n method, of Jenkins, in the presence of the duchess,
giving place suddenly, when he found himself alone, to a savage
expression of anger and hatred, the pallor of a criminal, the pallor of
a Castaing or of a Lapommerais hatching his sinister treasons.

One rapid glance towards each of the two doors, and he stood before the
drawer full of precious papers, the little gold key still remaining in
the lock with an arrogant carelessness, which seemed to say, "No one
will dare."

Jenkins dared.

The letter lay there, the first on a pile of others. The grain of
the paper, an address of three words dashed off in a simple, bold
handwriting, and then the perfume, that intoxicating, suggestive
perfume, the very breath of her divine lips--It was true, then, his
jealous love had not deceived him, nor the embarrassment she had shown
in his presence for some time past, nor the secretive and rejuvenated
airs of Constance, nor those bouquets magnificently blooming in the
studio as in the shadow of an intrigue. That indomitable pride had
surrendered, then, at last? But in that case, why not to him, Jenkins?
To him who had loved her for so long--always; who was ten years
younger than the other man, and who certainly was troubled with no cold
shiverings! All these thoughts passed through his head like arrows shot
from a tireless bow. And, stabbed through and through, torn to pieces,
his eyes blinded, he stood there looking at the little satiny and cold
envelope which he did not dare open for fear of dismissing a final
doubt, when the rustling of a curtain warned him that some one had just
come in. He threw the letter back quickly, and closed the wonderfully
adjusted drawer of the lacquered table.

"Ah! it is you, Jansoulet. How is it you are here?"

"His excellency told me to come and wait for him in his room," replied
the Nabob, very proud of being thus introduced into the privacy of the
apartments, at an hour, especially, when visitors were not generally
received. As a fact, the duke was beginning to show a real liking for
this savage, for several reasons: to begin with, he liked audacious
people, adventurers who followed their lucky star. Was he not one of
them himself? Then, the Nabob amused him; his accent, his frank manners,
his rather coarse and impudent flattery, were a change for him from
the eternal conventionality of his surroundings, from that scourge
of administrative and court life which he held in horror--the set
speec