A supper in the Finish completed the void in his pockets, and concluded his day's rank experience of life.

By the gray dawn he stole back to his bed, and as he laid himself down, he thought with avid pleasure of Paris, its gay gardens and brilliant shops and crowded streets; he thought, too, of his father's calm confidence of success, of the triumph that already had attended his wiles,--a confidence and a triumph which, exciting his reverence and rousing his emulation, had decided his resolution.
He thought, too, of Lucretia with something of affection, recalled her praises and bribes, her frequent mediation with his father, and felt that they should have need of each other.

Oh, no, he never would tell her of the snare laid at Guy's Oak,--never, not even if incensed with his father.

An instinct told him that that offence could never be forgiven, and that, henceforth, Lucretia's was a destiny bound up in his own.

He thought, too, of Dalibard's warning and threat.