"She is the heiress of several millions."

It was evident that this explanation did not shake Baron
Trigault's faith in his friend. "But the marquis has an income of
a hundred and fifty or two hundred thousand francs," said he;
"that is an all-sufficient justification. With his fortune and
his name, he is in a position to choose his wife from among all
the heiresses of France. Why should he address his attentions in
particular to the woman you love? Ah! if he were poor--if his
fortune were impaired--if he felt the need of regilding his
escutcheon, like my son-in-law----"

He paused; there was a rap at the door. The baron called out:
"Come in," and a valet appeared, and informed his master that the
Marquis de Valorsay wished to speak with him.

It was the enemy! Pascal's features were distorted with rage; but
he did not stir--he did not utter a word. "Ask the marquis into
the next room," said the baron. "I will join him there at once."
Then as the servant retired, the baron turned to Pascal and said:
"Well, M. Ferailleur, do you divine my intentions?"

"I think so, monsieur. You probably intend me to hear the
conversation you are going to have with M. de Valorsay."

"Exactly. I shall leave the door open, and you can listen."

This word, "listen," was uttered without bitterness, or even
reproach; and yet Pascal could not help blushing and hanging his