raised his hand as if to take a solemn oath, when the baron
caught hold of it, and, pressing it with sorrowful gratitude, exclaimed:
"I believe you! You are a man of honor--I only needed to see your home
to be convinced of that. You will not laugh at my misfortunes or my
misery!" He must have been suffering frightfully, for big tears rolled
slowly down his cheeks. "What have I done, my God! that I should be
so cruelly punished?" he continued. "I have always been generous and
charitable, and ready to help all who applied to me. I am utterly alone!
I have a wife and a daughter--but they hate me. They long for my death,
which would give them possession of my wealth. What torture! For months
together I dared not eat a morsel of food, either in my own house, or
in the house of my son-in-law. I feared poison; and I never partook of a
dish until I had seen my daughter or my wife do so. To prevent a crime,
I was obliged to resort to the strangest expedients. I made a will, and
left my property in such a way that if I die, my family will not receive
one penny. So, they now have an interest in prolonging my life." As he
spoke he sprang up with an almost frenzied air, and, seizing Pascal by
the arm, again continued. "Nor is this all! This woman--my wife--you
know--you have heard the extent of her shame and degradation. Ah, well!
I--love her!"

Pascal recoiled with an exclamation of mingled horror and consternation.

"This amazes you, eh?" rejoined the baron. "It is indeed
incomprehensible, monstrous--but it is the truth. It is to gratify her
desire for luxury that I have toiled to amass millions. If I purchased
a title, which is absurd and ridiculous, it was only because I wished
to satisfy her vanity. Do what she may, I can only see in her the chaste
and beautiful wife of our early married life. It is cowardly, absurd,
ridiculous--I realize it; but my love is stronger than my reason or my
will. I love her madly, passionately; I cannot tear her from my heart!"

So speaking, he sank sobbing on to the divan again. Was this, indeed,
the frivolous and jovial Baron Trigault whom Pascal had seen at Madame
d'Argeles's house--the man of self-satisfied mien and superb assurance,
the good-natured cynic, the frequenter of gambling-dens? Alas, yes! But
the baron whom the world knew was only a comedian; this was the real
man.

After a little while he succeeded in controlling his emotion, and in a
comparatively calm voice he exclaimed: "But