long than difficult.

"Do as I tell you," insisted the commissary harshly, "and don't
mind the rest, and, meantime, good-night."

He was right in trusting implicitly to his agent's punctuality;
for, as soon as he came out of the Hotel des Folies, a man passed
by him, and without seeming to address him, or even to recognize
him, said in a whisper,

"What news?"

"Nothing," he replied, "except that the Fortins are notified. The
trap is well set. Keep your eyes open now, and spot any one who
comes to ask about Mlle. Lucienne."

And he hurried on, still followed by Maxence, who walked along like
a body without soul, tortured by the most frightful anguish.

As he had been away the whole evening, four or five persons were
waiting for him at his office on matters of current business. He
despatched them in less than no time; after which, addressing
himself to an agent on duty,

"This evening," he said, "at about nine o'clock, in a restaurant on
the Boulevard, a quarrel took place. A person tried to pick a
quarrel with another.

"You will proceed at once to that restaurant; you will get the
particulars of what took place; and you will ascertain exactly who
this man is, his name, his profession, and his residence."

Like a man accustomed to such errands,

"Can I have a description of him?" inquired the agent.

"Yes. He is a man past middle age, military bearing, heavy mustache,
ribbons in his buttonhole."

"Yes, I see: one of your regular fighting fellows."

"Very well. Go then. I shall not retire before your return. Ah,
I forgot; find out what they thought to-night on the 'street' about
the Mutual Credit affair, and what they said of the arrest of one
Saint Pavin, editor of 'The Financial Pilot,' and of a banker named
Jottras."

"Can I take a carriage?"

"Do so."

The agent started; and he was not fairly out of the house, when the
commissary, opening a door which gave into a small study, called,
"Felix!"

It was his secretary, a man of about thirty, blonde, with a gentle
and timid countenance, having, with his long coat, somewhat the
appearance of a theological student. He appeared immediately.

"You call me, sir?"

"My dear Felix," replied the commissary, "I have seen you, sometimes,
imitate very nicely all sorts of hand-writings."

The secretary blushed very much, no doubt on account of Maxence, who
was sitting by the side of his employer. He was a very honest
fellow; but there are certai