“None that I know of, monsieur.”
“I am surprised. About a week ago, I became acquainted with another Marquis of Clameran.”
Although so hardened by crime, impudent enough to deny anything, Clameran was so taken aback that he sat with pale face and a blank look, silently staring at M. Fauvel.
But he soon recovered enough self-control to say hurriedly:
“Oh, indeed! That is strange. A Clameran may exist; but I cannot understand the title of marquis.”
M. Fauvel was not sorry to have the opportunity of annoying a guest whose aristocratic pretensions had often piqued him.
“Marquis or not,” he replied, “the Clameran in question seems to be able to do honor to the title.”
“Is he rich?”
“I have reason to suppose that he is very wealthy. I have been notified to collect for him four hundred thousand francs.”
Clameran had a wonderful faculty of self-control; he had so schooled himself that his face never betrayed what was passing in his mind. But this news was so startling, so strange, so pregnant of danger, that his usual assurance deserted him.