At last evening came, and, at the appointed hour, Louis went to the field where they had met the night previous, and found Raoul lying on the grass smoking a fragrant cigar, as if he had no other object in life except to blow little clouds of smoke in the air, and count the stars in the clear sky above him.

“Well?” he carelessly said, as Louis approached, “have you decided upon anything?”

“Yes.  I have two projects, either of which would probably accomplish our object.”

“I am listening.”

Louis was silently thoughtful for a minute, as if arranging his thoughts so as to present them as clearly and briefly as possible.

“My first plan,” he began, “depends upon your approval.  What would you say, if I proposed to you to renounce the affair altogether?”

“What!”

“Would you consent to disappear, leave France, and return to London, if I paid you a good round sum?”

“What do you call a good round sum?”

“I will give you a hundred and fifty thousand francs.”

“My respected uncle,” said Raoul with a contemptuous shrug, “I am distressed to see how little you know me!  You try to deceive me, to outwit me, which is ungenerous and foolish on your part; ungenerous, because it fails to carry out our agreement; foolish, because as you know well enough, my power equals yours.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I am sorry for it.  I understand myself, and that is sufficient.  Oh!  I understand you, my dear uncle.  I have watched you with careful eyes, which are not to be deceived; I see through you clearly.  If you offer me one hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is because you intend to walk off with half a million for yourself.”

“You are talking like a fool,” said Clameran with virtuous indignation.

“Not at all; I only judge the future by the past.  Of all the large sums extorted from Mme. Fauvel, often against my wishes, I never received a tenth part.”

“But you know we have a reserve fund.”

“All very good; but you have the keeping of it, my good uncle.  It is very nice for you, but not so funny for me.  If our little plot were to be discovered to-morrow, you would walk off with the money-box, and leave your devoted nephew to be sent to prison.”

“Ingrate!” muttered Louis, as if distressed at these undeserved reproaches of his protege.

“You have hit on the very word I was trying to remember,” cried Raoul:  “‘ingrate’ is the name that just suits you.  But we have not time for this nonsense.  I will end the matter by proving how you have been trying to deceive me.”

“I would like to hear you do so if you can.”

“Very good.  In the first place, you told me that your brother only possessed a modest competency.  Now, I learn that Gaston has an income of at least sixty thousand francs.  It is useless for you to deny it; and how much is this property worth?  A hundred thousand crowns.  He had four hundred thousand francs deposited in M. Fauvel’s bank.  Total, seven hundred thousand francs.  And, besides all this, the broker in Oloron has orders to buy up a large amount of stocks and railroad shares, which will require large cash payments.  I have not wasted my day, you see, and have obtained all the information I came for.”