his adversary in an interview where they would
treat on equal terms.

At this instant Monsieur Camusot, who was on the point of closing the
door behind him, turned back, came up to Monsieur de Granville, and
handed him two folded papers.

"Look!" said he to Monsieur de Granville, pointing to one of them.

"Call back Monsieur Gault!" cried the Comte de Granville, as he read the
name of Madame de Maufrigneuse's maid--a woman he knew.

The governor of the prison came in.

"Describe the woman who came to see the prisoner," said the public
prosecutor in his ear.

"Short, thick-set, fat, and square," replied Monsieur Gault.

"The woman to whom this permit was given is tall and thin," said
Monsieur de Granville. "How old was she?"

"About sixty."

"This concerns me, gentlemen?" said Jacques Collin. "Come, do not puzzle
your heads. That person is my aunt, a very plausible aunt, a woman, and
an old woman. I can save you a great deal of trouble. You will never
find my aunt unless I choose. If we beat about the bush, we shall never
get forwarder."

"Monsieur l'Abbe has lost his Spanish accent," observed Monsieur Gault;
"he does not speak broken French."

"Because things are in a desperate mess, my dear Monsieur Gault,"
replied Jacques Collin with a bitter smile, as he addressed the Governor
by name.

Monsieur Gault went quickly up to his chief, and said in a whisper,
"Beware of that man, Monsieur le Comte; he is mad with rage."

Monsieur de Granville gazed slowly at Jacques Collin, and saw that he
was controlling himself; but he saw, too, that what the governor said
was true. This treacherous demeanor covered the cold but terrible
nervous irritation of a savage. In Jacques Collin's eyes were the lurid
fires of a volcanic eruption, his fists were clenched. He was a tiger
gathering himself up to spring.

"Leave us," said the Count gravely to the prison governor and the judge.

"You did wisely to send away Lucien's murderer!" said Jacques Collin,
without caring whether Camusot heard him or no; "I could not contain
myself, I should have strangled him."

Monsieur de Granville felt a chill; never had he seen a man's eyes so
full of blood, or cheeks so colorless, or muscles so set.

"And what good would that murder have done you?" he quietly asked.

"You avenge society, or fancy you avenge it, every day, monsieur, and
you ask me to give a reason for revenge? Have you never felt vengeance
throbbing in surges in your