usher him in." Then addressing M. Casimir, he added:

"You may retire for the present, but don't leave the house. M. Wilkie
will acquaint you with his intentions by and by."

The valet thereupon backed out of the room, bowing profoundly.

"There is a story for you!" exclaimed M. Wilkie as soon as the door was
closed. "A robbery of two millions!"

The marquis shook his head, and remarked, gravely: "That's a mere
nothing. I suspect something far more terrible."

"What, pray? Upon my word! you frighten me."

"Wait! I may be mistaken. Even the doctor may lie deceived. But you
shall judge for yourself." As he spoke, he pulled the bell-rope, and an
instant after, the servant announced: "Dr. Jodon."

It was, indeed, the same physician who had annoyed Mademoiselle
Marguerite by his persistent curiosity and impertinent questions, at
the Count de Chalusse's bedside; the same crafty and ambitious man,
constantly tormented by covetousness, and ready to do anything to
gratify it--the man of the period, in short, who sacrificed everything
to the display by which he hoped to deceive other people, and who was
almost starving in the midst of his mock splendor.

M. Casimir was an innocent accomplice, but the doctor knew what he was
doing. Interviewed on behalf of the Marquis de Valorsay by Madame Leon,
he had fathomed the whole mystery at once. These two crafty natures had
read and understood each other. No definite words had passed between
them--they were both too shrewd for that; and yet, a compact had been
concluded by which each had tacitly agreed to serve the other according
to his need.

As soon as the physician appeared, M. de Valorsay rose and shook hands
with him; then, offering him an arm-chair, he remarked: "I will not
conceal from you, doctor, that I have in some measure prepared this
gentleman"--designating M. Wilkie--"for your terrible revelation."

By the doctor's attitude, a keen observer might have divined the secret
trepidation that always precedes a bad action which has been conceived
and decided upon in cold blood.

"To tell the truth," he began, speaking slowly, and with some
difficulty, "now that the moment for speaking has come, I almost
hesitate. Our profession has painful exigencies. Perhaps it is now too
late. If there had been any of the count's relatives in the house, or
even an heir at the time, I should have insisted upon an autopsy. But
now----"

On hearing the word "autopsy," M. Wilkie looked