ly!" he exclaimed. But M. de Tregars
shook his head.

"I have suspicions," he answered; "but, up to this time, I have
suspicions only, I assure you."

"But that family does exist; since they have already, at three
different times, attempted to get rid of the poor girl."

"I think as you do; but we must have proofs: and we shall find some.
You may rest assured of that."

Here he was interrupted by the noise of the opening door.

The old servant came in, and advancing to the centre of the room
with a mysterious look,

"Madame la Baronne de Thaller," he said in a low voice.

Marius de Tregars started violently.

"Where?" he asked.

"She is down stairs in her carriage," replied the servant. "Her
footman is here, asking whether monsieur is at home, and whether
she can come up."

"Can she possibly have heard any thing?" murmured M. de Tregars
with a deep frown. And, after a moment of reflection,

"So much the more reason to see her," he added quickly. "Let her
come. Request her to do me the honor of coming up stairs."

This last incident completely upset all Maxence's ideas. He no
longer knew what to imagine.

"Quick," said M. de Tregars to him: "quick, disappear; and, whatever
you may hear, not a word!"

And he pushed him into his bedroom, which was divided from the study
by a mere tapestry curtain. It was time; for already in the next
room could be heard a great rustling of silk and starched petticoats.
Mme. de Thaller appeared.

She was still the same coarsely beautiful woman, who, sixteen years
before, had sat at Mme. Favoral's table. Time had passed without
scarcely touching her with the tip of his wing. Her flesh had
retained its dazzling whiteness; her hair, of a bluish black, its
marvelous opulence; her lips, their carmine hue; her eyes, their
lustre. Her figure only had become heavier, her features less
delicate; and her neck and throat had lost their undulations, and
the purity of their outlines.

But neither the years, nor the millions, nor the intimacy of the
most fashionable women, had been able to give her those qualities
which cannot be acquired,--grace, distinction, and taste.

If there was a woman accustomed to dress, it was she: a splendid
dry-goods store could have been set up with the silks and the
velvets, the satins and cashmeres, the muslins, the laces, and all
the known tissues, that had passed over her shoulders.

Her elegance was quoted and copied. And yet there wa