law-suit, which showed how a young and beautiful woman had
been kept in a state of terror and almost poverty, by a rascal who had
possession of her letters, a sad case which no honest man could read
without blushing for his sex, has revealed to what depths human infamy
can descend.

And such abominable crimes are not so rare as people suppose.

How many men are supported entirely by stolen secrets, from the coachman
who claims ten louis every month of the foolish girl whom he drove to
a rendezvous, to the elegant dandy in light kids, who discovered a
financial swindle, and makes the parties interested buy his silence,
cannot be known.

This is called the extortion of hush-money, the most cowardly and
infamous of crimes, which the law, unfortunately, can rarely overtake
and punish.

"Extortion of hush-money," said an old prefect of police, "is a trade
which supports at least a thousand scamps in Paris alone. Sometimes
we know the black-mailer and his victim, and yet we can do nothing.
Moreover, if we were to catch the villain in the very act, and hand him
over to justice, the victim, in her fright at the chance of her secret
being discovered, would turn against us."

It is true, extortion has become a business. Very often it is the
business of loafers, who spend plenty of money, when everyone knows they
have no visible means of support, and of whom people ask, "What do they
live upon?"

The poor victims do not know how easy it would be to rid themselves
of their tyrants. The police are fully capable of faithfully
keeping secrets confided to them. A visit to the Rue de Jerusalem, a
confidential communication with a head of the bureau, who is as silent
as a father confessor, and the affair is arranged, without noise,
without publicity, without anyone ever being the wiser. There are traps
for "master extortioners," which work well in the hands of the police.

Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing
her, save prayers and tears; these availed her little.

Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoul
begged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he would
hurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran:

"You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer. I
will blow any man's brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if you
choose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserable
women, whom I am