himself, and seizing a pen, scrawled a few lines on a sheet of paper.  Evidently he was not satisfied with his composition, for after reading it over, he lit a match and burnt the paper.  He drank more brandy, and wrote a second letter, which, too, proved a failure, for he tore it to fragments, which he thrust into his waistcoat pocket.  Again he commenced, using greater care.  It was plain that he had forgotten where he was, for he gesticulated, uttered a broken sentence or two and evidently believed that he was in his own house.  His last letter seemed to satisfy him, and he recopied it with care.  He closed and directed it; then, tearing the original into pieces, he flung it under the table; then calling the waiter, he said, ’Here are twenty francs; take this letter to the address on the envelope.  Bring the answer to my house; here is my card.’  The man ran out of the room, and the nobleman, only waiting to pay his bill, followed almost immediately.  The morsels of white paper beneath the table had a strange fascination for me; I longed to gather them up, to put them together, and to learn the secret of the strange drama that had been acted before me.  But, as I have told you, then I was honest and virtuous, and the meanness of such an act revolted all my instincts; and I should have overcome this temptation, had it not been for one of those trifling incidents which too often form the turning-point of a life.  A draught from a suddenly opened door caught one of these morsels of paper, and wafted it to my feet.  I stooped and picked it up, and read on it the ominous words, ‘blow out my brains!’ I had not been mistaken, then, and was face to face with some coming tragedy.  Having once yielded, I made no further efforts at self-control.  The waiters were running about; no one paid any attention to me; and creeping to the place that the unknown had occupied, I obtained possession of two more scraps of paper.  Upon one I read, ‘shame and horror!’ upon the other, ‘one hundred thousand francs by to-night.’  The meaning of these few words were as clear as daylight to me; but for all that, I managed to collect every atom of the torn paper, and piecing them together, read this:—­

“’CHARLES,—­’I must have one hundred thousand francs to-night, and you are the only one to whom I can apply.  The shame and horror of my position are too much for me.  Can you send it me in two hours?  As you act, so I regulate my conduct.  I am either saved, or I blow out my brains.’

“You are probably surprised, Marquis, at the accuracy of my memory, and even now I can see this scrawl as distinctly as if it were before me.  At the end of this scrawl was a signature, one of the best known commercial names, which, in common with other financial houses, was struggling against a panic on the Bourse.  My discovery disturbed me very much.  I forgot all my miseries, and thought only of his.  Were not our positions entirely similar?  But by degrees a hideous temptation began