y of money in his time; he
had a tremendous vogue on the Continent and was a special favourite of
Napoleon the Third; I do not think he ever achieved much success in
England or America. I know he was greatly dissatisfied with both his
tours in those countries."

The Baron paused, much to Nello's disappointment. He was eager to know
all the details of the past life of this strange old man who had
passed away under such tragic circumstances. Especially curious was he
to learn what had become of all his wealth.

Salmoros looked up and caught the gleam of interrogation in the young
man's eyes.

"Naturally you are curious. Well, no doubt my poor old friend
made plenty in his time; but he was very lavish, charitable, and
open-handed. Still, his fortune could have endured the strain placed
upon it by the possession of such amiable qualities. Alas! he was a
confirmed gambler; the racecourse and the card-table swallowed up any
surplus he ever possessed."

"I understand," said Nello. "And when was it, may I ask, Baron, that
you lost sight of him?"

"He disappeared from Paris--you may say, from the world--about
twenty-five years ago, or thereabouts. I was one of his most intimate
friends, although he was about seven years my senior. From that day
to this, to the moment that you have brought me this letter, I have
never heard a word from him. His sudden disappearance was a nine days'
wonder, but the world rolled on and the great artist, Jean Villefort,
was forgotten.

"That sudden disappearance, the abandonment of such a brilliant career
in a moment of despair, was, I need hardly say, the outcome of a
tragedy. Also needless to add that, as usual in such cases, a woman
was at the bottom of it. The few details that filtered out enabled us
to piece together certain things."

"And the certain things?" queried Nello eagerly.

Salmoros spoke in his low, deliberate voice--the voice of the man who,
with his vast experience of the world, had known and seen everything,
and was surprised at nothing.

"Let me put it to you as shortly as possible. An elderly husband,
married to a charming and beautiful young woman some fifteen, perhaps
twenty, years his junior. The husband, a member of the old French
nobility, a little dull, not gifted with any mentality. The wife,
ardent, romantic, a lover of music and all the arts, not a single bond
of union between her and her unappreciative husband. You follow me?
You are an artist yourself. Yo