es, he was careful not to win too much in any of them, and rather
than press for a debt he would forgive it.

The rat-faced valet reappeared, carrying a salver on which were some
half dozen envelopes. The Prince took them, and proceeded to examine
them before opening them, while the valet, still with his uncanny
noiselessness, continued his interrupted preparations. Two of the
letters the Prince tossed to the floor forthwith; he knew them for
trifling bills. Of the others, there was one with the name of a Paris
hotel printed on the flap which appeared to interest him. He had that
common weakness for guessing at a letter before opening it which
princes share with scullions; and in the case of this one there was
something vaguely familiar in the handwriting to which he could not
put a name. He stared at it thoughtfully, and felt again a momentary
stirring within him of that ill ease with which he had waked from
sleep, which had made him doubt that the day was bright. Like all
gamblers, he found significance in things themselves insignificant.
Impatiently he abandoned his speculations and tore the envelope open;
then turned upon his elbow to look at the signature.

"Parbleu!" he exclaimed.

The valet turned at the sound, but his master had forgotten his
existence. The man, his hands still busy inserting studs in a shirt,
watched with sidelong glances how the Prince had thrown off his
languor and leaned above his letter, startled and absorbed.

"MY DEAR MONPAVON [read the Prince]: For the first time since our
parting, nearly a generation ago, I am once more in Paris, of which
the very speech has become strange in my mouth. I return as a citizen
of the United States, a foreigner; you will perhaps recognize me with
difficulty; and I would hardly give you that trouble were it not for
the engagement which is outstanding between us an engagement which
you will not fail to recall. It was concluded upon that evening on
which we saw each other last, when, having lost to you all that
remained to me to lose, you offered me my revenge whenever I should
choose to come for it. Well, I have come for it. I will call upon you
as soon as possible. I hope such visits are still as welcome to you
as once they were."

And at the tail of the letter there sprawled the signature, bold and
black: "JULES CARIGNY."

"Tiens!" exclaimed the Prince.

The valet moved. "M'sieur le Prince spoke?" he queried.

"No!" said the Prince impatiently. He