arranged, and Flavia
will make a grand duchess with her magnificent income."

He had by this time arranged his pasteboard squares, then he took a
small notebook, alphabetically arranged, from a drawer, wrote a name
or two in it, and then closing it said with a deadly smile, "There, my
friends, you are all registered, though you little suspect it. You are
all rich, and think that you are free, but you are wrong, for there is
one man who owns you, soul and body, and that man is Baptiste Mascarin;
and at his bidding, high as you hold your heads now, you will crawl to
his feet in humble abasement." His musings were interrupted by a knock
at the door. He struck the bell on his writing table, and the last sound
of it was hardly died away, when Beaumarchef stood on the threshold.

"You desired me, sir," said he, with the utmost deference, "to complete
my report regarding young M. Gandelu, and it so happens that the cook
whom he has taken into his service in the new establishment he has
started is on our list. She has just come in to pay us eleven francs
that she owed us, and is waiting outside. Is not this lucky?"

Mascarin made a little grimace. "You are an idiot, Beaumarchef," said
he, "to be pleased at so trivial a matter. I have often told you that
there is no such thing as luck or chance, and that all comes to those
who work methodically."

Beaumarchef listened to his master's wisdom in silent surprise.

"And pray, who is this woman?" asked Mascarin.

"You will know her when you see her, sir. She is registered under class
D, that is, for employment in rather fast establishments."

"Go and fetch her," observed Mascarin, and as the man left the room, he
muttered, "Experience has taught me that it is madness to neglect the
smallest precaution."

In another moment the woman appeared, and Mascarin at once addressed her
with that air of friendly courtesy which made him so popular among such
women. "Well, my good girl," said he, "and so you have got the sort of
place you wanted, eh?"

"I hope so, sir, but you see I have only been with Madame Zora de
Chantemille since yesterday."

"Ah, Zora de Chantemille, that is a fine name, indeed."

"It is only a fancy name, and she had an awful row over it with master.
She wanted to be called Raphaela, but he stood out for Zora."

"Zora is a very pretty name," observed Mascarin solemnly.

"Yes, sir, just what the maid and I told her. She is a splendid woman,
and doesn't she j