ny more than his father. He must have
believed as well as the count in the substitution having taken place.
Madame Gerdy, too, must have been ignorant of these facts; they probably
invented some story to explain the scar. Yes, but Madame Gerdy certainly
knew that Noel was really her son, for when he was returned to her,
she no doubt looked for the mark she had made on him. Then, when Noel
discovered the count's letters, she must have hastened to explain to
him--"

Old Tabaret stopped as suddenly as if further progress were obstructed
by some dangerous reptile. He was terrified at the conclusion he had
reached.

"Noel, then, must have assassinated Widow Lerouge, to prevent her
confessing that the substitution had never taken place, and have burnt
the letters and papers which proved it!"

But he repelled this supposition with horror, as every honest man drives
away a detestable thought which by accident enters his mind.

"What an old idiot I am!" he exclaimed, resuming his walk; "this is the
result of the horrible profession I once gloried in following! Suspect
Noel, my boy, my sole heir, the personification of virtue and honour!
Noel, whom ten years of constant intercourse have taught me to esteem
and admire to such a degree that I would speak for him as I would for
myself! Men of his class must indeed be moved by terrible passions to
cause them to shed blood; and I have always known Noel to have but two
passions, his mother and his profession. And I dare even to breath a
suspicion against this noble soul? I ought to be whipped! Old fool!
isn't the lesson you have already received sufficiently terrible? Will
you never be more cautious?"

Thus he reasoned, trying to dismiss his disquieting thoughts, and
restraining his habits of investigation; but in his heart a tormenting
voice constantly whispered, "Suppose it is Noel."

He at length reached the Rue St. Lazare. Before the door of his house
stood a magnificent horse harnessed to an elegant blue brougham. At the
sight of these he stopped.

"A handsome animal!" he said to himself; "my tenants receive some swell
people."

They apparently received visitors of an opposite class also, for, at
that moment, he saw M. Clergeot came out, worthy M. Clergeot, whose
presence in a house betrayed ruin just as surely as the presence of the
undertakers announce a death. The old detective, who knew everybody, was
well acquainted with the worthy banker. He had even done business