ut more and more clearly he understood that there
must be some greater cause of difference between husband and wife than
this bill of twenty-eight thousand francs. For what was this amount to
a confirmed gambler who, without as much as a frown, gained or lost a
fortune every evening of his life. Evidently there was some skeleton in
this household--one of those terrible secrets which make a man and his
wife enemies, and all the more bitter enemies as they are bound together
by a chain which it is impossible to break. And undoubtedly, a good many
of the insults which the baron had heaped upon Van Klopen must have been
intended for the baroness. These thoughts darted through Pascal's mind
with the rapidity of lightning, and showed him the horrible position
in which he was placed. The baron, who had been so favorably disposed
toward him, and from whom he was expecting a great service, would
undoubtedly hate him, undoubtedly become his enemy, when he learned
that he had been a listener, although an involuntary one, to this
conversation with Van Klopen. How did it happen that he had been placed
in this dangerous position? What had become of the footman who had taken
his card? These were questions which he was unable to answer. And what
was he to do? If he could have retired noiselessly, if he could have
reached the courtyard and have made his escape without being observed he
would not have hesitated. But was this plan practicable? And would not
his card betray him? Would it not be discovered sooner or later that he
had been in the smoking-room while M. Van Klopen was in the dining-room?
In any case, delicacy of feeling as well as his own interest forbade him
to remain any longer a listener to the private conversation of the baron
and his wife.

He therefore noisily moved a chair, and coughed in that affected style
which means in every country: "Take care--I'm here!" But he did not
succeed in attracting attention. And yet the silence was profound; he
could distinctly hear the creaking of the baron's boots, as he paced
to and fro, and the sound of fingers nervously beating a tattoo on the
table. If he desired to avoid hearing the confidential conversation,
which would no doubt ensue between the baron and his wife, there was
but one course for him to pursue, and that was to reveal his presence at
once. He was about to do so, when some one opened a door which must have
led from the hall into the dining-room. He listened attentivel