AN TO HIS OWN PLACE."

Obedient to the wishes of M. Lecoq, Andre resigned himself to a lengthy
sojourn at the Hospital de Beaujon, and had even the courage to affect
that state of profound indifference that had deceived Mascarin. The
pretended sick man in the next bed to his told him all that had taken
place, but the days seemed to be interminable, and he was beginning
to lose patience, when one morning he received a letter which caused
a gleam of joy to pass through his heart. "All is right," wrote Lecoq.
"Danger is at an end. Ask the house surgeon for leave to quit the
hospital. Dress yourself smartly. You will find me waiting at the
doors.--L."

Andre was not quite convalescent, for he might have to wear his arm in a
sling for many weeks longer; but these considerations did not deter him.
He now dressed himself in a suit which he had sent for to his rooms, and
about nine o'clock he left the hospital.

He stood upon the steps inhaling deep draughts of the fresh air, and
then began to wonder where the strange personage was to whom he owed
his life. While he was deliberating what to do, an open carriage drew up
before the door of the hospital.

"You have come at last," exclaimed Andre, rushing up to the gentleman
who alighted from it. "I was getting quite anxious."

"I am about five minutes late," returned Lecoq; "but I was detained,"
and then, as Andre began to pour out his thanks, he added, "Get into the
carriage; I have a great deal to say to you."

Andre obeyed, and as he did so, he detected something strange in the
expression of his companion's face.

"What!" remarked Lecoq, "do you see by my face that I have something to
tell you? You are getting quite a keen observer. Well, I have, indeed,
for I have passed the night going through Mascarin's papers, and I have
just gone through a painful scene--I may say, one of the most painful
that I have ever witnessed. The intellect of Mascarin," said he, "has
given way under the tremendous pressure put upon it. The ruling passion
of the villain's life was his love for his daughter. He imagines that
Flavia and Paul are without a franc and in want of bread; he thinks that
he continually hears his daughter crying to him for help. Then, on
his knees, he entreats the warder to let him out, if only for a day,
swearing that he will return as soon as he has succored his child. Then,
when his prayer is refused, he bursts into a frenzied rage and tears at
his door, howling lik