he week, he locked up the chateau, with a vow never to
cross its sill again, and left the keys in the keeping of St. Jean, who
owned a little house near Clameran, and would continue to live in the
neighborhood.

Poor St. Jean! little did he think that, in preventing Valentine from
seeing Louis, he had ruined the prospects of his beloved Gaston.

On receiving the keys he asked one question:

"Shall we not search for your brother's body, M. the marquis?" he
inquired in broken-hearted tones. "And, if it is found, what must be
done with it?"

"I shall leave instructions with my notary," replied Louis. And he
hurried away from Clameran as if the ground burnt his feet. He went
to Tarascon, where he had already forwarded his baggage, and took the
stage-coach which travelled between Marseilles and Paris, the railroad
not yet being finished.

At last he was off. The lumbering old stage rattled along, drawn by six
horses; and the deep gullies made by the wheels seemed so many abysses
between the past and the future.

Lying back in a corner of the stage, Louis de Clameran enjoyed in
anticipation the fields of pleasure spread before his dazzled eyes. At
the end of the journey, Paris rose up before him, radiant, brilliantly
dazzling as the sun.

Yes, he was going to Paris, the promised land, the city of wonders,
where every Aladdin finds a lamp. There all ambitions are crowned,
all dreams realized, all passions, all desires, good and evil, can be
satisfied.

There the fast-fleeting days are followed by nights of ever-varied
pleasure and excitement. In twenty theatres tragedy weeps, or comedy
laughs; whilst at the opera the most beautiful women in the world,
sparkling with diamonds, are ready to die with ecstasy at the sound of
divine music; everywhere noise, excitement, luxury, and pleasure.

What a dream! The heart of Louis de Clameran was swollen with desire,
and he felt that he should go mad if the horses crawled with such
torturing slowness: he would like to spring from the old stage, and fly
to his haven of delight.

He never once thought of the past with a pang of regret. What mattered
it to him how his father and brother had died? All his energies were
devoted to penetrating the mysterious future that now awaited him.

Was not every chance in his favor? He was young, rich, handsome, and
a marquis. He had a constitution of iron; he carried twenty thousand
francs in his pocket, and would soon have ten times as man