“You have come,” he said severely, “to hear the secret of my conduct.  I have promised, and will keep my word, however painful it may be to my feelings.  Listen, then.  My best friend is a loyal, honest man, named Caldas.  Eighteen months ago this friend was the happiest of men.  Infatuated by a woman, he lived for her alone, and, fool that he was, imagined that she felt the same love for him.”

“She did!” cried Gypsy, “yes, she always loved him.”

“She showed her love in a peculiar way.  She loved him so much, that one fine day she left him, and ran off with another man.  In his first moments of despair, Caldas wished to kill himself.  Then he reflected that it would be wiser to live, and avenge himself.”

“And then,” faltered Prosper.

“Then Caldas avenged himself in his own way.  He made the woman who deserted him recognize his immense superiority over his rival.  Weak, timid, and helpless, the rival was disgraced, and falling over the verge of a precipice, when the powerful hand of Caldas reached forth and saved him.  You understand all now, do you not?  The woman is Nina; the rival is yourself; and Caldas is—­”

With a quick, dexterous movement, he threw off his wig and whiskers, and stood before them the real, intelligent, proud Lecoq.

“Caldas!” cried Nina.

“No, not Caldas, not Verduret any longer:  but Lecoq, the detective!”

M. Lecoq broke the stupefied silence of his listeners by saying to Prosper: 

“It is not to me alone that you owe your salvation.  A noble girl confided to me the difficult task of clearing your reputation.  I promised her that M. Fauvel should never know the shameful secrets concerning his domestic happiness.  Your letter thwarted all my plans, and made it impossible for me to keep my promise.  I have nothing more to say.”

He turned to leave the room, but Nina barred his exit.

“Caldas,” she murmured, “I implore you to have pity on me!  I am so miserable!  Ah, if you only knew!  Be forgiving to one who has always loved you, Caldas!  Listen.”

Prosper departed from M. Lecoq’s office alone.

On the 15th of last month, was celebrated, at the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, the marriage of M. Prosper Bertomy and Mlle. Madeleine Fauvel.

The banking-house is still on the Rue de Provence; but as M. Fauvel has decided to retire from business, and live in the country, the name of the firm has been changed, and is now—­

“Prosper Bertomy & Co.”