man, who had a smoothly-shaven face and was dressed in
black, barred his way and asked: "What do you want?"

"M'sieur, here's a hat which fell from one of your windows and----"

"All right, hand it here."

But Chupin did not seem to hear this order. He was beginning a long
explanation, when a curtain near by was pushed aside, and M. Wilkie
called out: "Philippe! eh, Philippe!--bring me the man who picked up my
hat."

"Ah!" said Chupin, "you see, m'sieur, that he asks for me."

"Very well," said Philippe. "Go on, then." And raising the portiere he
pushed Chupin into room No. 6.

It was a small, square apartment, with a very low ceiling. The
temperature was like that of a furnace, and the glare of the gaslights
almost blinded one. The supper was over, but the table had not yet been
cleared, and plates full of leavings showed that the guests had fairly
exhausted their appetites. Still, with the exception of M. Wilkie, every
one present seemed to be terribly bored. In one corner, with her head
resting on a piano, sat one of the yellow-haired damsels, fast asleep,
while, beside the window, M. de Coralth was smoking with his elbows
propped upon the table. The four other young men were looking on
phlegmatically. "Ah! here's my hat," exclaimed M. Wilkie, as soon as
Chupin appeared. "Wait and receive your promised reward." And
thereupon he rang the bell, crying at the top of his voice: "Henry,
you sleepy-head--a clean glass and some more of the widow Cliquot's
champagne!"

Several bottles were standing upon the table, only half empty, and
one of M. Wilkie's friends called his attention to this fact, but he
shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "You must take me for a fool," he
said, contemptuously. "A man doesn't drink stale wine when he has the
prospect of such an inheritance as is coming to me."

"Wilkie!" interrupted M. de Coralth, quickly; "Wilkie!"

But he was too late; Chupin had heard and understood everything. His
conjectures had proved correct. M. Wilkie knew his right to the estate;
M. Fortunat had been forestalled by the viscount, and would merely
have his labor for his pains. "No chance for the guv'nor!" thought the
agent's emissary. "And what a blow after the De Valorsay affair! It's
enough to give him the jaundice!"

For a youth of his age, Chupin controlled his feelings admirably; but
the revelation came so suddenly that he had started despite himself, and
changed color a trifle. M. de Coralth saw this