“Where are your proofs?”

“Don’t be afraid:  I have proofs to sustain all my allegations.”

The baroness had stretched herself comfortably in her arm-chair.

“May we know them?” she inquired.

Marius was getting somewhat uneasy in presence of Mme. de Thaller’s imperturbable assurance.  What hope had she?  Could she see some means of escape from a situation apparently so desperate?  Determined to prove to her that all was lost, and that she had nothing to do but to surrender,

“Oh!  I know, madame,” he replied, “that you have taken your precautions.  But, when Providence interferes, you see, human foresight does not amount to much.  See, rather, what happens in regard to your first daughter,—­the one you had when you were still only Marquise de Javelle.”

And briefly he called to her mind the principal incidents of Mlle. Lucienne’s life from the time that she had left her with the poor gardeners at Louveciennes, without giving either her name or her address,—­the injury she had received by being run over by Mme. de Thaller’s carriage; the long letter she had written from the hospital, begging for assistance; her visit to the house, and her meeting with the Baron de Thaller; the effort to induce her to emigrate to America; her arrest by means of false information, and her escape, thanks to the kind peace-officer; the attempt upon her as she was going home late one night; and, finally, her imprisonment after the Commune, among the petroleuses, and her release through the interference of the same honest friend.

And, charging her with the responsibility of all these infamous acts, he paused for an answer or a protest.

And, as Mme. de Thaller said nothing,

“You are looking at me, madame, and wondering how I have discovered all that.  A single word will explain it all.  The peace-officer who saved your daughter is precisely the same to whom it was once my good fortune to render a service.  By comparing notes, we have gradually reached the truth,—­reached you, madame.  Will you acknowledge now that I have more proofs than are necessary to apply to the courts?”

Whether she acknowledged it or not, she did not condescend to discuss.

“What then?” she said coldly.

But M. de Tregars was too much on his guard to expose himself, by continuing to speak thus, to reveal the secret of his designs.

Besides, whilst he was thoroughly satisfied as to the manoeuvres used to defraud his father he had, as yet, but presumptions on what concerned Vincent Favoral.

“Permit me not to say another word, madame,” he replied.  “I have told you enough to enable you to judge of the value of my weapons.”

She must have felt that she could not make him change his mind, for she rose to go.

“That is sufficient,” she uttered.  “I shall reflect; and to-morrow I shall give you an answer.”