e ago, I asked myself if you were not
about to steal my watch!' And he laughed gayly, happy at having found me
again, and thinking that he might be of use to me. Seeing that I would
not go into the shop, he took off his overcoat, and put it on my back to
cover my tattered clothes, and there and then he took me to Madame
Desvarennes. Two days later I entered the office. You see the position I
hold, and I owe it to Pierre. He has been more than a friend to me--a
brother. Come! after that, tell me what you would think of me if I did
what you have just asked me?"

Cayrol was confused; he twisted his bristly beard with his fingers.

"Faith, I do not say that your scruples are not right; but, between
ourselves, every step that is taken against the Prince will count for
naught. He will marry Mademoiselle Desvarennes."

"It is possible. In that case, I shall be here to console Pierre and
sympathize with him."

"And in the mean time you are going to do all you can in his favor?"

"I have already had the honor of telling you that I cannot do anything."

"Well, well. One knows what talking means, and you will not change my
idea of your importance. You take the weaker side then; that's superb!"

"It is but strictly honest," said Marechal. "It is true that that quality
has become very rare!"

Cayrol wheeled round on his heels. He took a few steps toward the door,
then, returning to Marechal, held out his hand:

"Without a grudge, eh?"

The secretary allowed his hand to be shaken without answering, and the
banker went out, saying to himself:

"He is without a sou and has prejudices! There's a lad without a future."

CHAPTER IV

THE RIVALS

On reaching Paris, Pierre Delarue experienced a strange feeling. In his
feverish haste he longed for the swiftness of electricity to bring him
near Micheline. As soon as he arrived in Paris, he regretted having
travelled so fast. He longed to meet his betrothed, yet feared to know
his fate.

He had a sort of presentiment that his reception would destroy his hopes.
And the more he tried to banish these thoughts, the more forcibly they
returned. The thought that Micheline had forgotten her promise made the
blood rush to his face.

Madame Desvarennes's short letter suggested it. That his betrothed was
lost to him he understood, but he would not admit it. How was it possible
that Micheline should forget him? All his childhood passed before his
mind. He remembered the sweet and