"I am fly; and mind you look out a good place for me."

Mascarin paid the bill, and then looked into the _café_ to inform the
doctor of his movements, and a few minutes later, Florestan in his
most sonorous voice, threw open the door of his master's room and
announced,--

"M. Mascarin."



CHAPTER V.

A FORGOTTEN CRIME.

Baptiste Mascarin had been in so many strange situations, from which he
had extricated himself with safety and credit, that he had the fullest
self-confidence, but as he ascended the wide staircase of the Hotel de
Mussidan, he felt his heart beat quicker in anticipation of the struggle
that was before him. It was twilight out of doors, but all within was
a blaze of light. The library into which he was ushered was a vast
apartment, furnished in severe taste. At the sound of the unaristocratic
name of Mascarin, which seemed as much out of place as a drunkard's oath
in the chamber of sleeping innocence, M. de Mussidan raised his head
in sudden surprise. The Count was seated at the other end of the room,
reading by the light of four candles placed in a magnificently wrought
candelabra. He threw down his paper, and raising his glasses, gazed with
astonishment at Mascarin, who, with his hat in his hand and his heart
in his mouth, slowly crossed the room, muttering a few unintelligible