ngers he saw no one, unless it were the wife
and daughter of his relative, M. de Fermont, who has been dead some
years now. Besides, it was an unfortunate family, for the brother of
Madame de Fermont blew his brains out some months ago."

"And the mother of M. le Vicomte?"

"He lost her a long time ago; that's the reason that, when he attained
his majority, M. le Vicomte came into his mother's fortune. So, you see,
my dear Edwards, that, as to inheritance, the vicomte has nothing, or
almost less than nothing, to expect from his father."

"Who, moreover, detests him."

[Illustration: _He exhibited such ferocious joy._
Original Etching by Mercier.]

"He never would see him after the discovery in question, being fully
persuaded, no doubt, that he is the son of the Pole."

The conversation of these two personages was interrupted by a gigantic
footman, elaborately powdered, although it was scarcely eleven o'clock.

"M. Boyer, M. le Vicomte has rung his bell twice," said the giant.

Boyer appeared immensely distressed at having apparently been
inattentive to his duty, rose hastily, and followed the footman with as
much haste and respect as if he had not been himself, in his proper
person, the proprietor of his master's house.

CHAPTER X.

THE COMTE DE SAINT-REMY.

It was about two hours after Boyer had left Edwards to go to M. de
Saint-Remy, when the father of the latter knocked at the door of the
house in the Rue de Chaillot.

M. de Saint-Remy, senior, was a tall man, still active and vigorous in
spite of his age. The extreme darkness of his complexion contrasted
singularly with the peculiar whiteness of his beard and hair; his thick
eyebrows still remained black, and half covered his piercing eyes deeply
sunk in his head. Although from a kind of misanthropic feeling he wore
clothes which were extremely shabby, yet there was in his entire
appearance something so calm and dignified as to inspire general
respect.

The door of his son's house opened, and he went in.

A porter in dress livery of brown and silver, with his hair carefully
powdered, and dressed in silk stockings, appeared on the threshold of an
elegant lodge, which resembled the smoky cave of the Pipelets as much as
does the tub of a stocking-darner the splendid shop of a fashionable
dressmaker.

"M. de Saint-Remy?" said the comte, in an abrupt tone.

The porter, instead of replying, scrutinised with impertinent curiosity
the white bear