“Ah!” said M. Verduret; “he has just discovered our man.”

Clameran’s uneasiness was quite apparent; he walked forward a few steps, as if intending to cross the bridge; then, suddenly turning around, rapidly walked in the direction of the Rue St. Jacques.

“He is caught!” cried M. Verduret with delight.

At that moment the door opened, and Mme. Nina Gypsy, alias Palmyre Chocareille, entered.

Poor Nina!  Each day spent in the service of Madeleine seemed to have aged her a year.

Tears had dimmed the brilliancy of her beautiful black eyes; her rosy cheeks were pale and hollow, and her merry smile was quite gone.

Poor Gypsy, once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the burden of her sorrows, was the picture of misery.

Prosper thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, and proud of having so nobly devoted herself to his interest, Nina would throw her arms around his neck, and say how much she loved him.  To his surprise, Nina scarcely spoke to him.  Although his every thought had been devoted to Madeleine since he discovered the reasons for her cruelty, he was hurt by Nina’s cold manner.

The girl stood looking at M. Verduret with a mixture of fear and devotion, like a poor dog that has been cruelly treated by its master.

He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner toward her.

“Well, my dear,” he said encouragingly, “what news do you bring me?”

“Something is going on at the house, monsieur, and I have been trying to get here to tell you; at last, Mlle. Madeleine made an excuse for sending me out.”

“You must thank Mlle. Madeleine for her confidence in me.  I suppose she carried out the plan we decided upon?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“She receives the Marquis of Clameran’s visits?”

“Since the marriage has been decided upon, he comes every day, and mademoiselle receives him with kindness.  He seems to be delighted.”

These answers filled Prosper with anger and alarm.  The poor young man, not comprehending the intricate moves of M. Verduret, felt as if he were being tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool and laughing-stock of everybody.

“What!” he cried; “this worthless Marquis of Clameran, an assassin and a thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel’s, and pay his addresses to Madeleine?  Where are the promises, monsieur, which you have made?  Have you merely been amusing yourself by raising my hopes, to dash them—­”

“Enough!” interrupted M. Verduret harshly; “you are too green to understand anything, my friend.  If you are incapable of helping yourself, at least have sense enough to refrain from importuning those who are working for you.  Do you not think you have already done sufficient mischief?”

Having administered this rebuke, he turned to Gypsy, and said in softer tones: 

“Go on, my child:  what have you discovered?”