am late, it's true," replied M. Fortunat, "but we will do our best
to make up for lost time; for, I trust, you will do me the honor of
breakfasting with me?"

"Really, I don't know that I ought."

"Yes, yes, you must. They will give us a private room; we must have a
talk."

It was certainly not for the pleasure of the thing that M. Fortunat
cultivated M. Casimir's acquaintance, and entertained him at breakfast.
M. Fortunat, who was a very proud man, considered this connection
somewhat beneath his dignity; but at first, circumstances, and afterward
interest, had required him to overcome his repugnance. It was through
the Count de Chalusse that he had made M. Casimir's acquaintance. While
the count was employing the agent he had frequently sent his valet to
him with messages and letters. Naturally, M. Casimir had talked on these
occasions, and the agent had listened to him; hence this superficial
friendship. Subsequently when the marriage contemplated by the Marquis
de Valorsay was in course of preparation, M. Fortunat had profited of
the opportunity to make the count's servant his spy; and it had been
easy to find a pretext for continuing the acquaintance, as M. Casimir
was a speculator, or rather a dabbler in stocks and shares. So, whenever
he needed information, M. Fortunat invited M. Casimir to breakfast,
knowing the potent influence of a good bottle of wine offered at the
right moment. It is needless to say that he exercised uncommon care in
the composition of the menu on a day like this when his future course
depended, perhaps, on a word more or less.

M. Casimir's eye sparkled as he took his seat at the table opposite his
entertainer. The crafty agent had chosen a little room looking out on to
the boulevard. Not that it was more spacious or elegant than the others,
but it was isolated, and this was a very great advantage; for every one
knows how unsafe and perfidious are those so-called private rooms which
are merely separated from each other by a thin partition, scarcely
thicker than a sheet of paper. It was not long before M. Fortunat had
reason to congratulate himself on his foresight, for the breakfast began
with a dish of shrimps, and M. Casimir had not finished his twelfth,
washed down by a glass of chablis, before he declared that he could see
no impropriety in confiding certain things to a friend.

The events of the morning had completely turned his head; and gratified
vanity and good cheer excited him