nt's oldest friend, should do the honors of the mansion to the
persons invited to attend the funeral; and he had sworn that he would be
under arms at daybreak, and that they might positively depend upon him.
But the hour fixed for the ceremony was approaching, several persons had
already arrived, and yet M. de Fondege had not put in an appearance.
"It is incomprehensible," exclaimed Madame Leon. "The General is usually
punctuality personified. He must have met with some accident." And
in her anxiety she stationed herself at the window, whence she could
command a view of the courtyard, carefully scrutinizing every fresh
arrival.

At last, about half-past nine o'clock, she suddenly exclaimed: "Here he
is! Do you hear, mademoiselle, here's the General!"

A moment later, indeed, there was a gentle rap at the door, and M. de
Fondege entered. "Ah, I'm late!" he exclaimed; "but, dash it all! it's
not my fault!" And, struck by Mademoiselle Marguerite's immobility, he
advanced and took her hand. "And you, my dear little one, what is the
matter with you?" he asked. "Have you been ill? You are frightfully
pale."

She succeeded in shaking off the torpor which was stealing over her, and
replied in a faint voice; "I am not ill, monsieur."

"So much the better, my dear child, so much the better. It is our little
heart that is suffering, is it not? Yes--yes--I understand. But your old
friends will console you. You received my wife's letter, did you not?
Ah, well! what she told you, she will do--she will do it. And to prove
it, in spite of her illness, she followed me--in fact, she is here!"

XXI.

Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang to her feet, quivering with indignation.
Her eyes sparkled and her lips trembled as she threw back her head with
a superb gesture of scorn, which loosened her beautiful dark hair, and
caused it to fall in rippling masses over her shoulders. "Ah! Madame de
Fondege is here!" she repeated, in a tone of crushing contempt--"Madame
de Fondege, your wife, here!"

It seemed to her an impossibility to receive the hypocrite who had
written the letter of the previous evening--the accomplice of the
scoundrels who took advantage of her wretchedness and isolation. Her
heart revolted at the thought of meeting this woman, who had neither
conscience nor shame, who could stoop so low as to intrigue for the
millions which she fancied had been stolen. Mademoiselle Marguerite was
about to forbid her to enter, or to r