CHAPTER V.
A FORGOTTEN CRIME.
Baptiste Mascarin had been in so many strange situations, from which he had extricated himself with safety and credit, that he had the fullest self-confidence, but as he ascended the wide staircase of the Hotel de Mussidan, he felt his heart beat quicker in anticipation of the struggle that was before him.

It was twilight out of doors, but all within was a blaze of light.

The library into which he was ushered was a vast apartment, furnished in severe taste.

At the sound of the unaristocratic name of Mascarin, which seemed as much out of place as a drunkard's oath in the chamber of sleeping innocence, M.de Mussidan raised his head in sudden surprise.

The Count was seated at the other end of the room, reading by the light of four candles placed in a magnificently wrought candelabra.