“That is true. I had forgotten. Well, life is measured by pleasures, not by years, and I was the prince of coxcombs. Up at ten o’clock; no sooner on account 359 of the complexion; then visits from the tradespeople and a drive in the park to look at the ladies. It was there I used to meet the English actress. ’Twas there, with her, I vowed the park was a garden of Eden! What a scene, when my barrister tried to settle the case! Fortunately a marriage in England was not a marriage in France. I saw her last night, François”––with an insane look––“in the flesh and blood; as life-like as the night before we took the stage for Brighton!” Suddenly he shrieked and a look of terror replaced the vain, simpering expression.
“There, François!” Glancing with awe behind him. And truly there stood a dark shadow; a gruesome presence. His face became distorted and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The valet gazed at him with indifference. Then he went to an inner room and brought a valise which he began packing carefully and methodically. After he had completed this operation he approached the dressing table and took up a magnificent jeweled watch, which he examined for a moment before thrusting it into his pocket. A snuff box, set with diamonds, and several rings followed. François with the same deliberation opened a drawer and took out a small box which he tried to open, and, failing, forced the lid with the poker. At this, my lord opened his eyes, and, in a weak voice, for his strength had nearly deserted him, demanded:
“What are you doing, François?”
“Robbing you, my lord,” was the slow and dignified response.
The marquis’ eyes gleamed with rage. He endeavored to call out, but his voice failed him and he fell back, trembling and overcome.
“Thief! Ingrate!” he hissed, hoarsely.
“I beg you not to excite yourself, my lord,” said the stately valet. “You are already very weak and it will hasten the end.”
“Is this the way you repay me?”