And he showed to Marius the handle of a revolver protruding from his pocket.

“And if only she had been faithful to me!” he continued, becoming more and more animated.  “But what have I not endured!  When the Marquis de Tregars returned to Paris, and they set about defrauding him of his fortune, she did not hesitate a moment to become his mistress again.  She used to tell me, ’What a fool you are! all I want is his money.  I love no one but you.’  But after his death she took others.  She made use of our house in the Rue du Cirque for purposes of dissipation for herself and her daughter Cesarine.  And I—­miserable coward that I was!—­I suffered all, so much did I tremble to lose her, so much did I fear to be weaned from the semblance of love with which she paid my fearful sacrifices.  And now she would betray me, forsake me!  For every thing that has taken place was suggested by her in order to procure a sum wherewith to fly to America.  It was she who imagined the wretched comedy which I played, so as to throw upon myself the whole responsibility.  M. de Thaller has had millions for his share:  I have only had twelve hundred thousand francs.”

Violent nervous shudders shook his frame:  his face became purple.  He drew himself up, and, brandishing the letters which he held in his hand,

“But all is not over!” he exclaimed.  “There are proofs which neither the baron nor his wife know that I have.  I have the proof of the infamous swindle of which the Marquis de Tregars was the victim.  I have the proof of the farce got up by M. de Thaller and myself to defraud the stockholders of the Mutual Credit!”

“What do you hope for?”

He was laughing a stupid laugh.

“I?  I shall go and hide myself in some suburb of Paris, and write to Affrays to come.  She knows that I have twelve hundred thousand francs.  She will come; and she will keep coming as long as I have any money.  And when I have no more:—­”

He stopped short, starting back, his arms outstretched as if to repel a terrifying apparition.  Mlle. Gilberte had just appeared at the door.

“My daughter!” stammered the wretch.  “Gilberte!”

“The Marquise de Tregars,” uttered Marius.

An inexpressible look of terror and anguish convulsed the features of Vincent Favoral:  he guessed that it was the end.

“What do you want with me?” he stammered.

“The money that you have stolen, father,” replied the girl in an inexorable tone of voice,—­“the twelve hundred thousand francs which you have here, then the proofs which are in your hands, and, finally your weapons.”

He was trembling from head to foot.

“Take away my money!” he said.  “Why, that would be compelling me to give myself up!  Do you wish to see me in prison?”

“The disgrace would fall back upon your children, sir,” said M. de Tregars.  “We shall, on the contrary, do every thing in the world to enable you to evade the pursuit of the police.”