that I was going down to his house that day to thank him. He replied,
'Don't go; it did not come from him.' 'It must; see the post-mark of the
envelope,--Fontainebleau.' 'I posted it at Fontainebleau.' 'You sent me
the money, you!' 'Nay, that is beyond my means. Where it came from,'
said this _miserable_, 'much more may yet come;' and then be narrated,
with that cynicism so in vogue at Paris, how he had told the Duchesse
(who knew him as my intimate associate) of my stress of circumstance,
of his fear that I meditated something desperate; how she gave him the
jewels to sell and to substitute; how, in order to baffle my suspicion
and frustrate my scruples, he had gone to Fontainebleau and there posted
the envelope containing the bank-notes, out of which he secured for
himself the payment he deemed otherwise imperilled. De N. having made
this confession, hurried down the stairs swiftly enough to save himself a
descent by the window. Do you believe me still?"

"Yes; you were always so hot-blooded, and De N. so considerate of self,
I believe you implicitly."

"Of course I did what any man would do; I wrote a hasty letter to the
Duchesse, stating all my gratitude for an act of pure friendship so
noble; urging also the reasons that rendered it impossible for a man of
honour to profit by such an act. Unhappily, what had been sent was paid
away ere I knew the facts; but I could not bear the thought of life till
my debt to her was acquitted; in short, Louvier, conceive for yourself
the sort of letter which I--which any honest man--would write, under
circumstances so cruel."

"H'm!" grunted Louvier.

"Something, however, in my letter, conjoined with what De N. had told her