he has never doubted it. But the truth is--"

"What!"

"That, in order to swindle her, he has perpetrated a gross imposture."

During the last few minutes Raoul had been quietly creeping toward the
door, hoping to escape while no one was thinking of him.

But M. Verduret, who anticipated his intentions, was watching him out of
the corner of one eye, and stopped him just as he was about leaving the
room.

"Not so fast, my pretty youth," he said, dragging him into the middle of
the room; "it is not polite to leave us so unceremoniously. Let us
have a little conversation before parting; a little explanation will be
edifying!"

The jeering words and mocking manner of M. Verduret made Raoul turn
deadly pale, and start back as if confronted by a phantom.

"The clown!" he gasped.

"The same, friend," said the fat man. "Ah, now that you recognize me,
I confess that the clown and myself are one and the same. Yes, I am the
mountebank of the Jandidier ball; here is proof of it."

And turning up his sleeve he showed a deep cut on his arm.

"I think that this recent wound will convince you of my identity," he
continued. "I imagine you know the villain that gave me this little
decoration, that night I was walking along the Rue Bourdaloue. That
being the case, you know, I have a slight claim upon you, and shall
expect you to relate to us your little story."

But Raoul was so terrified that he could not utter a word.

"Your modesty keeps you silent," said M. Verduret. "Bravo! modesty
becomes talent, and for one of your age you certainly have displayed a
talent for knavery."

M. Fauvel listened without understanding a word of what was said.

"Into what dark depths of shame have we fallen!" he groaned.

"Reassure yourself, monsieur," replied M. Verduret with great respect.
"After what I have been constrained to tell you, what remains to be said
is a mere trifle. I will finish the story.

"On leaving Mihonne, who had given him a full account of the misfortunes
of Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie, Clameran hastened to London.

"He had no difficulty in finding the farmer's wife to whom the old
countess had intrusted Gaston's son.

"But here an unexpected disappointment greeted him.

"He learned that the child, whose name was registered on the parish
books as Raoul-Valentin Wilson, had died of the croup when eighteen
months old."

"Did anyone state such a fact as that?" interrupted Raoul: "it is
false."

"It was not