The smile upon Mascarin’s face was so full of sarcasm that the Count broke off.

“Those who sent me here,” remarked the agent, slowly, “are well acquainted with the evidence produced in court; but unfortunately, they know the real facts, which certain honorable gentlemen had sense to conceal at any risk.”

Again the Count started, but Mascarin went on implacably,—­

“But reassure yourself, your friend did not betray you voluntarily.  Providence, in her inscrutable decrees——­”

The Count shuddered.

“In short, sir, in short——­”

Up to this time Mascarin had remained standing, but now that he saw that his position was fully established, he drew up a chair and sat down.  The Count grew more livid at this insolent act, but made no comment, and this entirely removed any doubts from the agent’s mind.

“The event to which I have alluded has two eye-witnesses, the Baron de Clinchain, and a servant, named Ludovic Trofin, now in the employ of the Count du Commarin.”

“I did not know what had become of Trofin.”

“Perhaps not, but my people do.  When he swore to keep the matter secret, he was unmarried, but a few years later, having entered the bonds of matrimony, he told all to his young wife.  This woman turned out badly; she had several lovers, and through one of them the matter came to my employer’s ears.”

“And it was on the word of a lackey, and the gossip of a dissolute woman, that they have dared to accuse me.”

No word of direct accusation had passed, and yet the Count sought to defend himself.

Mascarin saw all this, and smiled inwardly, as he replied, “We have other evidence than that of Ludovic.”

“But,” said the Count, who was sure of the fidelity of his friend, “you do not, I suppose, pretend that the Baron de Clinchain has deceived me?”

The state of mental anxiety and perturbation into which this man of the world had been thrown must have been very intense for him not to have perceived that every word he uttered put a fresh weapon in his adversary’s hands.

“He has not denounced you by word of mouth,” replied the agent.  “He has done far more; he has written his testimony.”

“It is a lie,” exclaimed the Count.

Mascarin was not disturbed by this insult.

“The Baron has written,” repeated he, “though he never thought that any eye save his own would read what he had penned.  As you are aware, the Baron de Clinchain is a most methodical man, and punctilious to a degree.”

“I allow that; continue.”

“Consequently you will not be surprised to learn that from his earliest years he has kept a diary, and each day he puts down in the most minute manner everything that has occurred, even to the different conditions of his bodily health.”

The Count knew of his friend’s foible, and remembered that when they were young many a practical joke had been played upon his friend on this account, and now he began to perceive the dangerous ground upon which he stood.