“But, Mr. Dumont, you are not a married man, you know, and one-third of it would be very handsome for you.”

“Very comfortable, indeed; and, no doubt, I ought to be very grateful to you for allowing me so much.”

“Exactly so.  Gratitude is a sentiment worthy of cherishing.  The fact is, Mr. Dumont, I intend to marry; and, for a man of my expensive habits, one-half is hardly an adequate share.  You are a single man, and not likely to change your condition at present, so that you can have no possible use, either for yourself or for your heirs, for any more than one-third.”

“Your calculations are excellent!” said Jaspar, with a withering sneer.  “But suppose I should grumble at your taking the lion’s share?”

“O, but, my dear sir, you will not grumble!  Your sense of justice will enable you to perceive the equity of this division.”

“Enough of this!  I am in no humor for jesting,” said Jaspar, with a frown.

“Jesting!” exclaimed the attorney, with a well-made gesture of astonishment; “I was never more in earnest in my life.”

“May I be allowed to inquire the name of your intended bride?” sneered Jaspar.

“A very proper question; and, considering our intimate friendship, a very natural one.  Although my intention is a profound secret, and one I should not like to have go abroad at present, especially as her nearest of kin might possibly object, still I shall venture to inform you, since you are to have the honor of providing the means of carrying my matrimonial designs into effect.”

“I am certainly under obligations for your favorable consideration.  But the lady’s name?”

“Miss Emily Dumont! a beautiful creature—­high-spirited—­every way worthy—­”

“Damnation! this is too much,” growled Jaspar, fiercely, as he seized the pistol which lay near him, and levelled it at De Guy.  “You cursed villain!  You and I must cry quits!”

“Do not miss your aim!” coolly returned the attorney, drawing from his pocket a revolver.  “Miss not your aim, or the fortune is all mine.”

Jaspar was overcome by the coolness of De Guy, and, throwing down the pistol, he sank back into his chair, overpowered by the violence of his emotions.

“De Guy!” said he; “fiend! devil! you were born to torment me.  There is no hotter hell than thine!  Do thy work.  I must bear all,”—­and Jaspar felt that he was sold to the fiend before him.

“My dear sir, do not distress yourself,” replied the attorney, resuming his supercilious manner, which he had laid aside in the moment of peril.  “I offer you the means of safety.  You will escape all the dangers that lower over you by my plan, which, I am glad to see, you perfectly understand.”

“And lose the price for which I sold my soul?  Even Judas had his forty pieces of silver—­the more fool he, to throw them away!  I could not do this thing, if I would.  My soul is bound to my money.”