ast night a
tragical incident took place at the Hafner's."

"Probably," replied Dorsenne. "Fanny has bought Ribalta's book."

"She has bought the book!" said Alba, changing color and trembling. "Ah,
the unhappy girl; the other thing was not sufficient!"

"What other thing?" questioned Julien.

"You remember," said the young girl, "that I told you of that Noe Ancona,
the agent who served Hafner as a tool in selling up Ardea, and in thus
forcing the marriage. Well, it seems this personage did not think himself
sufficiently well-paid for his complicity. He demanded of the Baron a
large sum, with which to found some large swindling scheme, which the
latter refused point-blank. The other threatened to relate their little
dealing to Ardea, and he did so."

"And Peppino was angry?" asked Dorsenne, shaking his head. "That is not
like him."

"Indignant or not," continued Alba, "last night he went to the Palais
Savorelli to make a terrible scene with his future father-in-law."

"And to obtain an increase of dowry," said Julian.

"He was not by any means tactful, then," replied Alba, "for even in the
presence of Fanny, who entered in the midst of their conversation, he did
not pause. Perhaps he had drunk a little more than he could stand, which
has of late become common with him. But, you see, the poor child was
initiated into the abominable bargain with regard to her future, to her
happiness, and if she has read the book, too! It is too dreadful!"

"What a violent scene!" exclaimed Dorsenne. "So the engagement has been
broken off?"

"Not officially. Fanny is ill in bed from the excitement. Ardea came this
morning to see my mother, who has also seen Hafner. She has reconciled
them by proving to them, which she thinks true, that they have a common
interest in avoiding all scandal, and arranging matters. But it rests
with the poor little one. Mamma wished me to go, this afternoon, to
beseech her to reconsider her resolution. For she has told her father she
never wishes to hear the Prince's voice again. I have refused. Mamma
insists. Am I not right?"

"Who knows?" replied Julien. "What would be her life alone with her
father, now that her illusions with regard to him have been swept away?"

The touching scene had indeed taken place, and less than twenty-four
hours after the novelist had thus expressed to himself the regret of not
assisting at it. Only he was mistaken as to the tenor of the dialogue, in
a manner which pr