Every now and then he paused to think.  “Who upon earth can this fellow be?” asked he of himself.  He reviewed the whole question—­chances, probabilities, and risks, not one was neglected, but all in vain.

“A thousand devils!” growled he; “are the police at my heels?”

His nerves were terribly shaken, and he strove in vain to regain his customary audacity.  By this time he had reached the door of Paul’s room, and, on his ringing, the door was at once opened; but at the sight of this woman he started back, with a cry of angry surprise; for it was a female figure that stood before him, a young girl—­Flavia, the daughter of Martin Rigal, the banker.

The keen eyes of Tantaine showed him that Flavia’s visit had not been of long duration.  She had removed her hat and jacket, and was holding in her hand a piece of fancy work.

“Whom do you wish to see, sir?” asked she.

The old man strove to speak, but his lips would not frame a single sentence.  A band of steel seemed to be compressing his throat, and he appeared like a man about to be seized with an apoplectic fit.

Flavia gazed upon the shabby-looking visitor with an expression of intense disgust.  It seemed to her that she had seen him somewhere; in fact, there was an inexplicable manner about him which entirely puzzled her.

“I want to speak to M. Paul,” said the old man in a low, hoarse whisper; “he is expecting me.”

“Then come in; but just now his doctor is with him.”

She threw open the door more widely, and stepped back, so that the greasy garments of the visitor might not touch her dress.  He passed her with an abject bow, and crossed the little sitting-room with the air of a man who perfectly understands his way.  He did not knock at the door of the bedroom, but went straight in; there a singular spectacle at once arrested his attention.  Paul, with a very pale face, was seated on the bed, while Hortebise was attentively examining his bare shoulder.  The whole of Paul’s right arm and shoulder was a large open wound, which seemed to have been caused by a burn or scald, and must have been extremely painful.  The doctor was bending over him, applying a cooling lotion to the injured place with a small piece of sponge.  He turned sharply round on Daddy Tantaine’s entrance; and so accustomed were these men to read each other’s faces at a glance that Hortebise saw at once what had happened; for Tantaine’s expression plainly said, “Is Flavia mad to be here?” while the eyes of Hortebise answered, “She may be, but I could not help it.”

Paul turned, too, and greeted the old man with an exclamation of delight.

“Come here,” said he merrily, “and just see to what a wretched state I have been reduced between the doctor and M. Mascarin.”

Tantaine examined the wound carefully.  “Are you quite sure,” asked he, “that not only will it deceive the Duke, who will see but with our eyes, but also those of his wife, and perhaps of his medical man?”