affair of this kind; you were then a little more than nineteen years of age; and the little girl—"

"Why the devil do you recall that?" said the marquis, making an angry movement, and pressing in his hand the purse he was about to take from his belt, and on which the barber had already laid avaricious eyes.

"Pardon, monsieur le marquis," said Touquet; "but I did not think I should displease you in recalling the adventure which commenced your reputation. The young person was beautiful and good, and the father, one of King Henry's old archers, did not understand joking. His arquebus was aimed at you, the ball went through your hat; but your sword stopped the old man, and he fell at your feet, while I bore off in my arms his insensible daughter."

"Be silent, wretch," cried the marquis, suddenly rising, and looking angrily at the barber, who received his glances with perfect indifference.

The conversation was again interrupted; the marquis walked rapidly up and down the room, and appeared buried in his reflections; soon, however, broken words escaped him, but they were not addressed to Touquet. The marquis seemed violently agitated as he said in a low voice,—

"Poor Estrelle! what has become of you? She loved me—she believed me to be a simple student. I loved her also; yes, never since that time have I experienced a feeling which I can compare with the love with which she inspired me. I was young—ah, Heaven is my witness that I did not wish to fight with her father. Thanks to Heaven, his wound was very trifling and was soon cured; but Estrelle, when she learned my name and that event, cursed me. Yes, I believe I can hear her still. Then she escaped from that house where I had hidden her. I love her still. Since that time I have never heard of her; and you, Touquet,—have you never met her since?"

"Never, monseigneur; I have neither seen her nor heard her speak."

"Poor Estrelle!" said the marquis after a moment; and the barber added in a low tone,—

"She would now be thirty-four years of age, or very near that."

This remark appeared to lessen somewhat the marquis' regret.

"In fact," said he, again approaching the fire, "she would be nearly that age if she were living, and would not appear the same to me as the one I formerly knew. How time passes! Come, let's forget all that; after all, it is much the same as any other adventure,—a chapter in the history of my life."

"And did the marquis say that the young girl lived in the Rue de la Calandre in the city?"

"The young girl? What young girl?"

"The one monseigneur followed this morning."

"Yes, to be sure; I had forgotten. You will easily recognize her: her figure unconstrained, her walk brisk; twenty years or thereabouts, I presume; nut-brown hair, black eyes, beautiful teeth, her skin a little brown. I do not think she's French. Something lively in her countenance; nothing that indicates timidity or simplicity. This is all the information which I can give you."

"It is sufficient, monseigneur; in two days I hope that the young person will be at your little house."

"That's very good.—Wait; this is for your expenses, and I promise you as much more if you are successful."

While saying these words the marquis threw on the table the purse filled with gold, which he still held in his hand, and a smile escaped the lips of the barber. His guest resumed his cloak and replaced his hat on his head.

"It is late," said the marquis, wrapping himself in his mantle, "and I must go home. The day after tomorrow, toward ten o'clock, I will return to learn the result of your proceedings."

"Shall I find anybody at your little house?"

"Yes, Marcel, one of my people, a devoted servant who lives there constantly. I will warn him."

"That is enough, monseigneur, and I hope that you will be pleased with me on this occasion."

"I leave it all to your zeal; in fact, the little one is very pleasing, and ought to amuse me for some time. Come, my dear Touquet, let us follow our destiny. Gallantry, voluptuousness, pleasure,—that is my life; that is the road which I follow where my passions lead me. I should not know how to follow any other walk now; like a blind man who trusts in Providence, I do not know if this road will lead me to happiness; but I cannot turn aside from it."

The marquis turned his steps toward the door, and Touquet proposed to his distinguished guest that he should guide him to his dwelling.

"Thank you," said the marquis, "it is unnecessary; I have my sword, and I fear nothing."

While uttering these words the marquis had plunged into the street and disappeared from the barber's sight. The latter closed the door and returned to the little room. Arrived there, he hastened to take the purse which lay on the table; he counted the pieces which it contained, nor could he raise his eyes from the sight of the gold. But soon a dull, melancholy sound was heard; it was Saint-Eustache's clock striking two. The barber turned pale; his hair seemed to stand up on his head; he threw about him gloomy glances, as if he feared to perceive some frightful object; then he placed the purse in his bosom, took a lamp and went toward the door at the end of the room, murmuring in a sad voice,—

"Two o'clock! Let's go to bed. Ah, if I could only sleep!"

CHAPTER III

Blanche. A History of Sorcerers

THE welcome day had succeeded to the long and rainy night; the merchants had opened their shops, the watchmen were taking their much-needed rest after their fatiguing nocturnal duties, while the more hardy robbers of the darkness had given place to the sneaking pickpockets and thieves who exercised their calling in broad daylight in the most populous quarters. The servant maids were up and about, briskly performing their morning tasks; husbands left the nuptial couch, for then it was usual for one to sleep with his wife, at least among middle-class people, to betake themselves to their daily avocations; wives and mothers were attending to the needs of their households and their children; lovers who had dreamt of their sweethearts went to endeavor to realize some of their dreams; and the young girls who always thought of their sweethearts whether they were sleeping or waking, went, thinking of them still, to their daily work. In that time, as in this, love was the dream of youth, the distraction of the middle-aged, and the memory of the old.

The barber was always the first to rise in the house. He had no servants, although his means would well have allowed it; but when anyone asked him why he did not take a boy to help him and to watch in the shop, Touquet answered,—

"I do not need anyone; I can conduct my business alone, and I'm not fond of feeding idlers who are good for nothing but to spy on their master's actions and go and talk about them in the neighborhood."

The barber knew that Marguerite, though a little curious and somewhat of a gossip, was incapable of disobeying him in anything; she went out to buy the necessary provisions for the house, then she went upstairs again to the young girl of whom we have heard her speak, and with whom we shall soon have a better acquaintance. Marguerite went down only when her master was absent, which was rarely. Finally, the barber could not dispense with a maid since he had taken the little Blanche to grow up under his roof.

Touquet himself opened his shop; he looked up and down the street, but it was yet too early for customers to come. The barber was dreamy, preoccupied; he was thinking of the commission which had been given him by the marquis; then he returned indoors, saying,—

"Chaudoreille is late this morning; however, it's his day to be shaved."

Marguerite appeared at the entrance to the