, he thinks he knows everything; and what he has been led to
fear, and thinks he has discovered, is worse than the true state of
affairs."

"That accounts for the order which M. Cavaillon overheard him give to
his servant-man, Evariste."

"What order?"

"He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to the house, no
matter to whom addressed, into his study, and hand them to him; saying
that, if this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly discharged."

"At what time was this order given?" asked M. Verduret.

"Yesterday afternoon."

"That is what I was afraid of," cried M. Verduret. "He has clearly made
up his mind what course to pursue, and is keeping quiet so as to
make his vengeance more sure. The question is, Have we still time to
counteract his projects? Have we time to convince him that the anonymous
letter was incorrect in some of its assertions?"

He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the damage done by
Prosper's foolish letter.

"Thank you for your information, my dear child," he said after a long
silence. "I will decide at once what steps to take, for it will never
do to sit quietly and let things go on in this way. Return home without
delay, and be careful of everything you say and do; for M. Fauvel
suspects you of being in the plot. Send me word of anything that
happens, no matter how insignificant it may be."

Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but said timidly:

"What about Caldas, monsieur?"

This was the third time during the last fortnight that Prosper had heard
this name, Caldas.

The first time it had been whispered in his ear by a
respectable-looking, middle-aged man, who offered his protection one
day, when passing through the police-office passage.

The second time, the judge of instruction had mentioned it in connection
with Gypsy's history.

Prosper thought over all the men he had ever been connected with, but
could recall none named Caldas.

The impassable M. Verduret started and trembled at the mention of this
name, but, quickly recovering himself, said:

"I promised to find him for you, and I will keep my promise. Now you
must go; good-morning."

It was twelve o'clock, and M. Verduret suddenly remembered that he
was hungry. He called Mme. Alexandre, and the beaming hostess of the
Archangel soon placed a tempting breakfast before Prosper and his
friend.

But the savory broiled oysters and flaky biscuit failed to smooth the
perplexed brow of M. Verduret.