“No, indeed!  Twenty thousand francs a year was far too little for their immoderate desires!  They accepted this fortune as an installment on account on the future, and used it to wait patiently for new victims to be stripped.

“Unfortunately, such victims would not show themselves.  The house was mounted upon a most expensive footing.  M. de Brevan had, of course, claimed his share; Sir Thorn was a gambler; Sarah loved diamonds; and grim Mrs. Brian had her own vices.  In short, the hour came when danger was approaching; but, just at that moment, Sarah, looking around, met with the unlucky victim she needed.

“This one was a handsome young man, almost a child yet, kind, generous, and chivalrous.  He was an orphan, and came up from his province, his heart full of illusions, and in his pockets his entire fortune,—­a sum of five hundred thousand francs.  His name was Charles de Kergrist.

“Maxime managed to bring him to the house in Circus Street.  He saw Sarah, and was dazzled.  He loved her, and was lost.

“Ah!  The poor fellow did not last long.  At the end of five months, his half million was in the hands of Sarah.  And, when he had not a cent left, she well-nigh forced him to write her three forged drafts, swearing, that, on the day on which they became due, she would take them up herself.  But when the day came, and he called in Circus Street, he was received as Malgat had been received.  They told him that the forgery had been discovered:  that suit had been brought; that he was ruined.  They offered him, also, money to flee.

“Poor Kergrist!  They had not miscalculated.  Descended from a family in which a keen sense of honor had been hereditary for many generations, he did not hesitate.  As soon as he left the house, he hanged himself on Sarah’s window, thinking that he would thus hold up to public censure the infamous creature who had led him to commit a crime.

“Poor child!  They had deceived him.  He was not ruined.  The forgery had never been discovered; the drafts had never been used at all.  A careful investigation revealed nothing against Sarah Brandon; but the scandals of the suicide diminished her prestige.  She felt it; and, giving up her dreams of greatness, she thought of marrying a fool who was immensely wealthy, M. Wilkie Gordon, when Sir Thorn spoke to her of Count Ville-Handry.

“In fortune, name, and age, the count was exactly what Sarah had dreamed of so often.  She threw herself upon him.

“How the old gentleman was drawn to Circus Street; how he was surrounded, insnared, intoxicated, and finally made a husband—­all that you know but too well, M. Champcey.  But what you do not know is the fact that this marriage brought discord into the camp.  M. de Brevan would not hear of it; and it was the hope he had of breaking it up, which made him speak to you so frankly of Sarah Brandon.  When you went to ask his advice, he was on bad terms with her:  she had turned him off, and refused to pay him any money.  And he was so mortally offended, that he would have betrayed her to the courts even, if he had known how to do it without inculpating himself.