om no greater man lived at the middle of the
present century--was losing health, and, with that best of human
gifts, his grasp over his fellowmen. The dogs were beginning to
collect--the dogs that are ever in readiness to fall on the stricken
lion.

I marvelled to discover how little the Vicomte interested himself in
politics. One other discovery only did I make respecting my patron; I
found that he loved money.

My conscience, as I have said, was busy at this time, and the burden
of my deception began to weigh upon my mind as if I had been a mere
schoolboy, and no man of the world. I might, however, have borne the
burden easily enough if chance had not favoured the right.

I was one morning writing in Monsieur de Clericy's study, when the
door was impetuously thrown open and Lucille came running in. "Ah!"
she said, stopping, "only you."

"That is all, Mademoiselle."

She was turning to go when on an impulse of the moment I called to
her.

"Mademoiselle!" She turned and slowly came back. With a little laugh
she stood in front of me seated at the great table. She took up a
quill pen, which I had laid aside a moment earlier, and played with
it.

"What are you writing?" she asked, looking down at the papers before
me--"your own history?"

As she spoke the pen escaped from her fingers and fell upon my papers,
leaving ink stains there.

"There," she cried, with a laugh of mock despair, "I have spoilt your
life."

"No; but you have altered its appearance," I answered. "Mademoiselle,
I have something to say to you. When I came here I deceived your
father. I told him that I was ruined--that my father had disowned
me--that I was forced to earn my own livelihood. It was untrue--I
shall one day be as rich as your father."

"Then why did you come here?" asked the girl, for a moment grave.

"To be near you."

And she broke into a laugh, shaking her head.

"I saw you in the crowd at the Fete Napoleon--I heard your voice.
There is no one in the world like you. I fell in love, Mademoiselle."

Still she laughed, as if I were telling her an amusing story.

"And it is useless," I pursued, somewhat bitterly, perhaps. "I am too
old?"

There was a little mirror on the mantelpiece. She ran and fetched it
and held it in front of my face.

"Look," she cried merrily. "Yes, hundreds of years!"

With a laugh and flying skirts she ran from the room.

Chapter V

C'est la Vie

"Les querelles ne dureraient pa