“Once more, M. Elgin, have pity on a poor man, and leave the answer with the concierge.  I will come by about nine o’clock.  A. Malgat.”

Not on the margin, as before, but across the lines, M. Elgin had written these laconic words:—­

“Answered immediately.  No!  The scamp!”

Daniel could not have uttered a word to save his life; he was too fearfully excited.  Miss Brandon continued,—­

“We were dining alone that day; and M. Elgin was so indignant, that he forgot his usual reserve, and told us everything.  Ah!  I felt only pity for the poor man; and I besought him to give the wretch the means to escape.  But he was inflexible.  Seeing, however, how excited I was, he tried to reassure me by telling me that Malgat would certainly not come, that he would not dare to expect an answer to such a letter.”

She pressed both her hands on her heart, as if to still its beating; and then continued, in a weak voice,—­

“Nevertheless, he came, and, seeing his hopes disappointed, he insisted upon speaking to us.  The servants let him go up, and he entered.  Ah! if I lived a thousand years, I should never forget that fearful scene.  Feeling that all was lost, this thief, this defaulter, had become enraged; he demanded money.  At first he asked for it on his knees in humble words; but, when he found that this did not answer, he suddenly rose in a perfect fury, his mouth foaming, his eyes bloodshot, and overwhelmed us with the coarsest insults.  At last M. Elgin’s patience gave out, and he rang for the servants.  They had to employ force to drag him out; and, as they pushed him down stairs, he threatened us with his fist, and swore that he would be avenged.”

Miss Brandon shuddered till she appeared to be all in a quiver; and, for a moment, Daniel thought she was going to be ill.  But she made an effort to overcome her weakness; and, in a more decided tone, she continued,—­

“Forty-eight hours passed; and the impression of this horrible scene began to fade from our minds, till it appeared like a bad dream.  If we mentioned Malgat at all, it was with pity and contempt; for what could he do to us?  Nothing, you will say.  Even if he should dare to accuse us of some great crime, we thought no one would listen to him, and we should never hear of it.  How could we imagine that the world would set to work doubting our honor upon the mere word of a wretch like him?

“His crime had, in the meantime, become known; and all the papers were full of it, adding a number of more or less reliable stories.  They exaggerated the sums he had stolen; and they said he had succeeded in escaping to England, and that the police had lost his traces in London.

“I, poor girl, had nearly forgotten the whole matter.

“He had really fled; but, before leaving Paris, he had succeeded in preparing everything for the vengeance which he had threatened.  Where could he have found people mean enough to serve his purposes? and who were they?  I do not know.  Perhaps he did nothing more, as Mrs. Brian suggested, than to address two or three anonymous letters to some of our acquaintances, who he knew did not like us, or envied us.