in some well-known racer. After this inspection, M.
Fortunat smiled complacently. "This young fellow has expensive tastes,"
he thought. "It will be very easy to manage him."

However his reflections were interrupted by the return of the servant,
who exclaimed: "My master is in the dining-room, and if monsieur will
enter----"

The heir-hunter did enter, and found himself face to face with M.
Wilkie, who was partaking of a cup of chocolate. He was not only up,
but he was dressed to go out--dressed in such a style that he would have
been taken for a respectable groom. A couple of hours' sleep had made
him himself again; and he had regained the arrogance of manner which was
the distinguishing trait of his character, and a sure sign that he was
in prosperous circumstances. As his unknown visitor entered he looked
up, and bruskly asked: "What do you want?"

"I called on business, monsieur."

"Ah, well! this isn't a favorable moment. I must be at Vincennes for the
races. I'm interested in a horse. So, you understand----"

M. Fortunat was secretly amused by M. Wilkie's nonchalance. "The young
fellow won't be in so much of a hurry when he learns my business," he
thought. And he replied aloud: "I can explain what brings me in a few
words, monsieur."

"Proceed, then."

M. Fortunat began by closing the door which had been intentionally left
open by the servant; and then, returning to M. Wilkie's side, he began
with an air of the greatest mystery: "What would you give a shrewd
man if he suddenly placed you in undisputed possession of an immense
fortune--of a million--two millions, perhaps?"

He had prepared this little effect most carefully, and he fully expected
to see Wilkie fall on his knees before him. But not at all; the young
gentleman's face never moved a muscle; and it was in the calmest
possible tone, and with his mouth half full that he replied: "I know
the rest. You come, don't you, to sell me the secret of an unclaimed
inheritance, which belongs to me? Very well, you have come too late."

If the ceiling had fallen and crushed M. Fortunat there and then he
would, mentally at least, have not been in a more pitiable condition. He
stood silent, motionless, utterly confounded, with his mouth wide open,
and such an expression of consternation in his eyes that M. Wilkie
burst into a hearty laugh. Still the agent struggled against fate, and
ultimately faltered: "Let me explain--permit me----"

"Oh, it would be useles