ld not control a feeling of
terror.

"My dear child," Madame Chapuzot would say, "that monster--" (a man who
contented himself with only looking, in a sly way,--not daring to come
out and say things,--and such a beautiful creature too, as Malaga,--of
course such a man was a monster, according to Madame Chapuzot's ideas)
"--that monster is trying to get a hold upon you, and make you do
something illegal and criminal. Holy Father, if you should get into
the police-courts! it makes me tremble from head to foot; suppose they
should put you in the newspapers! I'll tell you what I should do in your
place; I'd warn the police."

One particular day, after many foolish notions had fermented for
some time in Malaga's mind, Paz having laid his money as usual on the
mantel-piece, she seized the bits of gold and flung them in his face,
crying out, "I don't want stolen money!"

The captain gave the gold to Chapuzot, went away without a word, and did
not return.

Clementine was at this time at her uncle's place in Burgundy.

When the Circus troop discovered that Malaga had lost her Polish count,
much excitement was produced among them. Malaga's display of honor was
considered folly by some, and shrewdness by others. The conduct of the
Pole, however, even when discussed by the cleverest of women, seemed
inexplicable. Thaddeus received in the course of the next week
thirty-seven letters from women of their kind. Happily for him, his
astonishing reserve did not excite the curiosity of the fashionable
world, and was only discussed in the demi-mondaine regions.

Two weeks later the handsome circus-rider, crippled by debt, wrote the
following letter to Comte Paz, which, having fallen into the hands
of Comte Adam, was read by several of the dandies of the day, who
pronounced it a masterpiece:--

"You, whom I still dare to call my friend, will you not pity me
after all that has passed,--which you have so ill understood? My
heart disavows whatever may have wounded your feelings. If I was
fortunate enough to charm you and keep you beside me in the past,
return to me; otherwise, I shall fall into despair. Poverty has
overtaken me, and you do not know what _horrid things_ it brings
with it. Yesterday I lived on a herring at two sous, and one sou
of bread. Is that a breakfast for the woman you loved? The
Chapuzots have left me, though they seemed so devoted. Your
desertion has caused me to see to the bottom of all huma