He employed the remainder of the night in writing a long letter to his wife, one to his son, to be given to him on his eighteenth birthday, all in case of an accident.

Then he examined his papers and he came upon the package of letters he had received from Madame Steno.

Merely to reread a few of them, and to glance at the portraits of that faithless mistress again, heightened his anger to such a degree that he enclosed the whole in a large envelope, which he addressed to Lincoln Maitland.

He had no sooner sealed it than he shrugged his shoulders, saying: "Of what use ?" He raised the piece of material which stopped up the chimney, and, placing the envelope on the fire-dogs, he set it on fire.

He shook with the tongs the remains of that which had been the most ardent, the most complete passion of his life, and he relighted the flames under the pieces of paper still intact.