daughter from the stolen inheritance.

It was a weird, bizarre nightmare, no more astonishing than the novels
the Lapierres had read. America, they understood, was a land where the
rivers were full of gold--a country of bronzed and handsome savages, of
birds of paradise and ruined Aztec temples, of vast tobacco fields and
plantations of thousands of acres of cotton cultivated by naked slaves,
while one lay in a hammock fanned by a "_petite nègre_" and languidly
sipped _eau sucrée_. The General had made it all seem very, very real.
At the weak spots he had gesticulated convincingly and digressed upon
his health. Then, while the narrative was fresh and he might have had to
answer questions about it had he given his listeners opportunity to ask
them, he had hastily told of a visit to Tunis. There he had by chance
encountered Marie Louise, the daughter of Lespinasse, living with her
noble husband in a "handsome Oriental palace," had been invited to dine
with them and had afterward seized the occasion while "walking in the
garden" with the lady to disclose the fact that he knew all, and had it
in his power to ruin them as impostors. Marie Louise had been
frightfully angry, but afterward her better nature had suggested the
return of the inheritance, or at least a hundred millions or so, to the
rightful heirs. The General had left the palace believing all would be
well, and had retired to Paris to await letters and further
developments, but these had never come, and he had discovered that he
had been deceived. It had been merely a ruse on the part of the woman
and her husband to gain time, and now every step that he took was dogged
by spies in the pay of the Lespinasses, who followed him everywhere. But
the right would triumph! He had sworn to run the conspiracy to earth!

Many hours were consumed in the telling of the story. The Lapierres were
enchanted. More than that, they were convinced--persuaded that they were