Brigaut prevented his progress.

"Some one was here yesterday," remarked she, "asking about M. Paul."

"What sort of a looking person was it?"

"Oh, a man like any other, nothing in particular about him, but he
wasn't a gentleman, for after keeping me for fully fifteen minutes
talking and talking, he only gave me a five-franc piece."

The description was not one that would lead to a recognition of the
person, and Tantaine asked in tones of extreme annoyance,--

"Did you not notice anything particular about the man?"

"Yes, he had on gold spectacles with the mountings as fine as a hair,
and a watch chain as thick and heavy as I have ever seen."

"And is that all?"

"Yes," answered she. "Oh! there was one thing more--the person knows
that you come here."

"Does he? Why do you think so?"

"Because all the time he was talking to me he was in a rare fidget, and
always kept his eyes on the door."

"Thanks, Mother Brigaut; mind and keep a sharp lookout," returned
Tantaine, as he slowly ascended the stairs.

Every now and then he paused to think. "Who upon earth can this fellow
be?" asked he of himself. He reviewed the whole question--chances,
probabilities, and risks, not one was neglected, but all in vain.

"A thousand devils!" growled he; "are the police at my heels?"

His nerves were terribly shaken, and he strove in vain to regain his
customary audacity. By this time he had reached the door of Paul's room,
and, on his ringing, the door was at once opened; but at the sight of
this woman he started back, with a cry of angry surprise; for it was a
female figure that stood before him, a young girl--Flavia, the daughter
of Martin Rigal, the banker.

The keen eyes of Tantaine showed him that Flavia's visit had not been
of long duration. She had removed her hat and jacket, and was holding in
her hand a piece of fancy work.

"Whom do you wish to see, sir?" asked she.

The old man strove to speak, but his lips would not frame a single
sentence. A band of steel seemed to be compressing his throat, and he
appeared like a man about to be seized with an apoplectic fit.

Flavia gazed upon the shabby-looking visitor with an expression of
intense disgust. It seemed to her that she had seen him somewhere; in
fact, there was an inexplicable manner about him which entirely puzzled
her.

"I want to speak to M. Paul," said the old man in a low, hoarse whisper;
"he is expecting me."

"Then come in; but just now his doct