eing well aware that there was no
chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor.
"Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man," continued M. de Fondege.
"He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must
have shown you."

"His provisions?"

"Yes, most certainly. Surely you don't mean to try and conceal anything
from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in
Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors."

Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. "You are mistaken,
General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for
me."

M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice,
exclaimed: "What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps!
It isn't possible."

"The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about
five o'clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home
unconscious. Where he had been we don't know."

"You don't know? you don't know?"

"Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before
he died." Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had
taken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been less
absorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was
not listening to her. He was sitting at the count's desk and was toying
with the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a short
time previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention,
to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at
it with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or
involuntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyes
twitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big
drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were
able to see the General's face, he must certainly have been of opinion
that a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted
indeed for fully five minutes, and then suddenly, certain that no one
saw him, he caught up the letter in question and slipped it into his
pocket.

Poor Marguerite was now finishing her story: "You see, monsieur, that,
far from being an heiress, as you suppose, I am homeless and penniless,"
she said.

The General had risen from his chair, and was striding up and down
the room with every token of intense agitation. "It's true," he said
apparently unconscious