ottom of the mystery. "And who is
this young girl?" she inquired. "What is her name?"

"Marguerite."

"Marguerite who?"

Pascal's embarrassment increased. "She has no other name," he replied,
hurriedly, "and she does not know her parents. She formerly lived in our
street with her companion, Madame Leon, and an old female servant. It
was there that I saw her for the first time. She now lives in the house
of the Count de Chalusse, in the Rue de Courcelles."

"In what capacity?"

"The count has always taken care of her--she owes her education to him.
He acts as her guardian; and although she has never spoken to me on the
subject, I fancy that the Count de Chalusse is her father."

"And does this girl love you, Pascal?"

"I believe so, mother. She has promised me that she will have no other
husband than myself."

"And the count?"

"He doesn't know--he doesn't even suspect anything about it. Day after
day I have been trying to gather courage to tell you everything, and to
ask you to go to the Count de Chalusse. But my position is so modest as
yet. The count is immensely rich, and he intends to give Marguerite an
enormous fortune--two millions, I believe----"

Madame Ferailleur interrupted him with a gesture. "Look no further," she
said; "you have found the explanation."

Pascal sprang to his feet with crimson cheeks, flaming eyes, and
quivering lips. "It may be so," he exclaimed; "it may be so! The count's
immense fortune may have tempted some miserable scoundrel. Who knows but
some one may have been watching Marguerite, and have discovered that I
am an obstacle?"

"Something told me that my suspicions were correct," said Madame
Ferailleur. "I had no proofs, and yet I felt sure of it."

Pascal was absorbed in thought. "And what a strange coincidence," he
eventually remarked. "Do you know, the last time I saw Marguerite,
a week ago, she seemed so sad and anxious that I felt alarmed. I
questioned her, but at first she would not answer. After a little
while, however, as I insisted, she said: 'Ah, well, I fear the count is
planning a marriage for me. M. de Chalusse has not said a word to me on
the subject, but he has recently had several long conferences in private
with a young man whose father rendered him a great service in former
years. And this young man, whenever I meet him, looks at me in such a
peculiar manner.'"

"What is his name?" asked Madame Ferailleur.

"I don't know--she didn't mention it; and h