.

"Alas! yes, madame. Struck with death at the very moment he was
repairing to the appointment you had given him at the Hotel de Homburg."

This clever falsehood, which was not entirely one, would, so the agent
thought, be of advantage to him, since it would prove he was acquainted
with previous events. But Madame d'Argeles did not seem to notice, or
even to hear the remark. She had fallen back in her arm-chair, paler
than death. "How did he die?" she asked.

"From an attack of apoplexy."

"My God!" exclaimed the wretched woman, who now suspected the truth; "my
God, forgive me. It was my letter that killed him!" and she wept as if
her heart were breaking--this woman who had suffered and wept so much.

It is needless to say that M. Fortunat was moved with sympathy; he
always evinced a respectful sympathy for the woes of others; but in the
present instance, his emotion was greatly mitigated by the satisfaction
he felt at having succeeded so quickly and so completely. Madame
d'Argeles had confessed everything! This was indeed a victory, for it
must be admitted that he had trembled lest she should deny all, and bid
him leave the house. He still saw many difficulties between his pocket
and the Count de Chalusse's money; but he did not despair of conquering
them after such a successful beginning. And he was muttering some words
of consolation, when Madame d'Argeles suddenly looked up and said: "I
must see him--I will see him once more! Come, monsieur!" But a terrible
memory rooted her to the spot and with a despairing gesture, and in a
voice quivering with anguish she exclaimed:

"No, no--I cannot even do that."

M. Fortunat was not a little disturbed; and it was with a look of
something very like consternation that he glanced at Madame d'Argeles,
who had reseated herself and was now sobbing violently, with her face
hidden on the arm of her chair. "What prevents her?" he thought. "Why
this sudden terror now that her brother is dead? Is she unwilling
to confess that she is a Chalusse? She must make up her mind to it,
however, if she wishes to receive the count's property--and she must
make up her mind to it, for my sake, if not for her own."

He remained silent, until it seemed to him that Madame d'Argeles was
calmer, then: "Excuse me, madame," he began, "for breaking in upon
your very natural grief, but duty requires me to remind you of your
interests."

With the passive docility of those who are wretched, she wipe