the sound of a stifled oath in the adjoining room; and had he been
less absorbed in the part he was playing, he would have observed a
cloud on his companion's brow. The baron was a keen observer, and
he had detected a false ring in this apparently vehement outburst
of passion. "I understand it now, my dear marquis," said he; "you
have met the descendant of some illustrious but impoverished
family."

"You are wrong. My future bride has no other name than her
Christian name of Marguerite."

"It is a regular romance then!"

"You are quite right; it is a romance. Were you acquainted with
the Count de Chalusse, who died a few days ago?"

"No; but I have often heard him spoken of."

"Well, it is his daughter whom I am about to marry--his
illegitimate daughter."

The baron started. "Excuse me," said he; "M. de Chalusse was
immensely rich, and he was a bachelor. How does it happen then
that his daughter, even though she be his illegitimate child,
should find herself penniless?"

"A mere chance--a fatality. M. de Chalusse died very suddenly; he
had no time to make a will or to acknowledge his daughter."

"But why had he not taken some precautions?"