for the marquis, he prudently absented himself, awaiting the
propitious moment.

At the end of three weeks he met the banker at a friend's, and was
invited to dinner the next day.

Twenty people were seated at the table; and, as the dessert was being
served, the banker suddenly turned to Clameran and said:

"I have a piece of news for you, monsieur. Have you any relatives of
your name?"

"None that I know of, monsieur."

"I am surprised. About a week ago, I became acquainted with another
Marquis of Clameran."

Although so hardened by crime, impudent enough to deny anything,
Clameran was so taken aback that he sat with pale face and a blank look,
silently staring at M. Fauvel.

But he soon recovered enough self-control to say hurriedly:

"Oh, indeed! That is strange. A Clameran may exist; but I cannot
understand the title of marquis."

M. Fauvel was not sorry to have the opportunity of annoying a guest
whose aristocratic pretensions had often piqued him.

"Marquis or not," he replied, "the Clameran in question seems to be able
to do honor to the title."

"Is he rich?"

"I have reason to suppose that he is very wealthy. I have been notified
to collect for him four hundred thousand francs."

Clameran had a wonderful faculty of self-control; he had so schooled
himself that his face never betrayed what was passing in his mind. But
this news was so startling, so strange, so pregnant of danger, that his
usual assurance deserted him.

He detected a peculiar look of irony in the banker's eye.

The only persons who noticed this sudden change in the marquis's matter
were Madeleine and her aunt. They saw him turn pale, and exchange a
meaning look with Raoul.

"Then I suppose this new marquis is a merchant," said Clameran after a
moment's pause.

"That I don't know. All that I know is, that four hundred thousand
francs are to be deposited to his account by some ship-owners at Havre,
after the sale of the cargo of a Brazilian ship."

"Then he comes from Brazil?"

"I do not know, but I can give you his Christian name."

"I would be obliged."

M. Fauvel arose from the table, and brought from the next room a
memorandum-book, and began to read over the names written in it.

"Wait a moment," he said, "let me see--the 22nd, no, it was later than
that. Ah, here it is: Clameran, Gaston. His name is Gaston, monsieur."

But this time Louis betrayed no emotion or alarm; he had had sufficient
time to recover his s