"The waiter who attends the card-room at the club."

"The waiter?" cried Madame Desvarennes, astonished.

"Oh, he is a sort of banker," said Marechal. "These gentlemen apply to
him when they run short of money. The Prince must have found himself in
that predicament. Still he has just received the rents for the property
in the Rue de Rivoli."

"The rents!" grumbled Madame Desvarennes, with an energetic movement.
"The rents! A drop of water in a river! You don't know that he is a man
to lose the hundred thousand francs which they claim, in one night."

The mistress paced up and down the room. She suddenly came to a
standstill. "If I don't stop him, the rogue will sell the feather-bed
from under my daughter! But he shall have a little of my mind! He has
provoked me long enough. Pay it! I'll take my money's worth out of
him."

And in a second, Madame Desvarennes was in the Prince's room.

Serge, after a delicate breakfast, was smoking and dozing on the smoking-
room sofa. The night had been a heavy one for him. He had won two
hundred and fifty thousand francs from Ibrahim Bey, then he had lost all,
besides five thousand louis advanced by the obliging Salignon. He had
told the waiter to come to the Rue Saint-Dominique, and by mistake the
man had gone to the office.

The sudden opening of the smoking-room door roused Serge. He unclosed