CHAPTER X.
THE FOX IN THE FOLD.
Among the secluded villas that dot with pretty colors the suburb of Montmorency, there is none more agreeable than the Villa Reine-Claude, which was in the hands of the notary who had managed the transmission of the maintenance money to young Clemenceau.

At the hint from M.Ritz, who had a debt of honor to pay the son of his dead friend, the house was rented at a nominal sum.

Here Felix, as he boldly described himself by right, though the name had a tinge of mockery, installed himself with his bride.

He had a portfolio of architectural sketches soon completed and, thanks to the fellowship to which his name might exercise a spell, all the old artists who had known his father, helped him manfully.
Luckily, there was something markedly novel in his work.
His odd training helped him.

He came from the Polish University into an unromantic society which, after its stirring up by the Great Revolution, was so levelled and amalgamated that everybody resembled his neighbor as well in manners and speech as in attire.