had no claim upon you."

"And you have not," replied Mr. Checkynshaw.

"The blood of the Wittleworths boils!" stormed Fitz.

"But Marguerite is dead--died ten years ago."

"What nonsense is this!" said the banker, in disgust, though his face
was a shade paler than usual.

"We have the means of proving that Marguerite died at the time your
wife wrote me the letter to that effect."

"Yes, sir; we can prove it, sir!" added Fitz, forgetting for the moment
that he was a puppy. "We can prove it by good and reliable witnesses,
sir."

"Ellen, this is absurd," continued Mr. Checkynshaw "My wife did write
you a letter; but you know what Paris must have been when the cholera
was cutting down men, women, and children by the hundred daily.
Marguerite had the cholera, and my wife had it. Is it strange that they
were separated? Is it strange that the child was reported to be dead?
Is it strange that, at such a time, my wife believed the report? She
was mistaken. I found the child, and hastened to correct the false
rumors."

"We can prove, by a credible witness, that the child, called Marguerite
Chuckingham, died," foamed Fitz.

"Who is the witness?" demanded the banker, turning suddenly upon Mr.
Wittleworth, and for the first time, apparently, conscious of his
presence.

"By Andre Maggimore, a good man and true, who was employed in the Hotel
de Saltpetre, in the Ruee Saleratus," replied Mr. Wittleworth,
triumphantly.

He had been reading a book on Paris, where mention was made of the
_Salpetriere_, a great almshouse; but the street he named was doubtless
his own corruption of the _Rue Lacepede_, of which he had only heard
in Andre's narrative.

Mr. Checkynshaw was really troubled now. Another of the recipients of
his bounty had proved faithless; one renegade beneficiary had played
into the hands of another. Andre had shaved him for years, but had
never said a word about the hospitals of Paris to him; indeed, Andre
had never said anything to him, except in answer to his own questions.

In reply to his inquiries, Mrs. Wittleworth stated that the barber had
called upon her, and repeated what he had said, in evidence of the
truth of her assertion that Marguerite was dead.

"Perhaps Andre means to be truthful, and to assert only what he
believes to be true; but he is mistaken," said Mr. Checkynshaw,
nervously. "Do you think I should not know my own child when I saw
her?"

"Of course you would; but Andre is very positi