across the threshold, and overtook him on the staircase.

"My papers!" he shouted imperiously. "Here they are, sir," said
the old fellow quietly.

Felix regained his room, bolted the door, and counted the immense
sum contained in the pocket-book with excitement bordering on
frenzy. Then he bathed his burning head with cold water, and
threw an anxious look around the room.

"I must have had an attack of fever," he muttered.

[Illustration: A TROPIC FOREST.--GRANVILLE PERKINS]

"Mandarins don't rise from the dead, and a man can't kill another
by simply lifting his finger. So my philosopher talked like one
who knows nothing of moral experience. If the fancy of an unreal
crime almost drove me mad, what must be the remorse of an actual
criminal?"

The same evening Felix ordered post horses and set out for
France.

Some months later, Monsieur Montmorot, chevalier of the legion of
honor, gave a grand dinner to celebrate his daughter's betrothal
with the Marquis Felix d'Aubremel, one of the noblest names in
France, as he styled it. The contract settling a part of his
fortune on his daughter Ernestine was signed at nine in the
evening. The Monday following the pair presented themselves
before the civil officials to solemnize their marriage by due