I don't want him to think I'm deserted."

"Who is it you are looking for, monsieur?" asked Madame Chapuzot,
opening the door for Thaddeus, who had now come upstairs.

"Mademoiselle Turquet."

"My dear," said the portress, with an air of importance, "here is some
one to see you."

A line on which the clothes were drying caught the captain's hat and
knocked it off.

"What is it you wish, monsieur?" said Malaga, picking up the hat and
giving it to him.

"I saw you at the Circus," said Thaddeus, "and you reminded me of a
daughter whom I have lost, mademoiselle; and out of affection for my
Heloise, whom you resemble in a most striking manner, I should like to
be of some service to you, if you will permit me."

"Why, certainly; pray sit down, general," said Madame Chapuzot; "nothing
could be more straightforward, more gallant."

"But I am not gallant, my good lady," exclaimed Paz. "I am an
unfortunate father who tries to deceive himself by a resemblance."

"Then am I to pass for your daughter?" said Malaga, slyly, and not in
the least suspecting the perfect sincerity of his proposal.

"Yes," said Paz, "and I'll come and see you sometimes. But you shall be
lodged in better rooms, comfortably furnished."

"I shall have furniture!" cried Malaga, looking at Madame Chapuzot.

"And servants," said Paz, "and all you want."

Malaga looked at the stranger suspiciously.

"What countryman is monsieur?"

"I am a Pole."

"Oh! then I accept," she said.

Paz departed, promising to return.

"Well, that's a stiff one!" said Marguerite Turquet, looking at Madame
Chapuzot; "I'm half afraid he is wheedling me, to carry out some fancy
of his own--Pooh! I'll risk it."

A month after this eccentric interview the circus-rider was living in
a comfortable apartment furnished by Comte Adam's own upholsterer, Paz
having judged it desirable to have his folly talked about at the hotel
Laginski. Malaga, to whom this adventure was like a leaf out of the
Arabian Nights, was served by Monsieur and Madame Chapuzot in the double
capacity of friends and servants. The Chapuzots and Marguerite were
constantly expecting some result of all this; but at the end of three
months none of them were able to make out the meaning of the Polish
count's caprice. Paz arrived duly and passed about an hour there once
a week, during which time he sat in the salon, and never went
into Malaga's boudoir nor into her bedroom, in spite of the clever
manoeuvrin