'
THE SLAVES OF PARIS.
55
«*
Madame de Bois d'Ardon never failed to an-
nounce this same heroic resolution after each
enormous bill was sent in, but the oaths of a
woman of fashion and those of a drunken man
have an amazing similarity, and she quickly
forgets her periodical repentance.
" Tell me, dear Goutran, what I had best do?
You will help me, I am sure. Can't you ask
De Croisenois for that wretched bill?"
Monsieur de Breulh hesitated.
" I can, of course, but such a step would do
you harm rather than good. I have no decisive
proofs against him, you know. And if he is
the man I believe, he will deny everything.
To go to him, would be to show him that you
have penetrated his designs, and you will make
him your enemy for life."
"And," added Andre, " if you should do this,
you would put the man on his guard, and he
would escape us."
The unfortunate vicomtesse looked from one
to the other in despair.
"Am I utterly lost, then?" she cried, amid
her tears; "am I to remain all my life in the
power of this odious being, condemned even to
obey him, and trembling under his look like a
slave under the lash?"
But Andre came to the rescue.
"No, madame," he answered, "reassure
yourself. I shall be able ere long, I think, to
reduce Monsieur de Croisenois to a position
where he can injure no one. One more ques-
tion. What did you say when he asked you to
present him at the Hotel de Mussidan?"
" Nothing positive, for I thought of you and
Sabine."
" Then, madame, sleep in peace to-night. So
long as he hopes to make you useful, just so
long will he take care not to annoy you. Serve
him then, say not one word of the bill, show
him all esteem and friendship, open the Hotel
de Mussidan for him, and sing his praises. "
"But you, sir?"
"I, madame, aided by Monsieur de Breulh,
will toil to unmask this scoundrel. And the
more secure he believes himself to be, the easier
is our task. "
He was here interrupted by the servant who
had been sent by De Breulh to cash his check.
When the lacquey had left the room, his mas-
ter took the notes and placed them in his
•cousin's hands.
" Here, my dear Clotilde, is the money for
De Croisenois. Take my advice and send it to
him this evening with the most gracious note."
"Thanks, Goutran. I will do precisely as
you say."
"And do not fail to slip into your letter a
word of hope in regard to the presentation.
What do you say, Andre?"
But Andre was buried in thought.
"I think," he answered finally, "that if a
receipt from Croisenois could be obtained for
this sum that it would be something gained."
"Are you jesting?"
"By no means."
"But the mere request would awaken the
rascal's suspicions."
" Possibly," answered   the  young painter.
"And yet-----"   He turned hastily toward the
viscomtesse. " Do you happen to have in your
employment, madame, any maid on whom you
can rely?"
" I have one as true as gold and sharp as
steel. "
" Very well. Then give that girl the letter
and the package of bills separately. Drill her
thoroughly. When she sees De Croisenois let
her pretend to be terrified at tbe large amount
of money with whieh she had been entrusted.
Tell her to make a great fuss, and finally to in-
sist on a receipt which shall relieve her of any
responsibility."
"That sounds feasible, certainly," said De
Breulh.
"And she will do it," exclaimed the vicom-
tesse, eagerly. "Josephine has not her equal
forpiaying such a farce."
And at the idea of the farce and the man-
euver a smile spread over the face ofthe pretty
vicomtesse. Her anxiety was gone; she felt
that she was under the protection of these two
men.
" Trust to me," she said, " to keep Croisenois
in good humor. In a fortnight I will be his
confidante, and all that he tells me you will
know."
She clenched her pretty little fist with a
threatening gesture.
" It is fair enough," she continued. "Why
did he come near me? As for Van Klopen,
what on earth 1 am to do without him, Heaven
only knows. Where am I to turn? There'is
not another man in Paris with his originality,
or who can dress me with his chic. I am in
despair!" And the vicomtess rose to leave. I
am utterly tired out," she said, plaintively.
" Four friends, too, of my husband's, dine with
us to-day.    Adieu, or rattier, au revoir. "
And light-hearted and smiling as ever she
hurried to her carriage.
"And such are the women of to-day, cousin,"
sighed he; "and if one comes across one with
a vestige of a heart, she is without brains."
But Andre was too much engrossed with his
fixed idea to make any reply to this observation.
"Now," he exclaimed, " Croisenoise is un-
der our heels, we know where to start from.
He holds Madame de Mussidan precisely as he
holds your cousin. We know this honorable
gentleman's ways of working. He robs you of
your secrets, and blackmails you afterwards."
"But we are ahead of him. He will make
nothing out of Monsieur de Mussidan !"
CHAPTER XXV.
To be the sole proprietor and master of a
most comfortable home, to be surrounded by
all the luxuries and selfish enjoyments known
to a bachelor, and then to be suddenly dispos-
sessed of them, is not a very agreeable thing.
In fact, can one imagine a more uncomfort-
able penance? But this was precisely what Dr.
Hortebise was now compelled to submit, when
Tantaine, in Mascarot's name, came to demand
hospitality for Paul Violaine.
This amiable epicurean shuddered and grew
pale at the mere thought of this invasion.
To show his rooms, or to have them invaded
by a sheriff's officer, struck him as about the
same thing. He saw a sombre picture outspread
before him of his disorganized life—his per-
sonal habits broken up and intruded upon, his
pet tastes outraged, and his liberty compro-
mised.
What on earth should he do with this
youth quartered upon him iu this way, and for
this uncertain length of time? How could he
endure to have him always before him, and
seated opposite him at table, aud hanging to
his coat when he went out, like a child to the
skirts of his nurse?
No more delightful restaurant dinners in the
society of appreciative companions—no more
of those mysterious visitors which he received
in the evening with lowered lights and curtains
closely drawn, after all his servants had been
sent to the theatre.
Therefore he devoutly wished that the earth
would open and swallow the honorable Masca-
rot and his protege.
But the idea never entered his head of evad-
ing the imperative mandate. Initiated as he was
in the projects of B. Mascarot, he felt that
to watch Paul for a few days was of the very
first importance. The boy must be, as it were,
made over; he must learn, too, that his past was
a fathomless abyss into which he must never
even look.
Was it not indispensable, moreover, that Paul
should be gradually prepared to hear the truth?
His conscience must be hardened to resist the
stings which possibly, but by no means prob-
ably, would assail him at the last moment.
The doctor, therefore, resigned himself with
a deep sigh to the task before him.
Paul found in him the most agreeable of
companions, clever and witty, with an inex-
haustible fund of anecdotes. Hortebise was
a facile counsellor, and preached only a very
mild morality, and an unscrupulous philosophy.
For five days they were together, breakfasting
at the best restaurants, driving in the Bois, and
dining at the doctor's club.
The evenings were regularly passed at Mon-
sieur Martin Régals. The doctor played cards
with the banker, and Paul and FÎavia talked
apart in low voices, or there was music.
But nothing lasts in this world. On the fifth
day of this agreeable existence, Tantaine ap-
peared and announced that he had come for
Paul and his luggage.
"Ihave arranged for you," he said gayly,
" the most charming little retreat in the world.
It is not, to be sure, as fine as this is here, but it
is in accordance with your position."
"Where is it?"
Tantaine smiled knowingly.
" Having an eye to the preservation of your
shoe-leather," he answered, "I secured rooms
for you very near Monsieur Martin Regal's."
The old man was without his equal in
all such matters.     He knew everything and
everybody, and foresaw every emergency and
contingency. Paul realized this at his first
glance on his new home.
.   It was in the Rue Montmartre, nearly at the cor-
' ner of the Rue Joquelet that Tantaine had found
such rooms as he required, modest rooms, such
i as an artist who had conquered his first diffi-
culties, and saw a future opening before him,
would feel justified in enjoying.
The apartments on the third floor consisted
of a small vestibule, two pretty rooms, and a
good-sized dressing cabinet. One of these was
a bedroom, the other was arranged as a library,
but near the window stood a piano.
Furniture, curtains, and hangings were all
pretty and clean, but nothing was new.)
One peculiarity struck Paul.
This apartment which, he was told, was hired
and furnished for him only three days before,
was palpitating with life. One would have
sworn that its owner had stepped out for a min-
ute only.
The bed looked as if it were still warm, and
two candles, half burned down, added to the im-
pression. By the side of the bed were slippers
that had been worn. The fire was not quite
out, and on the mantel was the end of a cigar,
while on the table in the library was a sheet of
music paper with a few bars written down.
The sensation of being in another person's room
was so strong, that Paul exclaimed:
" But, sir, this apartment is inhabited al-
ready-----"
" We are in your home, my dear boy."
" But you bought everything as it stood, and
thé owner simply walked out."
Tantaine seemed to be as delighted as a
school-boy who has played some practical joke.
"For a whole year," tie said, " you have been
the sole proprietor of this apartment. Do you
not know your own home?"
Paul listened with his mouth wide open,
studying a mystery.
"I do not understand," he said, finally.
"You are jesting, I presume."
" I was never more entirely in earnest. For
more than a year your Lares and Penates have
been established here. Will you have a proof
of what I say?"
He ran to the head of the stairs without wait-
ing for a reply, and shouted out:
"Mother Bregot!   Come up, if you please."
Then turning to Paul:
" The concierge is coming," he said.
At the same moment an old woman, repulsive
from her obesity, with a very red nose and an
obsequious air, to which the expression of her
eyes, half hidden by heavy grey eyebrows, gave
the lie, entered the woman.
" Good-morning, Mother Bregot," said Tan-
taine, gayly, "I wanted to speak to you a mo-
ment."
"All right, sir."
Tantaine pointed to Paul.
" You know this gentleman, do'you?"
"What a question—do I know one of our
tenants?"
" What is his name?"
"Paul."
"Nothing more?"
" Well sir, he is generally called Paul, and
nothing else. It is not his fault if he never
knew his father nor mother."
" What is his profession?"
"He is an artist. He gives lessons on the
piano, composes and copies music."
" What does he make in this way?"
" You ask me too much, sir, but I should say
that it ought to be three or four hundred francs
per month."
" And this sum is enough for him?"
" Oh, yes; but then he is so economical and
sensible, and well-behaved! A regular girl—at
least, if I bad a girl, I should like her to resem-
ble him. He works hard, and is always neat
and well dressed."
She drew out her snuff-box, and took a copi-
ous pinch, and then in atone of profound con-
viction, added:
" He is good-looking, too."
Tantaine's face beamed good-naturedly on
the stout woman.
"You seem to have known Monsieur Paul a
long time, as you are so well informed of his af-
"I should think that I might know some-
thing about him and his business, as it is nearly
fifteen months that he has lived here, and I
have attended to his rooms all that time."
"Do you know where he lived before he
came here?"
" Of course I do, for I went to find out about