ount. They have even gone so far as to
say that this piece of knavery brought me in an enormous sum, and that I
used Rochecotte's, Kervaulieu's, and Coralth's names in betting against
my own horse."

The baron's agitation was so great that M. de Valorsay observed it,
though he did not understand the cause. Living in the same society with
the Baroness Trigault, and knowing her story, he thought that Coralth's
name might, perhaps, have irritated the baron. "And so," he quickly
continued, "don't be surprised if, during the coming week, you see the
sale of my horses announced."

"What! you are going to sell----"

"All my horses--yes, baron. I have nineteen; and it will be very strange
if I don't get eight or ten thousand louis for the lot. Domingo alone is
worth more than forty thousand francs."

To talk of selling--of realizing something you possess--rings ominously
in people's ears. The person who talks of selling proclaims his need
of money--and often his approaching ruin. "It will save you at least a
hundred and fifty or sixty thousand francs a year," observed the baron.

"Double it and you won't come up to the mark. Ah! my dear baron, you
have yet to learn that there is nothing so ruinous as a racing stable.
It's worse than gambling; and women, in comparison, are a real economy.
Ninette costs me less than Domingo, with his jockey, his trainer, and
his grooms. My manager declares that the twenty-three thousand francs I
won last year, cost me at least fifty thousand."

Was he boasting, or was he speaking the truth? The baron was engaged in
a rapid calculation. "What does Valorsay spend a year?" he was saying
to himself. "Let us say two hundred and fifty thousand francs for his
stable; forty thousand francs for Ninette Simplon; eighty thousand
for his household expenses, and at least thirty thousand for personal
matters, travelling, and play. All this amounts to something like four
hundred and thirty thousand francs a year. Does his income equal that
sum? Certainly not. Then he must have been living on the principal--he
is ruined."

Meanwhile the marquis gayly continued: "You see, I'm going to make a
change in my mode of life. Ah! it surprises you! But one must make an
end of it, sooner or later. I begin to find a bachelor life not so very
pleasant after all; there is rheumatism in prospect, and my digestion is
becoming impaired--in short, I feel that it is time for marriage, baron;
and--I am about to marry."

"