possession, and Saintonge, who watched
him narrowly, noticed that every now and then he stole a
glance at the plate in the chimney. The magistrate
whispered an order to the sergeant, who at once set to
work, and bending down, seized the iron pin with both
his hands, and drew it in a downward direction with all
his strength. The plate never moved.

" Try and turn it," said the magistrate.

Pigache did so, and the sound of bolts creaking as they
left their sockets was at once heard.

" Now we have it," said the commissary. " Pull it
down." At the first effort the plate opened, for it
worked easier now than it did when Cransac had first
opened it.

" I am done," growled Trouillard, as he saw the plat«
open.

208 THE felon's bequest.

CHAPTEE XXVn.

"a skeleton foem lay smouldeeesg theee."

There was a momentary silence, which was broken by
the voice of the sub-inspector. " Then you confess ? "
asked he, quickly.

" I confess the robbery," answered the convict, " but I
didn't kill Mahossier. I haven't seen him since we cracked
the crib together; besides, we were both of us nabbed —
I the next day, he the day after, and not for the same
job. I was quodded for six months over an assault case;
without that I shouldn't have let the two millions rust in
this hole."

" Then there is really two millions here ? " asked the
magistrate quickly, who knew by experience, that it is
necessary to press a prisoner closely when he enters on
the road of confession, for if he is given the time to
reflect he often stops short and retracts what he has
already admitted.

But TrouiUard had evidently decided to make a clean
breast of it, and he answered without hesitation : " There
were nineteen hundred and forty-five thousand francs:
three hundred and fifty-six thousand in bank notes in a
pocket-book, and the rest in gold. You can count it, and
see if I am not right. If I tell you the truth, it is because
lying won't serve my turn. Now that you have got me
again, you will send me off to New Caledonia, and I shan't
be able to dodge you a second time, therefore I shall
never profit by the swag there; nor will Mahossier, for
the matter of that, since he has turned uj) his toes. I
don't shirk sjDitting it all out, for even if you give me an
additional stretch for it, at my age, twenty years or life
is pretty much the same ; but I don't want to have my
neck slit, and I don't funk at its being so, for I did not
kill Mahossier."

" Can you prove that it was not you who committed
the crime ? " asked the magistrate.

" If I had given him the crack on the crown I should
Jiave pouched the swag and taken m^ hook, Now, look

THE felon's bequest. 209

here. "Would you like me to tell you how it all took
place seven years ago ? We each of us took five rolls of
gold, a thousand francs each, and agreed that we would
meet again every night and empty the place Httle by
little; but luck was against us, and forty-eight houi'S
afterwards we were both nabbed on separate charges. I
was as drunk as an owl, and someone robbed me of my
share while I was snoring on a bench in the Boulevard
Rochechouart. Mahossier kept bis, and it was found on
him, and that was what got him his stretch of seven."

" How do you know that if you did not see him again? "

" By our pals; all those who come into quod bring us
news of what goes on among the prigs. Why, in La
Roquette I heard when Mahossier was coming out of the
Central, and I made sure that he would take a turn this
way, and when I cut my lucky, I hoped to get here before
him. Well, it seems that he did me and pot here the
first, but it doesn't seem as if it did him much good, since
some one knocked his brains out for him. I am sorry,
though he did try to collar all the swag for himself."

" Who killed him then, if you didn't ? "

"I don't know; perhaps some pal who he was fool
enough to bring with him to help him lift to the shiners.
He wasn't very strong, poor Mahossier, nor very fly neither.
At any rate, if that is the way the thiug went, there
ought to be a deficiency in the pewter or the paper, the
exact amount of which I have told you. Coimt it and
see."

"And your other accomplice? You say nothing of
him ? Do not look surprised. The third robber was the
bank messenger, who slept near the safe."

" What, do you know that too ? Then I don' t see why I
should not tell you all about it. He was the chap that put
up the job. He helped us to get the safe out of the win-
dow, and to wheel it off to this crib. It wasn't very large,
but we had no end of trouble with it, and it was he that
broke it open with some tools he had brought."

" What did you do with it ? "

" We put it^n the truck again when we had emptied it,
and carted it as far as Saint Ouen, where we pitched it
into the Seine. It is most likely stiU there."

"Good; and the bank messenger?"

" Ah ! I never heard anything more of him. He knew

210 THE felon's beques*

Mahossier better than he did me. All I know about him
was that he wasn't copped."

" Yes, all trace of him was lost, and it was supposed
that he was murdered by his accomplices."

" It was by Mahossier, then, not by me, for I never saw
him after the trip to Saint Ouen; he had his share, Uke
the rest of us, five rolls of gold. Perhaj^s some one killed
him for them. What makes me think that he is dead is
that if he had been alive he would have certainly come
here and collared the swag. The best thing you can do
is to see if the money is all right."

Trouillard was right. The magistrate should hav(j
commenced by verifying the amount in the hiding-place,

" To me," remarked Trouillard, " it looks as if the heap
had gone done a bit, but better count it to make sure;
but mind you get to the bottom of the hole. I dug il
and put up the movable plate, and the work does m({
credit I took six months over it. I am an engineer hv
trade."

"Six months!" repeated the magistrate. "Then the
robbery was a premeditated one ?"

" I should just think it was. The job had been talked
of for a year before we did the trick. It was the banlc
messenger who pointed out the house in the Rue Gab-
rielle to us. It was not inhabited then, and you could
go in and out as you liked. That was just what suited us,
because, as you can understand, we couldn't walk into
the cribs where we dossed with a couple of millions in
our pockets. We wanted a warehouse until we could
slip into a new skin, little by little, you know. I shovdd
have gone into the country and lived on my revenue.
Mahossier was going to start as a restaurant and wine
shop keeper outside the barriers. The bank man was a
German, and was going back to his own country. We
had calculated that at the end of two or three weeks, by
coming here every night, and taking away five thousand
yellow boys each time, "we might have cleared the place
out, and we had sworn that one would never come with-
out the other two. We were to meet every night at 8»
pub in the Chaussee Clignancourt. It was the lush thalt
spoilt everything. I was mad drunk the first day, and
the next both Mahossier and I were quodded. You are
g;oing to say, how about the bank chap ? Why did the;f

THE felon's bequest. 211

never nab him ? Wellrl think that he must have in some
way been finished off the night after we carried off the
safe. I may be wrong, of course, but that is my idea;
and I tell to you because, having nothing to lose, I feel
inclined to play square." -»

The magistrate had listened to all these revelations
with the attention they deserved, and began to believe
that they were true. All that he had to do was to follow
the advice of the convict, and make an inventory of the
contents of the treasure. Two of the pohcemen went to
work at once, and soon had the packets of gold spread
out on the floor. They were proceeding to count them,
when Trouillard exclaimed, " But the pocket-book — where
is the pocket-book ? "

" There is nothing more in the hole, nothing but sand,**
answered one of the pohcemen, after liaving carefully
felt all round the bottom of the hiding-place.

" Then I have been robbed," cried the convict. " It is
just as I thought. Mahossier came here with a pal,
who killed him, and then fiUed his pockets; unless,
indeed "

"Ah, I have got something now," continued the
policeman. " But it is not a pocket-book; it feels like
bones."

At this unexpected announcement there was a pro-
found sensation amongst all those present. The magis-
trate, the commissary, and the sub-inspector all drew up
closer to the chimney-piece. Saintonge, who had stood
modestly on one side, did not venture to come any
nearer, but he trembled with inward delight. His
paper would have the^ first news of the discovery of
a body.

Trouillard did not betray much emotion, but he
seemed as much surprised as the others. " After all, it
may be Martin, of the bank, and Mahossier may have
given him one the next day whilst I was asleep on the
boulevard. Fancy the dogs ha\'ing put their heads to-
gether to rob me on the very first evening ! "

The policeman, who was scraping with both hands in
the sand, brought out a fragment of a coat with a copper
button with two letters in relief on it, a B and a C, the
same as those that were on the pocket-book that Cran-

212 THE felon's bequest.

sac had taken away with him on the occasion of his last
visit.

" These are the iaitials of the banker whose safe was
robbed," said the commissary. ' It is the body of the
bank messenger that we have discovered."

" Eight you are," cried the convict, " and it must have
been done as I tell you. Mahossier killed Martin to
keep it aU; and he would have done the same to me if
we had not both been quodded, and later on he got a
crack on the skull. I don't know who gave it to Lim,
but it served him right, for he has taken the pocket-book
and the missing packets of gold."

" What did he do with it, then ? " asked the magis-
trate, "for he had only five thousand francs on him
when arrested. Only five thousand francs, and not a
single note."

" He had hidden the rest, of course."

"That is impossible; and instead of accusing a dead
man, who cannot contradict you, it would be better for
you to attempt to justify yourself."

" Justify yom-self ! and what about? You know well
enough that I neither killed Martin or Mahossier.
Had I killed either of them, I should not have been such
an ass as to tell you that I was mixed up in the robbery
of '77; and if I had not split upon myself you would
never have been able to prove that I came here for any-
thing but to take a sleep."

" You were found here, and that is quite enough to
cause you to be suspected of both murders. It is for
you to prove that you are not the assassin, and at
present you have failed to do so. Have you anything
more to say before X send you to the House of
Detention ? "

"No, it isn't worth while to jaw any longer. You
would not believe me; suppose I had taken away the
pocket-book and bidden it somewhere else? It held
three hundred and fifty-six thousand francs. Would not
that have contented a man without his coming here to
get nabbed?"

" At any rate, it has gone, and who can have taken it
if it was neither you nor your former accomplice,
Mahossier ? "

THE felon's bequest. 213

" Perhaps it was some one who found out the secret of
the hidding-place in my absence."

" If any one had done so they woiild haA'e left nothing
behind them."

"That remains to be seen. Suppose he had not the
time to take it all at once, or that he was going to act
like us, and empty the hiding-place Httle by little ? If
that is his game he will begin again, and to nab him at
his next visit you have only to set the trap afresh."

This argument seemed to have some effect on the
judge, who began to reflect, for he saw that in the pres-
ent examination he should draw nothing further from
the man, and he was resolved not to send him off to the
Isle of Rhe with another term of penal servitude to work
out until all these mysteries had been cleared up. He
half believed that Trouillard had not killed any one, but
it was necessary to have him in readiness if an inquiry
should be set on foot regarding the two murders and
the robbery perpetrated in 1877. It was, however, nec-
essary to remove the gold spread about over the floor,
and to have the remains which had been discovered in
the sand examined by a medical man; but it was not
necessary that the convict should be present at either of
these operations.

"Is that all you have to tell me?" asked he, gazing
steadily at the criminal.

Trouillard hesitated for a moment; but at last he
decided to speak, and give a last piece of information.
" I repeat to you, that very likely the pocket-book was
taken away whilst I was temporarily at Mazas," said he
hurriedly. " I am almost sure of it now, and this is the
reason. It was all owing to an act of folly that I com-
mitted, but perhaps it may help me a little if I tell you
all about it."

" This is enough preamble," interruped the magistrate.
" Come to facts, for I am in a hurry."

214 TEE felon's bequest.

CHAPTEE XXVin.

PIEEEE TROmr-LAKD SPEAKS.

Again the convict paused for a few moments, and then,
as though he had suddenly made up his mind, he began
to speak with great volubility.

" Look here, sir, as soon as I was committed for trial
my lawyer did not hide from me that my case was a bad
one, and that I was booked for twenty years; so I said to
myself that I should never get back across the herring
pond, to pick up my two millions, and it bothered me
awfully to think that no one would benefit by them
except Mahossier, and I had my knife in him, and so the
idea got into my head that I would make a present of
them to some one."

"How could }ou manage to do that?"

" 111 just tell you how I did it. I expect you know
that when we are out in the exercise-yard at Mazas we
can telegraph to our next door neighbors, by throwing
things over the wall between us; we chuck over tobacco,
or a bit of paper rolled round a pebble."

The magistrate cast an inquiring glance at the sub-in-
spector, who replied: " He is quite right; it is impossible
for the warders to prevent its being done."

" Well," continued TrouiUard, " I had a neighbor who
acted like a trump to me. He chucked over whatever I
wanted; such bundles of cigars — I never smoked such
bang-up stuff in my Hfe. So I says to myself, "As well
this chap as another,' and I slings over a note, which
showed him the whole bag of tricks, the road to take, the
house in the Rue GabrieUe, the way to open the plate —
in short, everything."

"Do you mean to say that he got this note?" asked
the magistrate, eagerly.

"Got it? — I should think he just did; and as he had
written to me the evening before that he was going out
of the jug, I don't expect that he lost any time in profit-
ing by the tip I had given him, which I shouldn't have
done if I had been cocksure of getting away from the
Isle of Rhe. But now I am landed. The rogue came

THE FELON^S BEQUEST. 216

here and filled bis pockets, beginning with the pocket-
book, ■which was the easiest to carry off."

" Then this man killed Mahossier ? "

"I know nothing about that. I don't believe they
knew each other. A chap that smoked such prime baccy
must have been a bang up swell faker, and you know
that Mahossier was not in that swim; but they may
have come across each other here one night, for aU
that."

" You don't know the name of this man ? "

" No, nor why he was in quod either; and, of course,
1 never set eyes on him. One may live in Mazas for
fifteen years alongside one's own brother and not know
it. Nor do I expect that he knows any more of me than
,[ do of him."

The magistrate made a mental note of the unexpected
result of solitary confinement in prisons, and began to
think how he could utilize the convict's statement, which
had an air of probability about it.

" Then," continued he, " your next door neighbor was
discharged, I suppose, for want of sufficient evidence ? "

"I believe so,' answered Trouillard. "On the piece
of paper he tossed over to me, he had written, ' I shan't
be here to-morrow,' which might have meant, 'I am
about to be transferred elsewhere '; but since he has
been taking a walk in this direction, I should think he
had ,been let out."

This statement would not bear sifting, for it would
have been first necessary to prove that this unknown
who had been the recipient of the convict's confidence
had profited by it; but the magistrate, as a preliminary
step, drew the sub-inspector on one side, and gave him
certain instructions as to examining the registers of the
Mazas prison, to ascertain the names of those prisoners
who had been released when Trouillard was thei'e, pre-
vious to his appearance before the Assizes, and, as these
registers were kept with scrupulous regularity and
exactitude, the search would be neither long or diffi-
cult.

Nothing now remained but to sign the warrant for the
escaped convict's committal to the House of Detention,
itnd this the magistrate did at once, using the bag of the

216 THE felon's bequest.

clerk, who produced the necessary printed form, as a
desk. " Take the prisoner away," said the magistrate.

"It was high time," growled Trouillard; "take me off
to the cells, I can hardly stand on my legs, and there, at
any rate, I shall be able to have a lay down." Then, as
the constables adjusted his handcuffs, he added: "I
should have liked to take a squint to see if it is really
Martin's carcass down there, but that copper button
almost settles the case; besides there can't be much of
him left, and I should have no end of trouble in recogniz-
ing him. Take me off, theu : all I ask is a cab, for I can
hardly put one foot before the other."

Just after he had been removed, one of the constables
whom the sergeant had posted iu front of the gate lead-
ing into the Eue Gabrielle came in to inform the
magistrate that the owner of the property was in the
garden, and was ready to appear before him, whenever
his presence was required.

" I don't want him to come in here," said the magis-
trate after a moment's reflection. " I will speak to him
outside. Take him into the path on the right that skirts
the terrace; and until the medical man makes his appear-
ance, will you, sir," turning to the commissary, " have
the goodness to remain here in charge, and you, sub-
inspector, come with me. M. Saintonge, you can stay
here; I want to say a few words to you presently." With
these words the magistrate left the room, and as soon as
he was a few steps from the door, he turned to the sub-
inspector, and said: " What do you think of all this ? I
confess that I don't see my way, and before going any
further I should like to hear your opinion."

" Sir," replied the poUce official, " my opinion is ali'eady
formed. The convict Trouillard has spoken the truth; it
was Mahossier who murdered the bank messenger, and
he himself was killed a day or two ago by the prisoner
who was discharged from Mazas about a month back."

" A man whose name and description we do not know."

" But we shall have both this evening, for I will go
myself to the registry office of Mazas prison."

" We sha'n't catch him though, for he has had plenty
of time to get out of the country with his money."

" He did not take it all, and mv opinion is that he has
remained in Paris, with tne nope oi securing the r>-

THE felon's bequest. 217

mainder, in whicli case he will certainly return here, and
if we leave some men on the watch we shall trap him."

" I have not much confidence in our doing so. In this
wretched affair, it is all groping in the dark, and our
clues are very sHght. I do not even know to whom this
sum of money belongs that we have just discovered."

" To the creditors of the banker who was robbed, and
after they have been paid, to his heirs, if he has left any,
a fact of which I am at present in ignorance."

" The house and grounds, they tell me, once belonged
to him. It seems a strange thing that the robbers should
have chosen it for a hiding-place for their plunder."

" Oh ! but the place had been deserted for some years
before the robbery was committed, as Trouillai'd has just
told us. The bank messenger who planned the robbery
knew well enough that no one ever came near the place,
and that consequently it would form a safer hiding-place
than they could find elsewhere."

" Well, what we now have to do is to question the pres-
ent proprietor of the property. "Who knows if he did
not know of the existence of the treasure, and he may
even have endeavored to secure it for himself ? At any
rate, he may be able to furnish us with information
regarding many points, and I wish you to be present
when I question him."

" He is a most respectable business man, and I do not
think that you will fiiid that he is implicated in the affair,
but here he is."

Escorted by one of the police who had been sent in
search of him, Lourdier appeared at the other end of the
walk. He seemed rather nervous, although he had
nothing to reproach himself with, and came up to the
magistrate, removing his hat as he did so.

" You are M. Moras, a cloth merchant, are you not ? "
asked the magistrate.

" No, sir," answered the advertising agent. " M. Moras
is ill, and has sent me in his place."

" But no one can take his place, and I am surprised
that M. Moras should think so. "When a regular notice
has been served, a personal attendance is absolutely
necessary."

" M. Moras knows that, sir, but he is in bed, and if you
desiro to interrogate him, h« is entirely at your disposal

218 THE felon's bequest.

But if, in the meantime, you require any information
about this property, I can give it you, for I know more
about it than the owner, who has never occupied it."

" Will you then answer the questions that I put to you ?
"When and from whom did he buy it ?"

" He did not buy it, sir. He got the property at the
liquidation of a banker who owed him money, nearly
seven years ago."

" A banker in the Faubourg Poissoniere ?"

"Just so; the banker had been robbed. At that time
the affair created a great sensation, but the lost property
was never recovered."

" You are wrong. It has been found."

" Indeed ! and where ? Not here ?"

"Yes, sir; and one of the robbers has been arrested.
One of them was murdered in this garden a few days
back."

" I heard that a man had been killed here, but I never
connected him with the former robbery of the banker, any
more than I thought that the money was hidden away in
M. Moras' property. If I had known that "

" What would you have done ?" asked the magistrate,
quickly.

Lourdier already regretted having spoken too quickly,
but he could not withdraw his words, so he answered in
an embarrassed manner: "Why, of coui'se, I should not
have sold it then."

" Sold it !" repeated the magistrate. " What right had
you to sell it ?"

" M. Moras gave me fuU authority to do so, as he was
anxious to get rid of it, and at last I managed to find a
purchaser. The deed of sale was drawn up by M. Guerin,
a notary in the Place Dancoiu't, Montmartre."

" How long ago ?"

" Quite recently. I think the business was completed
upon the very day on which the body of the man who had
been murdered was found."

"Who bought it?"

"A most respectable gentleman, very wealthy, who
bought the house and ground in one lot."

" A strange idea, was it not, to buy an tminhabitable
house, and a bit of ground that brought in nothing ?"

THE felon's bequest. 219

" Oh ! be got it cheap, though I had a good deal of
difficulty in persuading him to buy."

" But what could he want with a spot like this, that is
of no marketable value ?"

" To have a country house in the middle of Paris.
That could easily have been done by pulling down the
old house, and re-modeUing the garden entirely. In fact,
he did not make a bad investment."

" He would have made a still better one if he had got
hold of the stolen millions, and perhaps this was his idea
all along."

" Eh ! what ? I never thought of that," muttered Lour-
dier,-" If that was his idea he was more shrewd than I gave
him credit for."

" What was the name of the purchaser ? "

" Cransac — George Cransac. "

The name was not familiar to the magistrate, who, having
had nothing to do with the charge of uttering the forged
check, had never even heard it. The sub-inspector had,
of course, heard of the case, but he saw so many prison-
ers from one year's end to another, that his memory could
mot retain all their names.

" You knew the gentlemen with whom you did business
before, I presume ? " asked the magistrate.

" I did not, nor have I known him long," returned
Lourdier. " It was sufficient for me that he was solvent,
and as I knew that he was so, 1 did not make any inquiries
about him, and so can tell you nothing on that head."

Lourdier began to think that the magistrate suspected
Cransac of some misdemeanor or other, and he wished to
avoid compromising a friend of Valbrec's, who was the
editor of an influential paper, with the advertising depart-
ment of which he had a great deal to do. He therefore
took care to say nothing about George's misadventure
regarding the check, and endeavored to say nothing
against a friend, with whom his relations had always been
of the most pleasant description.

"You tell me that this young man is wealthy," contin-
ued the magistrate. " What does he do ? "

"I dont think he does anj^thing; his means permit him
to be idle. He had some idea of writing articles in the
paper to which I belong, but it was only an idea."

" You are a journalist then ? "

220 THE felon's bequest.

"Not exactly; I have charge of the publicity depart-
ment."

" In other words, you are an advertising agent ? "

"Yes, sir; but lam acquainted with nearly all the
journalists in Paris. It was through one of them, indeed,
that I had the pleasure of first meeting M. Cransac."

" Who was this gentleman, if you please ? "

" Paul Valbrec."

" A writer that I always read with much pleasure. No
doubt, then, he would be able to tell me all about M.
Cransac ? "

" Much better than I can, for I have not seen him since
the conclusion of the sale of M. Moras' property."

"I will request him to call upon me at my office, and
question him there. M. Saintonge belongs to the staff of
M. Valbrec's pajDer — do you know him ? "

" Saintonge, the king of reporters ! I should think I do
know him. If you put him on this business he would give
you a wonderful account of it, and make a good thing for
himself out of it too. There is not his equal in making
the most of an incident."

"And he has another excellent quality, that of never
being indiscreet, and so hindering the course of a judicial
inquiry; and it would be well if all his brethren of the
press were equally reserved."

Lourdier took this as a hint, and protested that he would
not whisper a word of what had passed to anyone, though
he resolved to go and see Valbrec the moment the magis-
trate had finished with him.

" Where does Cransac reside ? " asked the sub-inspector,
who thought he might as well know where he could lay
hands upon the suspicious purchaser of the property.

" At the Grand Hotel, I believe," answered the wary
Lourdier. He knew very well that Cransac's real abode
was at 19, Rue Frochot; but he did not wish to mention
this until he had consulted Yalbrec, whose good opinion
he desired to retain.

Lourdier thought to himself: "I am not telling a false-
hood, since a week ago Cransac had still his rooms at the
Grand Hotel; and if his conscience is not quite clear, he
will have time to slope, after Valbrec has warned him that
he is suspected of one or two gross misdemeanors."

THE felon's bequest. 221

" If he is so wealthy, why does he reside at an hotel ? "
asked the keen sub-inspector.

" He is only staying there as a temporary measure until
his viUa is ready for him, which it will be next summer;
but after all, I can only tell you what he has told me.
My relations with him have been of the sligh est kind, and
I met him by a mere chance, at a dinner that Paul Valbrec
gave to some of his friends.

All that Lourdir wanted was to be able to give Cransac
the chance of seeking safety in flight if he had anything
to fear from the police, but he chiefly desired not to com-
promise himself, and to prove that he was not at all inti-
mate with a man who seemed just now an object of sus-
picion, after having already spent a short time within the
walls of Mazas.

" Very well, sir," said the magistrate. " If I require
your presence again I shall send for you, but at present
I have no more need of you, and you may retire."

The advertisement contractor did not wait for a second
notice of dismissal; he bowed to the magistrate and to the
sub-inspector, and, turning round, made off in the direc-
tion of the Rue Gabrielle, delighted at having got off so
easily, and firmly resolved to hasten off to Valbrec, whose
residence was near the Hill of Montmartre, and whom he
was pretty certain to find in bed, for, as he worked until
an early hour in the morning, he seldom rose before mid-
day.

As soon as the magistrate and the sub-inspector were
left alone together they exchanged a look of satisfaction,
showing tliat the same thought was passing through both
their mi»ds. Lourdier's examination had elicited notbing
definite, and the information with which he had furnished
them regarding the new owner of the property had not
in any way cleared up the aspect of affairs. The magis-
trate, however, appeared to think that this M. Cransac
had bought the land without any particular motive, just
as he would have bought any other site that might Lave
been presented to bis notice which had tbe advantage of
a fine view and was in an airy situation. He mentioned
his opinion to the sub-inspector, who was not so com-
pletely convinced, and who detei-mined without further
loss of time to make some inquiry into the young man's
past life, and also as to the origin of his fortune. " I will have

222 THE felon's bequest.

him watched at once," continued the wary police official^ And
I will inspect the register of the Mazas prison. If I find his
name on the list, we need search no further; for nothing
will then remain in doubt. We shall then have to act
without a moment's delay; for if he is guilty, and by any
chance learns what has taken place here to-day, he will
be off by the first train."

" It would, perhaps, have been wiser to have detained
that advertising agent, who appears to be quite capable
of warning our man," remarked the magistrate.

" My fellows will be at the Grand Hotel before him,
and if you have no further need of me, I will ask you to
permit me to leave you now, so that I may go to Mazaa
and make inquiries."

" You are right, for it is most urgent."

"My sergeant, Pigache, can easily superintend the
removal of the treasure."

"Very well; I see the doctor coming for the medical
examination, so go. I shall expect you at twelve o'clock
at my office with your report, and then I will decide what
course I shall take."

" I shall also ask at the office of the Assize Court for the
report of the sitting of the Court at which Mahossier was
sentenced. It is necessary for me to know the exact
amount of the sum that was stolen from the banker, seven
years ago, so as to remit the surplus, after paying his credi-
tors, to his heirs, if he has left any.

" All has been done so quickly that I have not had time
to look through the papers relating to the robbery."

" Nor do I know anything of it; for at that date I was
not in the detective department. And now, sir, since you
think that you can dispense with my presence, I will give
Pigache his instructions, and set to work at once."

The magistrate did not seek to detain his auxiliary,
and went off to speak to the doctor, who he had not
expected would arrive so soon. Just then Saintonge left
the house where all operations had been suspended dur-
ing the absence of the magistrate, and begged him to
permit him to leave the place. He received the requisite
permission, coupled with this piece of well-meant and
fatherly advice : " You may relate in your paper all that
you have seen here, do you understand? but not a
syllable more; for if you indulge in any comments or

THE felon's bequest. 223

•uppositions, I shall be unable for the future to permit
your presence in the event of this matter requiring fresh
search to be made 'in the garden."

Saintonge promised to attend scrupulously to this
advice, and took his leave, delighted at having employed
his morning so well. He was desirous of conveying to
the editor the success of his mission, and he had no idea
that the day which had now begun was to decide the
fate of that George Cransac whom he had met in the
office of Paul Valbrec.

CHAPTEE XXIX.

HUNTED DOWN.

The Httle suite of rooms in the Rue Frochot had under-
gone a complete change.

The nest of the two fond lovers had been turned into a
hospital.

The insensible figure of Cecile Cambremer had been
brought there on a litter between ten and eleven
o'clock.

The doctor and George Cransac had passed the
remainder of the night watching by her bedside, and
after having again examined her wounds, which he had
been unable to do before in a satisfactory manner in the
dark passage leading to the stage-door, the doctor had
revoked his former sentence.

He now hoped to be able to save his patient without
having recourse to amputation.

The animal's claws had not penetrated so deeply as he
had at first imagined into the breast and shoulder, and
the lung was fortunately untouched. The bone of the
arm was certainly broken in two places, but it was not
so terribly splintered as he had feared it was, and simple
fractures are easily cured, unless some unforeseen com-
plication arises. Cecile had endured with the greatest
courage the painful operation of extracting two or three
splinters of the bone from her flesh, and the first dressing
had been applied. Josephine Sureau, who had been sent
for with the first dawn of day, had arrived, and looked
9,fter the patient much better than George could hav$

224 THE felon's bequest.

done; for on occasions of this kind a man is of but little
use, and Josephine, like all those who have suffered
much themselves and seen much suffering in others, -was
a most excellent sick nurse. Instead of bursting into a
flood of lamentations at the state in which she found her
benefactress, and instead of loudly inquiring the cause of
her being so seriously injured, she at once placed herself
under George's orders, without making a single re-
mark.

George reproached himself bitterly with having been
the involuntary cause of her accident; first, in having taken
her to the theatre, and secondl}', in having let her pene-
trate behind the scenes. All seemed the result of a
piece of inconceivable forgetfulness on his part. The
fact that Cornehan was going to make her first appear-
ance on the boards of the Theatre of the Porte Saint
Martin had entirely escaped from his memory, and, with
his mind filled with plans for vengeance on Simancas,
he had permitted Valbrec to take Cecile behind the
scenes. All that had happened afterwards seemed
planned by the hand of Fate; and he did not for a mo-
ment doubt that the villainous Goliath had thrust Cecile
against the cage on purpose to gratify the jealous hatred
of Cornelian.

Had Cecile guessed the truth ? George had reason to
hope that she had not, for since she had regained con-
sciousness she had not said a word about the Queen of
the Lions or their keeper, and George took care to make
no allusion to them. He now left her bedside whilst
Josephine moved noiselessly here and there, preparing
and applpng the cold water bandage which the doctor
had ordered to be kept constantly on the wounds. The
doctor himself was to return in the afternoon with one
of the most skillful surgeons of the day, who was to pro-
nounce the verdict as to whether amputation was neces-
sary or not.

The poor wounded girl had displayed invincible
energy, and a clearness of intellect which was surprising
under the circumstances. She strove to comfort George,
who could not conceal the anguish he was enduring on
her accoxint, and she even endeavored to joke about her
accident; once she said almost merrily: "It served me
right, I was too curious. I have that fault; I had it

THE felon's bequest. 225

from my childhood. My poor father always predicted
that I should be punished for it, and so I have been, but
perhaps a httle too severely. And jet it might have
been worse. At one time I thought the terrible monster
was going to strangle me. Then, George, all my
thoughts fled to you, and I fainted. ¥ou, I am sure,
must have suffered more than I did, and do not think
that I am referring to the wound you received in trying
to save me, but the pangs of your heart."

"My wound is a mere nothing," answered George,
casting a glance at his right hand, which was swathed in
bandages; "but had you died, I would not have sur-
vived you."

"Do not say that; it makes me so wretched. Re-
member that I may die after all, but swear to me that
should I do so you will have the courage to live."

"You shall not die; the doctor said you would not."

" He may be wrong, and I had rather do so than let
them cut off my arm. If I had but one, you would love
me no longer."

" Do not say so."

" No, you would not love me as you have done; and if
you did not I should kill myself. Ah ! do not contradict
me. I hope that I shall save my arm, and that your
heart will not change, but so many things may happen
that we must look forward to everything; and if I am to
die, before leaving this world I should like, oh I how
much I should Uke "

" To do what ? " asked George, deeply moved.

" You will laugh at me. I should like "

" Tell me what; you terrify me."

" To make my will."

" That is madness."

" It is not madness. It is an idea that has been in my
mind ever since I knew you. I wish to make you my
heir." Then, as her lover made a gesture of refusal, she
continued : " I can guess what you are about to say, that
you are rich, and that I have nothing. You forget, dear
friend, that, thanks to you, I am at the head of a prosper-
ous business, and also that I owe you a thousand francs."

" Do not speak of that," murmured George, deeply
hurt at the thought of her looking upon him in the light
of a creditor.

226 THE felon's bequest.

" Do not be vexed, my dear George, but remember
that I only took this money from you on the condition
that I should be permitted to return it, and if I live you
will permit me to pay ofO the loan ? "

" Yes, but "

"Ah ! you make me very sad; you must allow me to do
as I wish. I shall injure no one, for I have not a single
relation in the world. Promise me, then, that you wUl
accept the legacy."

" Very well, I promise if you persist in this strange
fancy; but before doing so, you must take time to reflect."

" I have reflected, and it must be done at once."

" "What I you desire "

" Yes, I wish to make my will before the doctors meet
in consultation here, which will be very soon, and I want
to take advantage of the time that we are alone together,
whilst that good Josephine is preparing the broth that
the doctor ordered me to take. Do not say that it is
impossible. I have lived long enough to know that we
can dispense with the assistance of a notary, and that a
will is legal if it is properly dated and signed, and written
entirely by myself."

"What a strange whim !"

" I entreat you to yield to it."

George thought that it would be unwise to run counter
to CecDe's wishes in her present state of health, and
therefore would not deny her a pleasure which was per-
fectly harmless. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a
blotting book from the table, placed a sheet of paper on
it, and setting it before the injured girl, put a pen ready
dipped in ink between her fingers, who wrote her last
wishes in two lines:

" I make George Cransac, who has twice saved my life,
my sole heir and executor."

She put in the date, and signed Cecile Cambremer in
affirm hand. " Now my mind is more easy," said she, as
she gave him back the document.

George was obliged to take it, but he put it down on
the table without looking at it.

"Put it carefully away, I entreat you," said she, gently.
" I want to make sure that it is quite safe. Lock it up
in the strong box, where you keep your money."

To satisfy her, Cransac opened the box, and, taking out

THE felon's bequest. 227

the pocket-book he had brought from the deserted house,
was about to put the will in it, when a bell rang loudly
outside. Cransac started, and remained standing per-
fectly stiU, with the paper in his hand which Cecile had
just written and signed, and to which he attached no
importance. He could not comprehend the sudden feel-
ing that had induced the poor girl to persist so strenu-
ously in her design, and he was in no hurry to put away
the document securely, in the damp pocket-book which
he had just taken out of his strong box. He had not
even noticed that Cecile's eyes had never quitted the
pocket-book from the moment she had first caught sight
of it, and they still remained fixed on it when he placed
it on the table. Why did she look on it with such eager-
ness ? No doubt she would have told George the reason
when Josephine came hastily into the room and
announced:

"M. Paul Valbrec."

Without taking the time to put away the pocket book
or the will, George advanced to greet this faithful friend,
who had followed the litter upon which lay the inanimate
body of Cecile the night before.

Valbrec appeared to be in deep thought, and after ask-
ing Cecile how she was, turned abruptly to George, and
said: " I have just seen Saintonge."

" Saintonge ? " repeated George, who had forgotten the
name of the reporter.

" Yes, Saintonge who you met at our office yesterday.
Do you know what has been going on to-day in the house
you bought ? "

" How should I know ? " stammered George, greatly
agitated.

" They have found a hidden treasure amounting to two
millions, and the dead body of a man."

"A dead body?"

"Exactly so; and they have captured an escaped con-
vict."

" Well, what has all that to do with me ? " asked George,
affecting an air of indifference.

" That is not all," continued Vp^lbrec, coldly. " I have
seen Lourdier."

"Well."

228 THE felon's bequest.

" He came and woke me up with the news that you
were going to be examined before a magistrate."

" I ! "

"Yes, you; Lourdier was ' compelled to tell the magis-
trate that he had sold you the property on the Hill of
Montmartre, and he saw at once that it Avas suspected that
you had bought it because you knew that there was an
immense sum of money hidden there; a sum of money
which had been stolen from a banker seven years ago, aa
you know. Saintonge spoke of the matter yesterdaj'
before you."

" Yes, I recoUect, but "

" You are about to say that this has nothing to do with
you ; but for all that, the police authorities are on tho
lookout for you, and you would have already have beer/
found had not Lourdier had the sense to tell them thali
you were staying at the Grand Hotel; but for all that, it
wiU not be long before they know your true address. 1
also expect to be summoned to give evidence regarding
your antecedents, and," concluded Valbrec, looking hisi
friend straight in the face, " I thought it best to warn
you of what was going on, because — well, because if you
felt it necessary you might get out of the way."

George, who began to lose his self-command, com-
menced to equivocate. " Do they accuse me of having
robbed a banker seven years ago ? Why, they must be
jesting 1 I had hardly left school then."

" Certainly, but it is best for you to know all. I am
teUing you what they said to Lourdier, and he knew no
more, but Saintonge heard something besides. He was
present when the convict who had been captured there
was examined, and the man asserted that when he was at
Mazas, before his trial, about the end of November, he
had thrown over the wall of the exercise-ground, to
another prisoner, a note, in which was pointed out the
hiding-place of a sum of money which he had stolen some
time before, nearly two mjUions — a good round sum, eh ?
The convict was not able to tell either the name or the
appearance of the prisouer to whom he had thrown the
note, but the prison register contains the names and des-
cription of all those who have been confined there, and
the authorities are going to consult it; perhaps this has
been done already."

THE felon's bequest. 229

Cransac's legs trembled beneatli him, and Lis pallor
was evidence of his conscious guilt. " Now you know
all," continued Valbrec, coldly. " It is for you to con-
sider the best way of acting. Tou were a prisoner in
Mazas at the end of November, but of course that does
not prove that the convict made you his confidant. You
bought a house and ground at Montmartre, but that is
only presumptive evidence against you. I have done all
I can in telling you how matters stand. Now examine
your own conscience. If you have nothing to reproach
yourself with, fight tooth and nail, but if it is the other
way, I have no advice to give you."

" Because you do not like to advise me to blow out my
brains."

"I say nothing; and, lest anyone should say that I
refused to give you a last piece of advice, I recommend
you to put that pocket book out of the way, for one is
missing from the hiding-place in which they found the
rest of the millions, and if those who are in search of you
should come here now, they will ask you where you got it
from."

'* The pocket book is mine," said Cecile.

Valbrec had forgotten that she was there; he turned
quickly round, and the words, " It is false," were on his
Hps, but he pitied her and remained silent.

" Yes," continued she, with a boldness that took him
by siuprise. " It belongs to me of right, and I can prove
it to you."

" It is not to me that you will have to prove it."

" I will prove it to anyone who ventures to accuse
George, and if you wish to know how it came into my
possession, ask your friend where it was that he first met
me.

Valbrec did not understand what she meant, but
George guessed that the heroic girl was accusing herself
in order to save him, and vowed to himself that he would
not accept such a sacrifice.

" Speak," continued she. " Is it not true that 'you
found me one night in the deserted house in the Rue
Gabrielle, into which you had gone by chance ? " But
Cransac had not the time to reply to her question, for
again the bell rang loudly. A treatise might be written
on the various sounds of front door bells. The ring of

230 THE felon's bequest.

the man who asks a favor is different from that of a
creditor, and that of a commissary of police resembles
no other in existence.

" The deuce I " muttered Valbrec between his teeth,
for he guessed the reason of the sound. " I have come
too late, or else too soon."

Voices were now heard in the ante-chamber.

Cransac made a step toward the window, but he had
not time to throw it open, or his brains would have been
scattered on the pavement.

The sub-inspector of detectives entered, followed by
two subordinates, and said in a harsh voice : " Let no one
stir. Which of you is George Cransac ? "

" I am," answered the unfortunate yovmg man.

" And you, sir, who are you ? "

" My name is Valbrec, and I am "

" I know your profession, but I have nothing to do
with you at present; but stay here, I may have to talk to
you presently." Then turning to Cecile, he asked ? "Are
you living with Cransac ? "

" Yes," replied the injured girl, without a moment's
hesitation.

The woman who opened the door to us is in your em-
ploy?"

« She is."

" Don't let her leave the house," said the sub-inspector
to his two men. " Remain in the ante-room; open to any-
one who rings, and ask their names, which you will report
to me."

The detectives left the room, and closed the door,
whilst their superior officer remained in the room with
Cecile, George and Valbrec.

George was standing near the window, Valbrec was
leaning against the table, and Cecile was propped up in
bed by the pillows. The detective took the seat which no
one had offered to him, and pointed out another to Val-
brec, who did not take advantage of the permission to
sit down, and at once began to question George.
"I have a warrant against you, but before executing it I
have some questions to put to you regarding certain facts
with which no doubt you are acquainted, since your friend,
M. Valbrec, reached here before me. He learned them
from a reporter connected with his paper, and has most

THE felon's bequest. 231

likely repeated them to you. I could not get here sooner,
though I have spent all the morning in looking for you."

" I have not hidden myself," returned George.

" That may be, but you left the Grand Hotel, and did
not say where you were going."

" All my friends knew where I lived, and that I was only
staying at the Grand Hotel as a temporary measure."

" I know that, and will come to that presently. You
know what you are accused of."

"I am waiting to know."

" You are accused of robbery and murder."

"Nothing more?"

" I will begin at the commencement. Last November,
you were arrested and confined in Mazas on suspicion of
forgery."

"I was; but my innocence was established, and I was
released."

" Discharged for want of sufficient evidence to convict;
that does not mean that you were not guilty; but let us
proceed. During your imprisonment at Mazas, you
received a note from one of the other prisoners, who threw
it to you over the wall of the exercise-ground."

George remained silent, and the detective continued:
*' The man who wrote it has been arrested and has con-
fessed everything. But he could not point you out, because
he had never seen you. But your detention at Mazas
coincides with the time that he was there, before appear-
ing before the Court of Assizes, and you were in the same
part of the prison as he was."

" I have nothing to say."

" You will not answer ? It is of no importance, for I
have no need of your confession, as I have plenty of proofs
without your doing so. You were almost penniless when
you came out, but all at once your position underwent a
change. You were absent for a time, and your absence
has not yet been explained, and afterwards, instead of
returning home, you took expensive rooms in the Grand
Hotel. You played heavily and paid your losses, and
went into other extravagances. The broker who employed
you would do so no longer; from whence then did you
draw your money? Evidently from the hiding-place
which the prisoner had pointed out to you, and which
you did not empty because sufficient time was not per-

232 THE felon's bequest.

mitted you to do so; but to be able to do so more
at yoiu' ease, you bought the house, where this morning
we found — but I will not enter into details with which
you must be well acquainted. As for the murder, I
shall content myself by saying that in the garden of the
property you had purchased the body of a man was
picked up, who had been killed by a blow on the head,
and this man was one of them who took part in the rob-
bery of 1877, from a banker's in the Faubourg Pois-
soniere, the proceeds of which were hidden at the time
in the house for which you paid cash some three weeks
back. It is most natural to suppose that having met
Mahossier, who was coming to the house with the same
intention as yourself, you killed him sooner than divide
the plunder. But this matter will be inquired into later
on, at present we are only dealing with the robbery.
You took away a great deal of gold — we know the
amount — and three hundred and fifty-six thousand francs
in banknotes. "What have you done with this money ?
If you refuse to tell me, I know well enough where
to look for it, and shall commence by searching your
rooms."

" The search won't be a long one," thought Valbree;
" the notes are in that pocket book, which I can feel
behind me on the table. If I shift my position it will
be in sight before the policeman's very eyea It
is too stupid of Cransac; he had better confess every-
thing."

THE felon's bequest. 233

CHAPTEB XXX.
A wohak's deyotiok.

Thb silence that followed the conclusion of the detec-
tive's statement was broken by the clear voice of Cecile;
"You need institute no search, sir; it is I who took the
money that is deficient, as I will explain to you."

The detective glanced at her disdainfully. " Why do
you interfere ? " said he. " I have permitted you to re-
main in the room because you are hurt, so the porter
told me, but if you do not keep quiet, I will have you
taken to the hospital."

" You may do so, but you cannot prevent my telling
the truth. I repeat that I discovered the hiding-place,
and took the money, a great deal of the money."

" Why don't you say at once while you are about it
that you killed Mahossier too."

" Because if I said that I should not be speaking the
truth. I do not know who killed the man, but I know
that I took away the packets of gold and the bank-
notes."

" She is mad," muttered Valbrec.

"Good," said the sub-inspector; "I understand it all.
You want to make me believe that your lover is as inno-
cent as a child, and that you did it all. I have seldom
seen so much devotion, but unfortunately your little
story is wanting in common sense. Suppose I admit
that you were Cransac's accomplice, doubtless he had no
secrets from you, and gave you his entire confidence,
regarding his discovery which he had made in Mazas,
which is not a prison for women. Just kindly tell me
how you could otherwise have guessed that there was a
treasure hidden behind a plate in a chimney in a house
in which you had probably never been before you went
there with the accused."

" You are mistaken, sir. I have known the house from
my childhood, and I have always imagined that the actors
in the robbery of 1877 had hidden the stolen money
there. I sought for it for a long time, and at last, by
chance, I hit upon the right spot."

234 THE felon's bequest.

"A wonderful chance indeed; but even if we suppose
that Cransac had nothing to do with it, you told him of
your find, I suppose ?"

"I did."

" Then he is your accomplice, and it does not make his
position a bit better; he has helped you to spend the
money that you assert you took ?"

" No, sir, I employed a portion of it in paying my debts.
I had a manufactory of artificial flowers, which was not
a success."

" Oh, I daresay you have not spent it all in this short
time, although your friend certainly eat his share of the
cake. You don't get through some hundreds of thou-
sands of francs in six weeks, especially when you live on
a third flooi', and keep no establishment. But you were
both going to launch out, and I expect would soon have
Tun through it. Where is what is left ?"

" Here in this room, and I beg that you will take it."

" Begin then by giving it to me, if you want me to
beUeve in all these fairy tales that you have been telling
me for the last quarter of an hour."

" The gold is in that strong box, which is open over
there, and the notes are in the pocket-book on^the table
behind M. Valbrec."

The detective officer rose quickly to his feet, pushed
aside the journalist who hid the object from him, put his
hand inside, and drew out a thick packet of bank-notes.
" They are still wet," said he, feeling them, " and the
leather of the pocket-book is all mildewed. It is the
same one that was stolen in 1877, for the banker's initials
are still legible on it, the same that were on the buttons
of the livery of the bank messenger, whose skeleton we
found at the bottom of the hiding-place."

At this moment the four actors of this drama formed
what is called in theatrical j^arlance a "tableau," The
detective was handling the notes; Valbrec stupified with
astonishment; Cransac with consternation; Cecile had
raised herself up in her bed, and was gazing on the scene
with large black eyes which gleamed with the light of
fever.

Valbrec no longer doubted her madness, and Cransac,
with a bitter pang, felt that she was rushing onwards to
destruction in seeking to save him, and was preparing

THE felon's bequest. 235

to contradict her self-accusations, but he waited to do so
until she had related how she had discovered the hiding-
place. The detective without letting go the pocket book,
went straight to the strong-box, and seeing the piles of
gold, remarked coldly; " That is right; they are all
wrapped up in green paper, like the others, and evidently
came from the same source."

Then turning to Cecile, he added: " If you really took
them, do you mean to tell me that the accused did not
help you, for no woman could have carried these?"

" He did helj) me," replied Cecile, boldly.

" Then you confess that he is as giiilty as you are ?"

"Guilty of what?"

" Of vobbery, to be sure. Do you think, by any chance,
that you had the right to take possession of this money
under the pretext that it did not belong to anyone ? You
are too clever to believe anything of the kind; and even
had you believed it, you would have been guilty of a
misdemeanor all the same, the same as people who pick
up a purse in the public streets and do not take it to the
police office."

" No, sir, I knew perfectly well to whom the two mill-
ions belonged, for I am better acquainted with the story
than you are, for that robbery was the ruin of an honest
man seven years ago."

" The banker of the Faubourg Poissoniere ? " sneered
the detective. " Do you mean to tell me that you propose
to give him back those two millions ? "

" Not to him, for he killed himself, being unable to sur-
vive the dishonor of his bankruptcy."

"You are wonderfully well informed; you wish, per-
haps, to hand oyer these two millions amongst his
creditors ? "

"Yes, sir, to the last sous that is owing; but fnat does
not amount to two millions."

" And you intended to keep the rest as a recompense
for having discovered the treasure. This is really too
delightful, only I think that you had better not teU the
magistrate before whom you will have to appear, this
pretty story."

" I shall content myself with telling him that I am M.
Benedict Cambremer's heiress."

" This is getting 'better and better. Certainly these

236 THE felon's bequest.

were tlie names of tlie banker who was robbed — his
initials ai*e still legible on the pocketbook that I hold
in my hand; but I should much like to seethe will under
whicli you inherit his fortune, if he had any left after his
bankruptcy."

" He made no will; why should he, since I am his only
child?"

" You ! bis daughter — absurd ! "

" My certificate of birth is at my own house, 22, Avenue
de Laumiere, and also of my mother who died in bring-
ing me into the world; besides, I have always borne my
own name. In my own part of the town, where I have Hved
for the last four years, before I met M. Cransac, every
one knows me as Cecile Cambremer, and the good
woman who opened the door to you will tell you that
she knew me as a child when my father was still
alive."

" And yet it is only just now that you speak of this
father, and claim your inheritance."

" To whom should I have spoken of it? TVTien mis-
fortune overtook him his friends forsook him, and his
creditors turned me out of house and home. I had to
gain ray living by the toil of my hands. My sole desire
was to be forgotten, and in this I succeeded, as you
were ignorant even that I existed."

Her replies had some weight with the detective, but
he was not entirely convinced that she was not endeav-
oring to shield her lover, for after a short pause he said:
" Your assertions shall be put to the proof to-day. In
the meantime, however, 30U must explain to me how
you laid hand on the treasure wLich you allege belongs
to you. Were you aware that it was hidden at Mont-
martre in a deserted house? "

"No, sir; but this house had belonged to my father,
who often took me there in my childhood. It recalled
to me remembrances which were very dear to me, and I
loved to gaze upon the garden in which I had spent
my childish hours. One day I met M. Cransac
there "

" What was he doing there ? " interrupted the de-
tective, quickly ; " he had not the same motives as you
had, to come and wander about in such a neglected
spot."

THE felon's bequest. 237

" He had come out of mere curiosity to prove whether
the convict had spoken the truth or not."

" What ! he told you on the very first- day he met you
that he had just been released from Mazas ? "

" Not on tliat day. I was fairly desperate, and had
made up my mind to die. I told him.all my sorrows; he
consoled me, he helped me, aided me, and how could I
help loving him in return ? Then, some little time after
that, I spoke to him of the robbery of which my father
had been the victim, upon which he showed me the letter
which he had received in Mazas. It was Hke a ray of
light to me. I entreated him to take me to the ruined
house, and he had not the courage to refuse my prayer.
We went there after dark "

" When ? "

"About eight days ago. George had never given
another thought of the hiding-place, but when he learnt
that the money concealed in it had Ijeen stolen from my
father he consented to go there with me. The robber had
spoken the truth. We found the treasure; and the initials
on the pocket-book, which you hold in your hand, proved
that the gold and notes belonged to my father."

" That was no reason to take possession of them, for
you know that your father had left many creditors behind
him; your duty was to have given notice to the commis-
sary of police of the district, who would have proceeded
in due fonn. The money would have been paid into the
Government treasury, and your claims would have been
inquired into later on."

" That is what George advised me to do, and I alone am
responsible for the removal of it. I have spent some
thousands of francs for my personal wants, but I am sure
that, after all claims against my father's estate have been
satisfied, a large surplus will remain at my disposal. I
had decided to make a proper declaration; George,
indeed, had reproached me for delaying it so long, but I
did not know the proper quarter to go to; and yesterday,
when I so narrowly escaped death, my first thought was
to make my will, and there it is on that table. By it I
have instituted M. George Cransac my residuary legatee,
not only because he saved my life, but because he would do
all that was necessary in seeing that all the creditors of my
father were paid, and that he would report the existence

238 THE felon's bequest.

of the concealed treasure in the proper quarter. That,
sir, is the truth, and the whole truth, and M. Cransac
cannot contradict it."

" I should think that he would take good care not to do
so; but why did you begin by telling me that you had
discovered the money by chance whilst walking about
Montmartre ? "

" Because I did not wish to bring in the name of a man
that I love more than anyone in this world. Now you
know all, and I place my fate in your hands. Do with
me as you will, but do not accuse George unjustly. He
has nothing on earth to reproach himself with except in
having yielded to my entreaties instead of having followed
his first impulse. Had he not met me he would doubtless
have sought for the treasure, but had he found it he
would have reported its existence on the spot — of that I
am quite certaia."

Without making any reply to Cecile's fervent entreaties,
the sub-inspector placed the pocket-book in the strong
box, which he locked, putting the key in his pocket, and
then took from the table the paper upon which the
wounded girl had inscribed her last wishes. " Yes," said,
he, after having read it at a single glance, " this is the
will which you were so strangely prompted to write just
before I came in, and which, I supj^ose, you left on the
table for my inspection."

" TVTien I wrote it," answered Cecile, without flinching,
" I was ignorant that you were coming here."

" Oh ! you knew well enough that I should be here,
for M. Valbrec, who got in here in front of me, must
have certainly informed you of all that M. Saintonge
and M. Loui-dier had told him."

" No, sir. When M. Valbrec came in the will had
been already executed, and was on the table where you
found it. George was, in accordance with my wish
about to put it in the pocket-book, which he had taken
out of the strong-box for the purpose, where you have
just shut it up, and he had so little intention of hiding
it that he never thought of concealing it when his fi'iend
came in."

" That is quite true," said Valbrec, who put no credit
in the story told by Cecile, and who believed that she
had only invented it for the purpose of screening her

THE felon's bequest. 239

loTer; but the fact was that Cransac had given her the
cue, for before Valbrec's visit she was entirely ignorant
of what had taken place at Montmartre. Certainly,
George had spoken to her regarding his detention in
Mazas, but he had not said a word of the note he had
received from the prisoner whilst he was taking exercise,
nor had he said a word of the hidden treasure, or his
nocturnal excursions to Montmartre; so that her own
ready wit had prompted her to manufacture the tale she
had told to the detective with the slender materials at
her command. She knew perfectly well that she was
the only daughter of Benedict Cambremer, who had been
robbed of a sum that greatly exceeded the amount of the
claims against him; and she knew that the property had
never been recovered, although one of the robbers had
been arrested and convicted. She, therefore, had
always entertained a hope that 8on\e day the lost money
might come to light, and she had taken it into her head
to bequeath any such sum to George after the creditors
had been paid in full. She had resolved to tell the
whole story of the robbery to George one day, but up to
the present he was completely ignorant of the whole
matter; for the name of the banker to whom the house
at Montmartre had belonged had never been pronounced
in his hearing, since Lourdier very likely was ignorant
of it, or if he had ever known it, he had forgotten it by
this time.

At the moment when Valbrec rang at the door, Cecile
had recognized the initials on the pocketbook, and had at
once guessed the source of George's fortune; and the
narrative by Valbrec of the search and inquiry that had
been made, supplemented as it was by disturbing com-
ments, had sufficed to make all clear to her. She had
been unable to refrain from exclaiming that the pocket-
book was her property, and this imprudent exclamation
was but the prelude to a biirst of confidence on her part,
which the entrance of the detective had interrupted.
The sub-inspector had at once flatly accused Cransac,
and Cecile resolved to defend her lover by every means
in her power. She had at first hit upon no better course
than to declare that she only had found the treasure,
and that she alone was responsible for the sums that had
been taken from it. But, pressed as she had been by q,

24:0 THE felon's bequest.

skillfully-conducted series of questions, Cecile soon per-
ceived that she had made a false step; and, suddenly
changing her tactics, she made up her mind to declare
that she was the banker's heiress, and that ever since
her father's death she had been in search of the stolen
money; and having at last discovered it, she had en-
treated George Cransac to aid her in removing it from
its hiding-place, and that he had only played a subor-
dinate part in the matter, and that against his wUl.
Whilst she imj^rovised this line of argument, she never
took her eyes off George, and with every stealthy glance
that she cast on him she pleaded to him not to contra-
dict her, and she felt almost hurt at not being able to
read in her lover's eyes that he would accept this act of
devotion at her hands, and was surprised at his not
uttering a single word to confirm the statements she had
made to prove his innocence.

But George's heart was rent by two opposing feehngs:
the fear of injuring Cecile by contradicting the statements
she had made, and the desire of taking his share of the
responsibility in the acts for which they were both to be
arraigned. He was weai*y of giving evasive answers to
the questions put to him by the detective officer, and it
was repugnant to his feelings to benefit by the self-sacri-
ficing falsehoods of Cecile; and had he not been afraid
of aggravating her position, he would have avowed the
whole truth at once, however strange his tardy confession
might apj)ear. The sub-inspector, who was not deficient
in sagacity, had j^artiall}^ guessed the position of affairs,
and felt that he should draw nothing from a woman who
was resolute in her defense of the man she adored; so,
instead of pressing her with any further questions, he
turned again to George Cransac.

" Your mistress is an excellent special pleader," said he,
with a half smile, " but we are not yet before a jury, and
it is for you to justify your own acts, which at present
you have not attempted to do. Up to this time you have
let her do all the talking, but now the moment has arrived
for 3 ou to explain yourself."

"Question me, and I will reply," answered Cransac,
shortly.

" I hope you will, and it is in your interest that I do
so. It may be that the lady is the dau ghter of M. Cam-

THE felon's bequest. 241

bremer, the banker, and that things may have happened
as she says." It was the first time in the course of the
con-versation that he had referred to Cecile as a lady.
"But it is necessary that you should confirm her state-
ment. Is it correct ? "

" Yes," answered Cransac. Then, after a moment's hesi-
tation, he added: " Only she has not told all 1"

" Complete her statement, then," said the detective.

"I killed the man!" said George, resolutely."

" I had but little doubt on the subject, but you have
done well to confess it, and it wiU be considered in your
favor. I can now understand why the lady said nothing
about the murder."

" She knew nothing of it."

"What — ^was she not present?"

" No, sir; and you can easily understand that I said
nothing to her on the subject. I went to Montmartre that
night alone. Just as I left the house, I was attacked in
the garden close to the terrace by a man, who would cer-
tainly have killed me had I not sti*uck him down with a
blow of my stick."

" Then you assert that the blow was struck in self-
defence?"

" I received a stab from a knife right in my breast.

"Rather a blirnt knife, I expect, for you were not
wounded, I presume."

" The point of the knife was stopped by the pocket book
which I had taken from the hiding-place, and had put
inside my waistcoat. You can see the perforation in it
now, if you will examine it."

"It shall be examined. Why did this man attack
you?"

" Because he had seen me open the plate in the chimney
and take out the gold. You tell me now that this is the
man who seven years ago, robbed M. Cambremer's bank.
He had been released from prison, and hoped to find the
treasure untouched, and when he surprised me kneeling
before its hiding-place the idea of putting me out of the
■way naturally occurred to him. He had crept into the
garden and climbed up to the window. I caught sight
of him, and he fled into the darkness to wait for me in
the walk on the right, and I killed him in self-defence;

242 THE felon's bequest.

and since I have learned what a villian he was, I do not
regret having done so."

Overwhelmed by this news Cecile listened to him with
a kind of feverish anxiety. She did not doubt for a
moment that he was speaking the truth, and she asked
herself whether the sub-inspector would think the same,
and from the expression of his face she thought that he
did so. All that noAV remained was to await his decision
upon both their cases and to see if he would order George's
immediate despatch to the House of Detention. She
flattered herself that he was going to leave her at liberty,
and she awaited his fiat with the deepest anxiety.

The sub-inspector was in no hurry to reply. He was
reflecting upon the informal way in which he had gone
to work to obtain these confessions, and regretted that he
had not examined George and Cecile separately. Carried
away by the excitement and interest of the dialogue, he
perceived too late that all Cransac had to do was to corn-
form his answers to the statements made by Cecile.
However, as he was not deficient in experience and good
sense, he saw that there was no remedy for the hann that
had been done, and besides, he began to think that the
matter was not so serious as he had at first supposed it
to be. He certainly suspected that Cecile and George
had tacitly arranged matters between them during the
examination, but the foi-mer had certainly not invented
the story of her right to the money that had been
stolen from her father. These assertions were very easy to
verify, and if she were reaUy the next-of-kin to the banker,
the fact of her having taken a portion of the treasure to
which she was legitimately entitled would not constitute
a robbery in the full acceptation of the word; at any rate,
there would be extenuating circumstances. Then the
murder of the man called Mahossier was not a very great
offence if as seemed most probable, Cransac had struck
him down in mere self-defence.

Valbrec, who had played the j^art of a mute listener,
looked on matters in nearly a similar manner; but then
he had no voice in the case, although his evidence might
be heard later on. The sub-inspector, who had been
charged with the preliminary inquiry, had resolved to
take the only course open to him — that is to say, to con-
duct George to the office of the examining magistrate.

THE felon's bequest. 243

and to leave his two subordinates behind him to watch over
the strong box in which he had put back the pocket-book
containing the bank-notes, and also over Cecile, though
her condition entirely prevented her from attempting to
make her escape, for her long examination had almost
worn her out

CHAPTEE XXXL

tbotjillakd's daughteb.

The sub-inspector was about to issue orders to this
effect when a great disturbance was heard in the ante-
room; slamming of doors, scuffling of feet, and a violent
altercation between several persons, the voice of one of
whom — a woman's — rose high above the others, and it
was not the voice of Josephine Sureau, who had been
sent back to her kitchen three-quarters of an hour
ago.

A woman burst violently into the room — a woman
whom no one at first recognized, for she was closely
veiled: but she soon displayed a countenance of singular
beauty, of a bold and masculine type, and exclaimed: "I
say, are the traps here? Those long-legged fellows
wanted to stop my coming in. All the worse for them.
I knocked them about right and left. Here I am ! I
came to see you, little lady, and to ask you to forgive
Pasha, my black-maned Hon, who bit you yesterday. It
was not his fault, on the word of Cornelian, and I have
kicked out that brute Goliath, who shoved you against
the cage."

The sub-inspector checked this flow of words by saying
severely: " In the first place, who are you, and what do
you want ? "

" And who are you, may I ask ? " retorted the mistress
of the lions, who was not easily alarmed.

*' I am a sub-inspector of the detective department,
and I have the right to question you as much as I
like."

" Ah, then you are the chief of the traps in the ante-
room, are you ? Well, I can't compliment you on their
manners; but I ain't a bit afraid of you, for I have a clean

244 THE felon's bequest.

sheet to show. These gentleman know me, and M.
Valbrec, who writes in the paper, can tell you that I am
an actress engaged at the Porte Saint Martin Theatre,
with all my beasts."

The detectire was half inclined to have her turned out,
but though he had not said a word to Cecile on the
matter, he had read the police report of the accident to
her of the night before, and he wished to learn more on
a subject which might be a future subject of inquiry.
Nothing is beneath the attention of a detective, who by
a mere fluke may often pick up some useful information.
He therefore decided to hear what Cornelian had to say,
who still continued addressing Cecile: "You must be
surprised at my coming to see you, and I find M. Cransac
is the more surprised of the two, for he is looking very
savagely at me, and he has probably told you that I
hated you mortally on his account." Cecile did not
understand her, for George had never said a word to her
either about Cornelian or her violent method of making
love. " "Well," continued she, " that was true enough
yesterday, but it is all over now. I should have been
regularly knocked over if Pasha had finished you, and
the proof is that I took you out of his claws, and have
come to see how you were getting on. The doctor told
me this morning that you had been brought here, and I
am awfidly glad of it, for now I am sure you will get
over it. 1 can see it in your face. Lor' bless you, bites
and scratches are quite in my line, and I'll lay my life
you'll be on your feet again shortly; and it will be a good
thing, for you are a great deal too young and too pretty
to end as I shall one day or another. It is my business
to be eaten, but I don't want my beasts to eat any one
else. And now, whilst I am here, I want to tell you all
that I have on my mind."

Valbrec could not help smiling at the incoherent speech
of this charmer of beasts — and men ; and George, in great
anxiety, wondered what on earth she was going to say.

" I must first," said Cornelian, " expose the vileness of a
woman who you don't know, and a rogue you know only
too weU. Troche and Taupier have sold you, without
your leave or Hcense, my little dear."

" Troche ! " repeated George, who had some vague re-
coUection of having heard the name somewhere.

THE felon's bequest. 245

"Yes, Arthur Troche, the villianwho made love to you.
I suppose you told him " — and she pointed to George —
" of all that, but what he doesn't know is, that that same
fine Arthur ought to have gone to Mazas in his place.
The rogue tried to get on with me, because his JiiHet
hasn't got two sous to rub together, and I amused myself
by making him talk. I can tell you he let out some
queer things."

The sub-inspector was all attention now, for in con-
sulting the prison register he found that George had been
set at liberty in default of sufficient evidence to waiTant
his being committed for trial, and that the examining
magistrate had expressed his opinion that it was a case
of mistaken identity, and that there must be some one in
Paris who greatly resembled him. He also remembered
that a man named Troche had been wanted by
the poHce for various swindles, but that for some months
past they had lost all trace of him.

" You don't want me to beUeve," said he, turning to
Cornelian, "that this man has boasted to you of his
crimes."

" Crimes !" repeated she. "Not such a fool as that;
he only said that he had played a trick on the traps, and
that he would play them many another before he had
done with them. Then he began talking of M. Cransac,
who had been quodded on suspicion of forgery, and
then I, who knew my gentleman, guessed the answer to
the whole bag of tricks."

" And what was it ? "

" It was that those who swore to M. Cransac, took him
for that hound of an Arthur, who is as like him as two
peas, especially since Arthur has let his whiskers sprout
again, for he cut them off after cashing the forged paper.
Ah ! he is a rogue and a boaster, but he came to the
wrong shop when he boasted of it to me, and, as you say
you are one of the force, I hope you will nab him. It
was a precious lucky thing for you all, it seems, that I
came here this morning."

Cecile was of the same opinion, and in her heart she
blessed Cornelian, although it had wounded her deeply
to hear the name of the man upon whom she had so
foolishly lavished the blossom of her first love, mentioned
before George.

24:6 THE felon's bequest.

The sub-inspector was also rejoiced at Cornelian's
visit, for he saw his way to profit by her information, and
to lay hands upon a rogue who has laughed at the police
for so long.

" "Where does this man Troche live ? "

"That I can't tell you," answered she. "He has been
once or twice to wait for me at the stage door, and has
tried to spoon me again, but I sent him off with a flea in
his ear, so I hardly cared to ask his address. "Why
should I? I wasn't going to leave a card on him, and
those kind of people generally live in no man's land."

" But he doesn't sleep under the dry arches of the
bridges, I suppose. Everybody has some kind of
home."

" Well, he used to hang about at Juliet's, but for the
last few days she has been on the streets, and I expect
her creditors would have showed him the door; but you
may be sure he made a bolt in time, like rats, who, they
say, leave a sinking ship."

" But you have seen him since he left that girl, and I
suppose he told you some of his business ? "

"He said that he was doing some dirty work for a
foreigner in the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, Marquis
the G-eneral Simancas. Arthur rolled out mouthfuls
about this Spaniard; but I have an idea that he ain't up
to much, this supposed general."

"Never mind what he is," returned the detective; "we
shall learn from him where this Troche lives, and I'll have
him looked after at once. Are you ready to give evidence
before a magistrate ? "

" Whenever you like."

" It may be to-day; where do you live ? "

" Since I have been playing at the Porte Saint Martin
I have taken a furnished room at 29, RuedeLancy; before
that I lived in the menagerie with the other beasts."

" Are you living alone ? "

" What a blessed foolish question 1 No, no, I don't like
double harness; I am too fond of my liberty for that."

"Very good: now your name, if you j)lease ?"

" Cornelian, of course; it is well enough known, and is
printed in whacking big letters on the posters."

" Cornelian is evidently an assumed name. I want your
real one — ^the one in your certificate of birth."

THE felon's bequest. 247

"Euphemia, then; I never liked it a bit, and changed it
when I began to work the fair racket."

"Euphemia; that is your Christian name. I want to
know your surname,"

" Oh 1 I never make use of that."

"Why?"

" Well, I ain't over proud of it; first, because it ain't a
pretty one, and then "

"Well, then?"

"WeU, it is no good hiding things from you. Tou
belong to the traps, and will know everything sooner or
later, even if I refuse to tell you now. Well, the old man
took our name into all sorts of bad places, and I never
did any harm myself."

" Go on, you can't help your father's faults. What ia
your name ? "

" Euphemia TrouiUard."

" TrouiUard ! " repeated the sub-inspector. " Are you
Pierre Trouillard's daughter ? "

"Yes, lam."

" Do you know where your father is ? "

" No, but I can precious well guess. I may as well tell
you his history and mine at once, and then the beaks
won't bother me any more. This is it : He was an engi-
neer by trade, and made his fifteen fi'ancs per day. My
mother worked hard too, and so I was brought up like a
little queen. I was twelve when she died. Then the old man
took to lushing; he'd come home as screwed as a boiled
owl every night, and pitch into me like anything. I stood
it for three years, but one night he didn't come back, for
he had got locked up, I never knew why. Well, then I
found myself on my own hook, with one dress to my back,
and nothing to stick my teeth into. Of course it ended
like such things always end."

"You took a lover?"

" Yes; I knew a chap that went round the fairs with a
cart-load of beasts. He proposed that I should go with
him, and learn his business. I went off, and we paddled
our own canoe together, until a black panther fini^ed him
up; but he had time to make his will, and he left me th«
menagerie, which was worth money. Now I want no one,
and do as I like; but if the old 'un knew it "

248 THE felon's bequest.

"He would iJry to live on you; but don't be afraid
he will have board and lodging for the rest of his life."

"Oh! I understand; he is a hfer. All the worse for
him; he shouldn't have done it. Well, I can't do any-
thing."

" Then don't you want to see him ? "

" Not I, it wouldn't be over cheerful ; but as I have
the ill luck to be his daughter I'll send him a hundred
francs a month when once he is across the water. He
will be pleased, and so shall I — that is, to have got rid of
him."

This cynical speech had no effect upon the sub-in-
spector, for he had heard many such. "Very weU,"
returned he, " you shan't be confronted with him before
he is sent away, but you certainly wiU be with Troche
as soon as he is caught. You may go now if you
like."

The Lion Queen was glad enough to do so; not that
she repented the good impulse which had urged her to
go and inquire after Cecile, and she thought that in
denouncing Arthur she had made up for any fault she
might have committed, but she was pleased to get out
of the hornet's nest of police into which she had thrust
her head unconsciously. " Get well quickly, little lady,"
said she, "and good-bye, all," added she, bowing on all
sides, as she was accustomed to do when her perform-
ances were concluded.

When she had left, the sub-inspector, who had now
made up his mind, spoke at once. " Sir," said he to
Cransac, " I now know all that I wish to know, and I
confess that the appearance of the affair is greatly
changed. The examining magistrate will estimate the
report that I have to make at its proper value, and
it is for him to decide your lot. Will you therefore
come with me to his office, where he is waiting for
you?"

" I am quite ready," answered George, firmly.

" I shall take away the key of the strong-box, in which
I have placed the notes, and MUe. Cambremer's wilL
I leave my subordinates behind me to take charge of it.
I have a cab waiting, and we will go off alone. It is
quite unnecessary for any one in the house to know that
you are even temporarily under arrest."

THE felon's bequest. 249

These words were of good omen, and Cecile expe-
rienced a feeling of relief in hearing them, whilst Val-
brec began to hope that his friend would be able
to extricate himself from his unpleasant position.

" May I remain with the lady ? " asked he.

" I see no objection," answered the detective, whose
manner had grown much more polite; " and if M. Cran-
sac would like to kiss her before he leaves, I shall not
prevent him."

Cransac at once availed himself of this license and
hastened to kiss away the tears that bathed her cheeks,
whilst she whispered in his ear:

" Not a word of contradiction as to what I said, for if
you injure yourself I shall die."

At this supreme moment, when she felt her strength
faiUng her, the sole idea of the noble girl was to save her
lover, whom she dreaded never to see again.

" Come, sir," said Greorge, rising to his feet, " let us

go."

" I shall see you again soon, I hope," cried Valbrec.

George warmly shook the friendly hand that was
extended to him, and left the room with the sub-in-
spector of the detective department.

250 IHE felon's bequest.

EPILOGUE.

A YEAR had passed since the events we have recounted,
and Paris has forgotten them as quickly as it has others
which made an equal noise at the time. They occupied
for a short period a sjDace in the papers, and gave several
reporters a chance of putting in copy; but they
lacked the great dramatic conclusion of the Court of
Assizes.

George Cransac was taken before a clear-sighted mag-
istrate, who, after a calm and unbiassed re^iewal of the
case, decided that there was no necessity to seud him for
trial upon either of the offences laid to his charge. It
was proved that Cransac, in killing Mahossier, had not
exceeded the limits of legitimate self-defence, and the
generous declaration of Cecile had considerably weak-
ened the case against him of having appropriated any
portion of the contents of the hiding-place. The noble
girl had taken all upon herself, and it might have gone
hard with her, for she had confessed that she had applied
to her personal requirements a portion of the sum Which
had formerly been stolen from her father before he
had settled with his creditors. But, on an inquiry being
opened, and the bankrupt's accounts having been again
gone into, it was found that his debts only amounted to
nine hundred thousand francs, reduced to six hundred
thousand by the sale of his jDroperty. The result, how-
ever was, that'Cecile Cambremer f oimd that after clearing
her father's good name, she was left in possession of more
than a million.

Whilst this inqvdry was going on, the magistrate had
permitted her as a favor, taking into consideration the
terrible injuries that she had sustained, to remain in her
own house, whilst Cransac, who had only received a blow
from the lion's claw, spent fifteen days in Mazas before
he was again discharged from want of sufficient e\idence;
but this time he went forth a perfectly 'free man, as far
as the accusations of uttering a false check, for his
villainous double, Arthur Troche, having been arrested,
on the information furnished by the Lion Queen, and
recognized by all the witnesses who had formerly given

THE felon's bequest. 251

evidence against George Cransac, had ended by confess-
ing bis crime, and Avas sentenced to five years' penal
servitude. So that George had suffered a great deal for
a crime that he had never committed, and very little for
an act of culpable weakness against which his better
nature had all along warned him.

Cecile had made him her heir, so that he might be able
to enjoy the fortune which he had been weak enough to
use before it was reaUy his. But Cecile was not dead
but living, and avus only anxious that George should
share with her tbe heritage which had come to her from
her father. But to do that it was necessary that he
should marry her, and this marriage has not yet taken
place. Cecile feels that George cannot love her more
than he does now, and he, on his part, hesitates to marry
her now that she is a great heiress, and is waiting until
he shall have something of his own to contribute to their
mutual expenses.

Meanwhile he is working on Valbrec's paper, who has
remained his friend, although he has never learned the
whole truth. Valbrec knows the world, and is not too
harsh on backsliders.

Although now a millionaire, Cecile has not abandoned
her business, only she no longer works with her own hands.
She has given the superintendence over to Josephine
Sureau, and the business is going on well. In spite of
the sinister prognostications of the doctor, Cecile did not
lose her arm, although she underwent several severe and
painful operations. George and she loved each other as
much as they ever did before the catastrophe overwhelmed
them, which threatened at one time to separate them for-
ever. Nothing is wanting to their happiness, save wed-
lock and one of those tender pledges that unite two fond
hearts still more fondly together, and if one of these should
come it will be after their union shall been legahzed rapidly.

Cornelian's fortunes have been of a different nature.
After a long series of brilliant performances, she won the
heart of the Marquis de Simancas, who never missed one
of them, and who greedily took the bait she held out.
This tormentor of the fair sex was seized with a mad pas-
sion for the Lion Queen, but he had to lavish showers of
gold on her before she would deign to look on him. She
finished by yielding at last, and has taken up her residence

252 THE felon's bequest.

in the house in the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne,
where she uses her whip upon him as freely as ever she
did upon any of her lions. And this vile man, whose
sole delight was in torturing others, gives in to her, and
submits to her caprices and insults in the most slavish
manner. Cornelian is unfaithful to him in the most open
way with the clown of a circus, and she has forced the
marquis to have her menagerie kept in his garden, where
she every now and then gives performances to her mounte-
bank lover and his friends, at which Simancas is com-
pelled to be present. "When she has completely ruined
him it is to be hoped that she will have him devoured by
her terrible favorites; but until this happens, she contents
herself with making the marquis send heavy sums every
month to her convict father in Noumea. This old villian
was condemned to penal servitude for life, although he
completely proved that he was innocent of the murder of
the bank messenger ; before he left he was reconciled to
his daughter. Cornelian, and, thanks to her, his old age
will not be an uncomfortable one. Juliet went from bad
to worse, and now earns the scanty wages of infamy on
the streets; and if she ever comes across Simancas he is
not the man to bestow an alms on her.

Cecile Cambremer has had ample revenge.

George Cransac has expiated his faults, and his end
will be better than his commencement.

He has never found out who his parents were, nor is it
likely that he will ever do so — such miracles are rare now-
a-days, though it was one that put that noble girl Cecile
Cambremer in possession of her father's property. But
George will never find his relations; and what need has
he of relatives or ancestors, whilst he is happy in the love
of his own Cecile ?

THE END.

STUDIES IN ENGLISH SPELLING.

FIRST LESSON.

A vrealthy young man had a yacht,
Disfigured -writh many a spacht,
SAPOLIO he triad,
Which, as soon as applied,
Immediately took out the lacht !

SECOND LESSON.
Our girl o'er the housework would

sigh,
Till SAPOLIO I urged her to trigh.
Now she changes her tune.
For she's done work at nune,
Which accounts for the light in her
eigh !

THIRD LESSON.

There's many a domestic embroglio—
To describe w^hich would need quite
a foglio.
Might oft be prevented
If the housewife consented
To clean out the house with SA-
POGLIO !

FOURTH LESSON.

Maria's poor fingers would ache.
When "the housework in hand sh '
would tache.

But her pains were allayed,

When SAPOLIO'S aid.
Her labor quite easy did mache !

FIFTH LESSON.

We have heard of some •naavelous
Eoaps,

Whose worth has exceeded our Ii^ ^ps.
But it must be confest,
That SAPOLIO'S the best

For "with grease spots it easily coaps!

SIXTH LESSON.

The wife of e, popuiar colonel
Whose troubles with "helps" were
etolonel
Now her leisure enjoys
For the " new girl " employs
SAPOLIO in housework diolonel!

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•ubeutic 7 oua ana a^uM «» AteabttB J

ROLLIN'S ANCIENT HISTORY.

ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE EGYPTIANS, CARTHAGE-

NIANS, ASSYRIANS, BABYLONIANS, MEDES AND PER-
SIANS, GRECIANS, AND MACEDONIANS. By Chaelbs Rollin.
In one large quarto volume of over 1200 double-column pages, large clear type,
good paper and printing. Uliistrated. Price, cloth, $2.50
For more than a hundred years Eollin's Ancient IIistort haa ranked with the best of historical
worlts. The author haa been especially noted for the intense interest with which he clothei his sub-
ject, so that his liistory has found its way into the homos of the unlearned, as well aa Into the library
of the scholar. The present edition is the latest, handsomest, and best published in thii country, h«T»
Ing all the notes and corrections.

WORKS OF FLAYIDS JOSEPflDS.

THE WORKS OF FLAVIUS JOSEPHUS, COMPRISDK,

THE ANTiaUITIES OF THE JEWS, A HISTORY OF TS^
JEWISH WARS, and a Life of Josephus, written by himself. Also, disseii.
tions concerning Jesus Christ, John the Baptist, James the Just, God's CommariL
to Abraham, &c. Translated by William Whiston, together "with numeroua
explanatory notes, a complete index, &c. In one large octavo volnmo of 880
double-column pages. Cloth, price $2 . 50
The 'Works of Flavios Josephus, translated by Whiston, is a title familiar to erery one. Ai a book
of the highest historical value, of surpassing interest, a companion and interpreter of the boolu of tho
Bible, it holds a place in literature such as no work of modem origin can assume to reach. Thii ia
much the best edition in the market, and cheaper than the very cheapest.

lACAULAY'S HISTORY of ENGLAND

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND, FROM THE ACCESSION

OF JAMES THE SECOND. By Thomas Babington Macaui^t. This
is a new edition of this well-known standard work, printed from new electrotype
plates, in the popular 12mo form, and is without doubt the best of the cheaper
editions of the work published. 3 vols. 12mo, cloth, 2135 pp. Price (3.00

Macaulay's History of England has been Justly called a great national work. Its power, wisdom,
and success, command unfeigned admiration. Every page bears testimony to a degree of conscientious
and minute research which no historian has ever surpassed, and few have ever approached. The work
is a monument to a life of indefatigable toiL The style is faultlessly luminous ; every word is in ita
right place ; every sentence is exquisitely balanced ; the current of interest never nags. Steady, strong,
and uniform, the stream of thought continues to flow without apparent effort, with no flurries to mar
its dignified course.

FROISSART'S CHRONICLES.

CHRONICLES OF ENGLAND, FRANCE, SPAIN, AND

THE ADJOINING- COUNTRIES, from the latter part of the reign of
Edward II. to the Coronation of Henry Iv. By Sir John Fkoissart. Trans-
lated from the French, with variations and additions from many celebrated man-
uscripts. By Thomas Johnes, Esq. To which are prefixed a life of the author,
an essay on his works, and a criticism on his history, with an original introduc-
tory essay on the character and society of the middle ages. By John Lokd,IiL.D.
Illustrated, imperial, 8vo, double column, cloth. Price $2. 50
This is a work that haa been and always will be largely read and admired by the gallant BtripUng as
jieartily as by the antiquarian sage. It is the only extensive and credible history that we have of tho
Days of Chivalry. Written by one who had himself rode in the lists, armed cap-a-pie, and stood tho
ihock of horse to horse and man to man. This edition, the most perfect one ever issued, is richly lllua-
tratod by 115 appropriate engravings.

J REGIONAL UBHW

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CE^^EBRATED

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