Louis’s dream, the height of his ambition, was to be ranked among the great manufacturers of France.

He was prouder of being called “iron-founder” than of his marquisate.

During his adventurous life, he had met with so many titled gamblers and cut-throats, that he no longer believed in the prestige of nobility.  It was impossible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine.  He thought what was so easily imitated was not worth the having.

Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic century attaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is rich enough to display them upon a splendid coach.

One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be a forge-master without owning iron-works.

Louis now thirsted for the homage of the world.  All the badly digested humiliations of the past weighed upon him.

He had suffered so much contempt and scorn from his fellow-men, that he burned to avenge himself.  After a disgraceful youth, he longed to live a respected and honored old age.

His past career disturbed him little.  He was sufficiently acquainted with the world to know that the noise of his coach-wheels would silence the jeers of those who knew his former life.

These thoughts fermented in Louis’s brain as he journeyed from Pau to Paris.  He troubled his mind not in the least about Raoul, determined to use him as a tool so long as he needed his services, and then pay him a large sum if he would go back to England.

All these plans and thoughts were afterward found noted down in the diary which he had in his pocket at the time of the journey.

The first interview between the accomplices took place at the Hotel du Louvre.

Raoul, having a practical turn of mind, said he thought that they both ought to be contented with the result already obtained, and that it would be folly to try and grasp anything more.

“What more do we want?” he asked his uncle.  “We now possess over a million; let us divide it and keep quiet.  We had better be satisfied with our good luck, and not tempt Providence.”

But this moderation did not suit Louis.

“I am rich,” he replied, “but I desire more than wealth.  I am determined to marry Madeleine:  I swear she shall be my wife!  In the first place, I madly love her, and then, as the nephew of the most eminent banker in Paris, I at once gain high position and public consideration.”

“I tell you, uncle, your courtship will involve you in great risks.”

“I don’t care if it does.  I choose to run them.  My intention is to share my fortune with you; but I will not do so till the day after my wedding.  Madeleine’s fortune will then be yours.”

Raoul was silent.  Clameran held the money, and was therefore master of the situation.

“You don’t seem to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out your wishes,” he said discontentedly; “how are you to account for your suddenly acquired fortune?  M. Fauvel knows that a Clameran lived at Oloron, and had money in his bank.  You tell him that you never heard of this person bearing your name, and then, at the end of the month, you come and say that you have inherited his fortune.  People don’t inherit fortunes from perfect strangers; so you had better trump up some relationship.”