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M. de Tregars snapped his fingers with a gesture of indifference.

"It is certain," he replied, "that, for a month past, I have beendoing a singular business. But it is not by remaining on my chair,preaching against the corruption of the age, that I can attain myobject. The end justifies the means. Honest men are very silly,I think, to allow the rascals to get the better of them under thesentimental pretext that they cannot condescend to make use of theirweapons."But an honorable scruple was tormenting Maxence.

"And you think yourself well-informed, sir?" he inquired. "Youknow Lucienne?""Enough to know that she is not what she seems to be, and whatalmost any other would have been in her place; enough to be certain,that, if she shows herself two or three times a week riding aroundthe lake, it is not for her pleasure; enough, also, to be persuaded,that, despite appearances, she is not your mistress, and that, farfrom having disturbed your life, and compromised your prospects,she set you back into the right road, at the moment, perhaps, whenyou were about to branch off into the wrong path."Marius de Tregars was assuming fantastic proportions in the mind ofMaxence.

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"How did you manage," he stammered, "thus to find out the truth?""With time and money, every thing is possible.""But you must have had grave reasons to take so much trouble aboutLucienne.""Very grave ones, indeed.""You know that she was basely forsaken when quite a child?""Perfectly.""And that she was brought up through charity ""By some poor gardeners at Louveciennes: yes, I know all that."Maxence was trembling with joy. It seemed to him that his mostdazzling hopes were about to be realized. Seizing the hands ofMarius de Tregars,"Ah, you know Lucienne's family!" he exclaimed. But M. de Tregarsshook his head.

"I have suspicions," he answered; "but, up to this time, I havesuspicions only, I assure you.""But that family does exist; since they have already, at threedifferent times, attempted to get rid of the poor girl.""I think as you do; but we must have proofs: and we shall find some.

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You may rest assured of that."Here he was interrupted by the noise of the opening door.

The old servant came in, and advancing to the centre of the roomwith a mysterious look,"Madame Ia Baronne de Thaller," he said in a low voice.

Marius de Tregars started violently.

"Where?" he asked.

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"She is down stairs in her carriage," replied the servant. "Herfootman is here, asking whether monsieur is at home, and whethershe can come up.""Can she possibly have heard any thing?" murmured M. de Tregarswith a deep frown. And, after a moment of reflection,"So much the more reason to see her," he added quickly. "Let hercome. Request her to do me the honor of coming up stairs."This last incident completely upset all Maxence's ideas. He nolonger knew what to imagine.

"Quick," said M. de Tregars to him: "quick, disappear; and, whateveryou may hear, not a word!"And he pushed him into his bedroom, which was divided from the studyby a mere tapestry curtain. It was time; for already in the nextroom could be heard a great rustling of silk and starched petticoats.

Mme. de Thaller appeared.

She was still the same coarsely beautiful woman, who, sixteen yearsbefore, had sat at Mme. Favoral's table. Time had passed withoutscarcely touching her with the tip of his wing. Her flesh hadretained its dazzling whiteness; her hair, of a bluish black, itsmarvelous opulence; her lips, their carmine hue; her eyes, theirlustre. Her figure only had become heavier, her features lessdelicate; and her neck and throat had lost their undulations, andthe purity of their outlines.

But neither the years, nor the millions, nor the intimacy of themost fashionable women, had been able to give her those qualitieswhich cannot be acquired, - grace, distinction, and taste.

If there was a woman accustomed to dress, it was she: a splendiddry-goods store could have been set up with the silks and thevelvets, the satins and cashmeres, the muslins, the laces, and allthe known tissues, that had passed over her shoulders.

Her elegance was quoted and copied. And yet there was about heralways and under all circumstances, an indescribable flavor of theparvenue. Her gestures had remained trivial; her voice, common andvulgar.