at Vesinet this evening," he said, "but I
cannot ask them anything until I know the banker's answer. As soon as
you arrange matters with him, send me word by Manuel."

"I can't send Manuel, for an excellent reason; he has left me; but I can
send another messenger."

Louis spoke the truth; Manuel was gone. He had insisted on keeping
Gaston's old servant in his service, because he thought it imprudent to
leave him at Oloron, where his gossiping might cause trouble.

He soon became annoyed by Manuel's loyalty, who had shared the perils
and good fortunes of an excellent master for many years; and determined
to rid himself of this last link which constantly reminded him of
Gaston. The evening before, he had persuaded Manuel to return to
Arenys-de-mer, a little port of Catalonia, his native place; and Louis
was looking for another servant.

After breakfasting together, they separated.

Clameran was so elated by the prospect of success, that he lost sight of
the great crime intervening. Raoul was calm, but resolute. The shameful
deed he was about to commit would give him riches, and release him
from a hateful servitude. His one thought was liberty, as Louis's was
Madeleine.

Everything seemed to progress finely. The banker did not ask for the
notice of time, but promised to pay the money at the specified hour.
Prosper said he would have it ready early in the morning.

The certainty of success made Louis almost wild with joy. He counted the
hours, and the minutes, which passed but too slowly.

"When this affair is ended," he said to Raoul, "I will reform and be a
model of virtue. No one will dare hint that I have ever indulged in any
sins, great or small."

But Raoul became more and more sad as the time approached. Reflection
gradually betrayed the blackness of the contemplated crime.

Raoul was bold and determined in the pursuit of his own gratifications
and wickedness; he could smile in the face of his best friend, while
cheating him of his last napoleon at cards; and he could sleep well
after stabbing his enemy in the heart; but he was young.

He was young in sin. Vice had not yet penetrated to his marrow-bones:
corruption had not yet crowded into his soul enough to uproot and
destroy every generous sentiment.

It had not been so very long since he had cherished a few holy beliefs.
The good intentions of his boyhood were not quite obliterated from his
sometimes reproachful memory.

Possessing the daring cour