a little money to buy a glass of wine.  He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to give a letter to M. de Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer.  He acquitted himself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission.  But, because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinet felt quite at peace.  Besides being tormented by the thought that he had betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of an accomplice.  How easily might he not be betrayed!  A slight indiscretion, an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it.  What would become of him then?

He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one.  He would lose confidence and consideration.  Farewell to all ambitious dreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage.  And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he had done, and felt quite ready to do it over again.  He was in this state of mind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia’s letter.

“What, again?” he exclaimed.

And when he had read the few lines, he replied,—­

“Tell your mistress I will be there!” But in his heart he thought some untoward event must have happened.

The little garden-gate was half-open:  he had only to push it to enter.  There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance from him, under the trees, he recognized Dionysia, and went towards her.

“Pardon me, sir,” she said, “for having dared to send for you.”

Mechinet’s anxiety vanished instantly.  He thought no longer of his strange position.  His vanity was flattered by the confidence which this young lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the most beautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country.

“You were quite right to send for me, madam,” he replied, “if I can be of any service to you.”

In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, he replied,—­

“I am entirely of M. Folgat’s opinion, and think that grief and isolation begin to have their effect upon M. de Boiscoran’s mind.”

“Oh, that thought is maddening!” murmured the poor girl.

“I think, as M. Magloire does, that M. de Boiscoran, by his silence, only makes his situation much worse.  I have a proof of that.  M. Galpin, who, at first, was all doubt and anxiety, is now quite reassured.  The attorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments his energy.”

“And then.”

“Then we must induce M. de Boiscoran to speak.  I know very well that he is firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, since you can write to him”—­

“A letter would be useless.”

“But”—­

“Useless, I tell you.  But I know a means.”

“You must use it promptly, madam:  don’t lose a moment.  There is no time.”

The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how very pale Dionysia was.