would mistrust you, and would refuse to come."

It was, therefore, M. Fortin who was despatched to the Rue du
Cirque, and who went off muttering, though he had received five
francs to take a carriage, and five francs for his trouble.

"And now," said the commissary of police to Maxence, "we must both
of us get out of the way. I, because the fact of my being a
commissary would frighten Mme. Cadelle; you because, being Vincent
Favoral's son, your presence would certainly prove embarrassing
to her."

And so they went out; but M. de Tregars did not remain long alone
with Mlle. Lucienne. M. Fortin had had the delicacy not to tarry
on the way.

Eleven o'clock struck as Zelie Cadelle rushed like a whirlwind
into her friend's room.

Such had been his haste, that she had given no thought whatever to
her dress. She had stuck upon her uncombed hair the first bonnet
she had laid her hand upon, and thrown an old shawl over the
wrapper in which she had received Marius in the afternoon.

"What, my poor Lucienne!" she exclaimed. "Are you so sick as all
that?"

But she stopped short as she recognized M. de Tregars; and, in a
suspicious tone,

"What a singular meeting!" she said.

Marius bowed.

"You know Lucienne?"

What she meant by that he understood perfectly. "Lucienne is my
sister, madame," he said coldly.

She shrugged her shoulders. "What humbug!"

"It's the truth," affirmed Mlle. Lucienne; "and you know that I
never lie."

Mme. Zelie was dumbfounded.

"If you say so," she muttered. "But no matter: that's queer."

M. de Tregars interrupted her with a gesture,

"And, what's more, it is because Lucienne is my sister that you see
her there lying upon that bed. They attempted to murder her to-day!"

"Oh!"

"It was her mother who tried to get rid of her, so as to possess
herself of the fortune which my father had left her; and there is
every reason to believe that the snare was contrived by Vincent
Favoral."

Mme. Zelie did not understand very well; but, when Marius and Mlle.
Lucienne had informed her of all that it was useful for her to know,

"Why," she exclaimed, "what a horrid rascal that old Vincent must
be!"

And, as M. de Tregars remained dumb,

"This afternoon," she went on, "I didn't tell you any stories; but
I didn't tell you every thing, either." She stopped; and, after a
moment of deliberation,

"Well, I don't care for old Vincent," she said. "Ah! he tried to
have Lucienne kil