his return to Paris. He was soon so weak that he thought it might be
best to go only so far as Compiegne, but the marquise was so insistent as
to the necessity for further and better advice than anything he could get
away from home, that M. d'Aubray decided to go. He made the journey in
his own carriage, leaning upon his daughter's shoulder; the behaviour of
the marquise was always the same: at last M. d'Aubray reached Paris. All
had taken place as the marquise desired; for the scene was now changed:
the doctor who had witnessed the symptoms would not be present at the
death; no one could discover the cause by studying the progress of the
disorder; the thread of investigation was snapped in two, and the two
ends were now too distant to be joined again. In spite, of every
possible attention, M. d'Aubray grew continually worse; the marquise was
faithful to her mission, and never left him for an hour. At list, after
four days of agony, he died in his daughter's arms, blessing the woman
who was his murderess. Her grief then broke forth uncontrolled. Her
sobs and tears were so vehement that her brothers' grief seemed cold
beside hers. Nobody suspected a crime, so no autopsy was held; the tomb
was closed, and not the slightest suspicion had approached her.

But the marquise had only gained half her purpose. She had now more
freedom for her love affairs, but her father's dispositions were not so
favourable as she expected: the greater part of his property, together
with his business, passed to the elder brother and to the second brother,
who was Parliamentary councillor; the position of, the marquise was very
little improved in point of fortune.

Sainte-Croix was leading a fine and joyous life. Although nobody
supposed him to be wealthy, he had a steward called Martin, three lackeys
called George, Lapierre, and Lachaussee, and besides his coach and other
carriages he kept ordinary bearers for excursions at night. As he was