“Already, at the time of my father’s death, I suspected the abominable tricks of which he was the victim.  I thought it unworthy of me to verify my suspicions.  I was alone in the world:  my wants were few.  I was fully convinced that my researches would give me, within a brief time, a much larger fortune than the one I gave up.  I found something noble and grand, and which flattered my vanity, in thus abandoning every thing, without discussion, without litigation, and consummating my ruin with a single dash of my pen.  Among my friends the Count de Villegre alone had the courage to tell me that this was a guilty piece of folly; that the silence of the dupes is the strength of the knaves; that my indifference, which made the rascals rich, would make them laugh too.  I replied that I did not wish to see the name of Tregars dragged into court in a scandalous law-suit, and that to preserve a dignified silence was to honor my father’s memory.  Treble fool that I was!  The only way to honor my father’s memory was to avenge him, to wrest his spoils from the scoundrels who had caused his death.  I see it clearly to-day.  But, before undertaking any thing, I wished to consult you.”

Mlle. Gilberte was listening with the most intense attention.  She had come to mingle so completely in her thoughts her future life and that of M. de Tregars, that she saw nothing unusual in the fact of his consulting her upon matters affecting their prospects, and of seeing herself standing there deliberating with him.

“You will require proofs,” she suggested.

“I have none, unfortunately,” replied M. de Tregars; “at least, none sufficiently positive, and such as are required by courts of justice.  But I think I may find them.  My former suspicions have become a certainty.  The same good luck that enabled me to deliver you of M. Costeclar’s persecutions, also placed in my hands the most valuable information.”

“Then you must act,” uttered Mlle. Gilberte resolutely.

Marius hesitated for a moment, as if seeking expression to convey what he had still to say.  Then,

“It is my duty,” he proceeded, “to conceal nothing from you.  The task is a heavy one.  The obscure schemers of ten years ago have become big financiers, intrenched behind their money-bags as behind an impregnable fort.  Formerly isolated, they have managed to gather around them powerful interests, accomplices high in office, and friends whose commanding situation protects them.  Having succeeded, they are absolved.  They have in their favor what is called public consideration,—­that idiotic thing which is made up of the admiration of the fools, the approbation of the knaves, and the concert of all interested vanities.  When they pass, their horses at full trot, their carriage raising a cloud of dust, insolent, impudent, swelled with the vulgar fatuity of wealth, people bow to the ground, and say, ‘Those are smart fellows!’ And in fact, yes, by skill