Enveloped in a magnificent dressing gown, his feet encased in embroidered slippers, and a fragrant cigar between his lips, Commander de La MiraudiÈre was quietly seated at his desk, with a stack of notes and papers before him, when a servant entered and announced: "M. Richard."

"Usher M. Richard into the drawing-room, and beg him to wait a moment," he said, rising quickly. "You may bring him in when I ring."

The servant withdrew, while his master opened a drawer in the safe near by, took out twenty-five notes of a thousand francs each, and, placing them beside a sheet of stamped paper used in making out deeds, rang the bell.

Louis Richard entered, looking gloomy and confused. His heart throbbed violently at the thought that he was perhaps standing in the presence of a happy rival, and like all sincere and candid lovers, he greatly exaggerated the advantages possessed by the man whom he believed had supplanted him in the heart of the woman he loved. This Commander de La MiraudiÈre, draped in his superb damask gown, and occupying magnificent apartments, seemed a most formidable rival, indeed, to poor, modest Louis Richard.

"Have I the honor of addressing Monsieur Louis Richard?" said M. de La
MiraudiÈre, with his most gracious smile.

"Yes, monsieur," replied Louis, simply.

"Only son of M. Richard, public scribe?"

"My father is a public scribe," returned the young man dryly, believing he detected a slight tone of sarcasm in the last words.

"Pardon me for disturbing you," continued the commander, "but it was necessary that I should see you alone. As a private interview seemed impossible in your own home, I requested you to come to me."

"And now that I am here, may I inquire what your wishes are?"

"My only wish is to serve you, my dear sir, for I would be only too happy to class you as my client."

"I!—your client? But who are you, monsieur?"

"An old soldier, retired commander, twenty campaigns, ten wounds, and a business man, to while away the hours. I hob-nob with the big capitalists, and frequently serve as intermediary between them and the sons of good families."

"Really, I fail to see what service you can render me."

"What service, my young friend!—permit an old trooper to give you that title—you ask what service I can render you, a poor notary clerk! You vegetate, you share a wretched attic room with your father, and you are dressed—heaven knows how!"

"Monsieur!" cried Louis, flushing with indignation.

"My dear young friend, these are facts which I state with regret, with indignation, almost. The devil! a young man like you should spend twenty-five to thirty thousand francs per annum, have horses and mistresses, and enjoy the luxuries of life!"

"Is this a jest, monsieur?" asked Louis, haughtily. "If so, I warn you that I am not in the humor to endure it."

"Being an old soldier, my young friend, I have already proved my bravery and valor on scores of occasions," remarked M. de La MiraudiÈre, boastfully, "and I can therefore allow your hasty words to pass unnoticed. Moreover, I admit that what I have said must sound very extraordinary to you."

"Most extraordinary, indeed!"

"Here is something that will convince you that I am speaking seriously, my young friend," went on the braggart, designating the bills before him. "Here are twenty-five thousand francs, which I will be most happy to place at your disposition, that you may establish yourself as a young man of good family; furthermore, you may draw on me for two thousand five hundred francs each month. I offer you these advances for five years; we shall count up later."

Louis was gazing at him in consternation, unable to believe his senses.

"You make that offer to me?" he queried, rousing himself from his stupefaction.

"Yes, and I am most happy to make it."

"To me?—Louis Richard?"

"To you, Louis Richard."

"Richard is a common name, monsieur; you must take me for some one else."

"Not at all! I know whom I am addressing; Louis DesirÉ Richard, only son of Alexander Timoleon Benedict Richard, aged sixty-seven years, born at Brie-Comte-Robert; domiciled at 23 Rue de Grenelle, public scribe by profession. As you see, there is no error, my young friend."

"If you know my family so well, monsieur, you must be aware that my poverty does not permit me to contract such a loan."

"Your poverty?—poor boy!"

"But—"

"This is abominable, a veritable outrage!" cried the business man in a tone of righteous indignation; "to bring up a young man in such error! to condemn him to spend the brightest years of his life in slavery! to reduce him to a shabby coat, blue stockings and laced shoes! But, happily—there is a Providence, and that Providence you see in me, my young friend. It appears to you under the features of Commander de La MiraudiÈre!"

"I am weary of this by-play, monsieur," returned Louis, impatiently.
"Pray explain yourself clearly, or I shall go."

"Very well!—You believe your father to be almost in want, do you not?"

"I am not ashamed of our poverty—"

"Oh! candid young man!"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, and you will then bless me as your saviour forever after."

Opening a voluminous register, he read the following statement:

"Record of personal property of Alexandre Timoleon
Benedict Richard (information taken by Credit
Committee of the Bank of France, May 1, 18—.)
Three thousand, nine hundred and twenty
shares in the Bank of France (actual value) .. 924,300 frs.
Bonds of the Mont-de-PiÉtÉ ………………… 875,250 frs.
Deposit in Bank of France …………………. 259,130 frs.
Total …………………………….. 2,058,680 frs."

"As you see, my innocent young friend," continued the pompous commander, "the known personal property of your esteemed and honorable father amounts to two millions, fifty-eight thousand, six hundred and eighty francs, according to official statistics. But everything leads us to believe that, like all misers, your worthy father has a good round lump of gold hidden somewhere. But even placing things at their lowest, you see that the author of your being possesses over two millions, at least. As his income is about a hundred thousand livres per annum, and he does not spend twelve hundred francs, you shall enjoy a very large fortune some day; you can, therefore, feel no astonishment at my offer."

This revelation paralyzed the young man with amazement. A thousand confused thoughts struggled in his mind, and he stared at his companion stupidly, unable to utter a word.

"You are quite dazed, my young friend," pursued the commander. "I suppose you imagine you must be dreaming!"

"Indeed, I scarcely know whether to believe you or not," said Louis, still sadly bewildered.

"Do as Saint Thomas did, my young friend: touch these twenty-five thousand franc notes; it will give you faith. The capitalists whom I represent, are not men who throw away money; and here, I may add, that they make these advances at the rate of eight per cent. the commission for my obliging services being seven per cent. more. You are too much of a gentleman to bargain over such trifles; besides, both capital and interest will barely reach half your father's yearly income. Even while spending at the rate of fifty thousand francs per annum, you will be economizing; yet, it will enable you to await the supreme hour patiently—I mean the hour when the old man—you understand! Moreover, as the said old man might be astonished at your high way of living, I have thought of a most ingenious explanation. You will hold a ticket in a lottery and presumably draw the capital prize, a diamond which you will sell for eight or nine thousand francs. This you will be supposed to have entrusted to a friend who, in his turn, invested the money in a magnificent enterprise, paying three hundred per cent. per annum. Thanks to this stratagem, you can spend your twenty-five to thirty thousand francs right under the paternal nose without awakening any suspicions. Now, young man, was I presumptuous in affecting providential airs toward you? But why this gloom and silence? I, who expected you to burst with delight, to shout with joy, to cut capers, and give vent to many other manifestations totally excusable in the first moments of rejoicing over your sudden transformation from a poor notary clerk into a millionaire! Why don't you answer me? Heavens! I fear his sudden happiness has bereft him of his senses!"

This revelation, which would doubtless have thrown anyone else into a state of delirious joy, caused the most painful emotion to Louis Richard. To begin with, the long dissimulation and distrust shown by his father in leaving him in ignorance of his wealth, wounded him to the heart; and then—this was the most cruel thought to him—he remembered that he could never share these riches with Mariette; that by her heartless desertion she had deprived him of the pleasure of changing her wretched, joyless existence into a life of luxury and happiness.

This reflection revived his bitter grief; and, forgetting everything but the explanation he had sworn to demand from this man before him, he drew the offending visiting card from his pocket, saying haughtily:

"You left this card for me at my home, monsieur?"

"Certainly, my young friend, but—"

"Can you explain, monsieur, how the name and address of Mademoiselle Mariette Moreau came to be scribbled on it?" continued Louis, glaring at him.

"What!" exclaimed the amazed commander.

"I wish to know how Mademoiselle Mariette Moreau's address comes to be on this card!" repeated Louis coldly.

"The devil! he must have lost his senses!" said the usurer. "My dear young fellow, I speak to you of millions, of thirty thousand francs yearly, and you answer by speaking of—grisettes!"

"When I ask a question, monsieur," thundered Louis, "I expect a reply!"

"And you assume such a tone with me, my young friend!"

"If my tone does not suit you, I cannot help it."

"The deuce, my young fellow!" cried the usurer, fiercely. "But, bah!" he added, twirling his black moustache caressingly between his fingers, "I have proved my bravery scores of times—I, an old soldier, perforated with bullets, can pass such words unnoticed. My dear client, the name and address of that little girl were found on my card, because I wrote them down that I might not forget where to find her."

"You know Mademoiselle Mariette then?"

"Most assuredly!"

"You court her?"

"Once in a while."

"And you hope?—"

"Much."

"Monsieur, I forbid you to ever set foot in her home again!"

"So I have found a rival!" said the usurer to himself. "Ah! I now understand the girl's refusal. I must sound him, drive him to jealousy, push him into a trap. The girl is worth having, and I must check this passionate youth."

"My dear sir," he asked aloud, "when I am forbidden to do a thing, I consider it my first duty to do that very thing."

"That remains to be seen!"

"Listen, young man; I have fought fifty-seven duels, and can therefore dispense with the fifty-eighth. I prefer to reason with you. Allow me one question: You have just returned from a journey?"

"I have."

"You were absent several days, and have not seen Mariette since your return?"

"But—"

"My dear young friend, you only share the lot of many others. Mariette knows nothing of your wealth; so when I offered her enough to turn the head of any starved working girl, she accepted with delight. Her godmother, who is also half starved, has a natural inclination for the luxuries of this life, and as the absent ones are always in the wrong—you understand—"

"Oh, my God! is it true then!" moaned Louis piteously, his wrath giving way to hopeless despair.

"Had I known I was entering in competition with a future client I would have abandoned the game," resumed the usurer; "but it is too late now. Besides, my young friend, there is nothing to cry about. This girl was much too inexperienced for you; you would have had to form her, while there are many charming women ready to drop in your arms. I would particularly recommend a certain Madame de Saint-Hildebrande—"

"Wretch!" cried Louis indignantly, grasping him by the collar and shaking him vigorously. "You miserable scoundrel!"

"Sir, you will give me satisfaction for this—!" gasped the enraged commander.

The door opened abruptly and the two adversaries turned their heads simultaneously as a gay burst of laughter rang through the room.

"Saint-Herem!" exclaimed Louis, recognizing his old friend.

"You here!" cried Florestan de Saint-Herem, grasping the young man's hand and gazing curiously into his pale face.

"May the devil take him for coming in at this moment!" muttered the usurer between his clenched teeth, as he readjusted the collar of his dressing-gown.