After torturing Mme. Fauvel for a long time, he finally revealed his scheme.

“We have in our hands,” he said, “the solution of this problem, which may be so easily reached that I regard it as an inspiration.”

Mme. Fauvel eagerly scanned his face as she listened with the pitiable resignation of a martyr.

“Have you not a cousin, a widow lady, who had two daughters, living at St. Remy?” asked Louis.

“Yes, Mme. de Lagors.”

“Precisely so.  What fortune has she?”

“She is poor, monsieur, very poor.”

“And, but for the assistance you render her secretly, she would be thrown upon the charity of the world.”

Mme. Fauvel was bewildered at finding the marquis so well informed of her private affairs.

“How could you have discovered this?” she asked.

“Oh, I know all about this affair, and many others besides.  I know, for example, that your husband has never met any of your relatives, and that he is not even aware of the existence of your cousin De Lagors.  Do you begin to comprehend my plan?”

She not only understood it, but also knew that she would end by being a party to it.

“All will succeed if you follow my instructions,” said Louis.  “To-morrow or next day, you will receive a letter from your cousin at St. Remy, telling you that she has sent her son to Paris on a visit, and begs you to receive and watch over him.  Naturally you show this letter to your husband; and a few days afterward he warmly welcomes your nephew, Raoul de Lagors, a handsome, rich, attractive young man, who does everything he can to please you both.”

“Monsieur,” replied Mme. Fauvel, “my cousin is a pious, honorable woman, and nothing would induce her to countenance so shameful a transaction.”

The marquis smiled scornfully, and said: 

“Who told you that I intended to confide in her?”

“But you would be obliged to do so!  How else?”

“You are very simple, madame.  The letter which you will receive, and show to your husband, will be dictated by me, and posted at St. Remy by a friend of mine.  If I spoke of the obligations under which you have placed your cousin, it was merely to show you that, in case of accident, her own interest would make her serve you.  Do you see any obstacle to this plan, madame?”

Mme. Fauvel’s eyes flashed with indignation.

“Is my will of no account?” she exclaimed.  “You seem to have made your arrangements without consulting me at all.”

“Excuse me,” said the marquis, with ironical politeness, “but I knew that you would take the same view of the matter as myself.  Your good sense would convince you of the necessity of using every possible means of rescuing your child from destruction.”

“But it is a crime, monsieur, that you propose—­an abominable crime!  My mind revolts at the very idea of it!”