she dared not utter.

Jean Lacheneur, Marie-Anne's brother.

An inward voice, more powerful than reason, told her that this
implacable enemy was still alive, watching for his hour of vengeance.

More troubled by her presentiments now, than she had been by Chupin's
persecutions in days gone by, Mme. de Sairmeuse decided to apply to
Chelteux in order to ascertain, if possible, what she had to expect.

Fouche's former agent had not wavered in his devotion to the duchess.
Every three months he presented his bill, which was paid without
discussion; and to ease his conscience, he sent one of his men to prowl
around Sairmeuse for a while, at least once a year.

Animated by the hope of a magnificent reward, the spy promised his
client, and--what was more to the purpose--promised himself, that he
would discover this dreaded enemy.

He started in quest of him, and had already begun to collect proofs of
Jean's existence, when his investigations were abruptly terminated.

One morning the body of a man literally hacked in pieces was found in an
old well. It was the body of Chelteux.

"A fitting close to the career of such a wretch," said the _Journal des
Debats_, in noting the event.

When she read this news, Mme. Blanche felt as a culprit would feel on
reading his death-warrant.

"The end is near," she murmured. "Lacheneur is coming!"

The duchess was not mistaken.

Jean had told the truth when he declared that he was not disposing of
his sister's estate for his own benefit. In his opinion, Marie-Anne's
fortune must be consecrated to one sacred purpose; he would not divert
the slightest portion of it to his individual needs.

He was absolutely penniless when the manager of a travelling theatrical
company engaged him for a consideration of forty-five francs per month.

From that day he lived the precarious life of a strolling player. He was
poorly paid, and often reduced to abject poverty by lack of engagements,
or by the impecuniosity of managers.

His hatred had lost none of its virulence; but to wreak the desired
vengeance upon his enemy, he must have time and money at his disposal.

But how could he accumulate money when he was often too poor to appease
his hunger?

Still he did not renounce his hopes. His was a rancor which was only
intensified by years. He was biding his time while he watched from the
depths of his misery the brilliant fortunes of the house of Sairmeuse.

He had waited sixteen years, when