t his place near the orange-woman's stand, and
approached the bridge, where he seemed to be trying to make out some
unexpected object.

"Ah!" said M. Verduret; "he has just discovered our man."

Clameran's uneasiness was quite apparent; he walked forward a few steps,
as if intending to cross the bridge; then, suddenly turning around,
rapidly walked in the direction of the Rue St. Jacques.

"He is caught!" cried M. Verduret with delight.

At that moment the door opened, and Mme. Nina Gypsy, _alias_ Palmyre
Chocareille, entered.

Poor Nina! Each day spent in the service of Madeleine seemed to have
aged her a year.

Tears had dimmed the brilliancy of her beautiful black eyes; her rosy
cheeks were pale and hollow, and her merry smile was quite gone.

Poor Gypsy, once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the burden of
her sorrows, was the picture of misery.

Prosper thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, and proud of having
so nobly devoted herself to his interest, Nina would throw her arms
around his neck, and say how much she loved him. To his surprise, Nina
scarcely spoke to him. Although his every thought had been devoted to
Madeleine since he discovered the reasons for her cruelty, he was hurt
by Nina's cold manner.

The girl stood looking at M. Verduret with a mixture of fear and
devotion, like a poor dog that has been cruelly treated by its master.

He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner toward her.

"Well, my dear," he said encouragingly, "what news do you bring me?"

"Something is going on at the house, monsieur, and I have been trying
to get here to tell you; at last, Mlle. Madeleine made an excuse for
sending me out."

"You must thank Mlle. Madeleine for her confidence in me. I suppose she
carried out the plan we decided upon?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"She receives the Marquis of Clameran's visits?"

"Since the marriage has been decided upon, he comes every day, and
mademoiselle receives him with kindness. He seems to be delighted."

These answers filled Prosper with anger and alarm. The poor young man,
not comprehending the intricate moves of M. Verduret, felt as if he
were being tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool and
laughing-stock of everybody.

"What!" he cried; "this worthless Marquis of Clameran, an assassin and
a thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel's, and pay his addresses to
Madeleine? Where are the promises, monsieur, which you have made? Have
you merely