ty of his uncle;
but Clameran showed his immense superiority in wickedness, and the
apprentice admired the master.

"You would certainly succeed, uncle," he said, "were it not for the
cashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper will always stand; if not in
person, certainly in memory."

Louis smiled scornfully, and, throwing away his cigar, which had died
out, said:

"I don't mind Prosper, or attach any more importance to him than to that
cigar."

"But she loves him."

"So much the worse for him. Six months hence, she will despise him; he
is already morally ruined, and at the proper time I will make an end of
him socially. Do you know whither the road of dissipation leads, my good
nephew? Prosper supports Gypsy, who is extravagant; he gambles, keeps
fast horses, and gives suppers. Now, you gamble yourself, and know how
much money can be squandered in one night; the losses of baccarat
must be paid within twenty-four hours. He has lost heavily, must pay,
and--has charge of a money-safe."

Raoul protested against this insinuation.

"It is useless to tell me that he is honest, that nothing would induce
him to touch money that does not belong to him. I know better. Parbleu!
I was honest myself until I learned to gamble. Any man with a grain of
sense would have married Madeleine long ago, and sent us flying bag and
baggage. You say she loves him! No one but a coward would be defrauded
of the woman he loved and who loved him. Ah, if I had once felt
Madeleine's hand tremble in mine, if her rosy lips had once pressed a
kiss upon my brow, the whole world could not take her from me. Woe
to him who dared stand in my path! As it is, Prosper annoys me, and I
intend to suppress him. With your aid I will so cover him with disgrace
and infamy, that Madeleine will drive every thought of him from her
mind, and her love will turn to hate."

Louis's tone of rage and vengeance startled Raoul, and made him regard
the affair in a worse light than ever.

"You have given me a shameful, dastardly role to play," he said after a
long pause.

"My honorable nephew has scruples, I suppose," said Clameran sneeringly.

"Not exactly scruples; yet I confess--"

"That you want to retreat? Rather too late to sing that tune, my friend.
You wish to enjoy every luxury, have your pockets filled with gold, cut
a fine figure in high society, and remain virtuous. Are you fool enough
to suppose a poor man can be honest? 'Tis a luxury pertaining to t