“It was in the name of that daughter that Affrays wrung considerable sums from the Marquis de Tregars.  As soon as Thaller and she found themselves in possession of six hundred thousand francs, they dismissed the marquis, and got married.  Already, at that time, Thaller had taken the title of baron, and lived in some style.  But his first speculations were not successful.  The revolution of 1848 finished his ruin, and he was about being expelled from the bourse, when he found me on his way,—­I, poor fool, who was going about everywhere, asking how I could advantageously invest my hundred and fifty thousand francs.”

He was speaking in a hoarse voice, shaking his clinched fist in the air, doubtless at the Baron de Thaller.

“Unfortunately,” he resumed, “it was only much later that I discovered all this.  At the moment, M. de Thaller dazzled me.  His friends, Saint Pavin and the bankers Jottras, proclaimed him the smartest and the most honest man in France.  Still I would not have given my money, if it had not been for the baroness.  The first time that I was introduced to her, and that she fixed upon me her great black eyes, I felt myself moved to the deepest recesses of my soul.  In order to see her again, I invited her, together with her husband and her husband’s friends, to dine with me, by the side of my wife and children.  She came.  Her husband made me sign every thing he pleased; but, as she went off, she pressed my hand.”

He was still shuddering at the recollection of it, the poor fellow!

“The next day,” he went on, “I handed to Thaller all I had in the world; and, in exchange, he gave me the position of cashier in the Mutual Credit, which he had just founded.  He treated me like an inferior, and did not admit me to visit his family.  But I didn’t care:  the baroness had permitted me to see her again, and almost every afternoon I met her at the Tuileries; and I had made bold to tell her that I loved her to desperation.  At last, one evening, she consented to make an appointment with me for the second following day, in an apartment which I had rented.

“The day before I was to meet her, and whilst I was beside myself with joy, the Baron de Thaller requested me to assist him, by means of certain irregular entries, to conceal a deficit arising from unsuccessful speculations.  How could I refuse a man, whom, as I thought, I was about to deceive grossly!  I did as he wished.  The next day Mme. de Thaller became my mistress; and I was a lost man.”

Was he trying to exculpate himself?  Was he merely yielding to that imperious sentiment, more powerful than the will or the reason, which impels the criminal to reveal the secret which oppresses him?

“From that day,” he went on, “began for me the torment of that double existence which I underwent for years.  I had given to my mistress all I had in the world; and she was insatiable.  She wanted money always, any way, and in heaps.  She made me buy the house in the Rue du Cirque for our meetings; and, between the demands of the husband and those of the wife, I was almost insane.  I drew from the funds of the Mutual Credit as from an inexhaustible mine; and, as I foresaw that some day must come when all would be discovered, I always carried about me a loaded revolver, with which to blow out my brains when they came to arrest me.”