The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was the stronger,

Francis, in the top of his youth, was the more fleet of foot, and

he had soon effected his escape among the crowds. Relieved for a

moment, but with a growing sentiment of alarm and wonder in his

mind, be walked briskly until he debauched upon the Place de

l'Opera, lit up like day with electric lamps.

"This, at least," thought he, "should satisfy Miss Vandeleur."

And turning to his right along the Boulevards, he entered the Cafe

Americain and ordered some beer. It was both late and early for

the majority of the frequenters of the establishment. Only two or

three persons, all men, were dotted here and there at separate

tables in the hall; and Francis was too much occupied by his own

thoughts to observe their presence.

He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The object wrapped in it

proved to be a morocco case, clasped and ornamented in gilt, which

opened by means of a spring, and disclosed to the horrified young

man a diamond of monstrous bigness and extraordinary brilliancy.

The circumstance was so inexplicable, the value of the stone was

plainly so enormous, that Francis sat staring into the open casket

without movement, without conscious thought, like a man stricken

suddenly with idiocy.

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, and a quiet

voice, which yet had in it the ring of command, uttered these words

in his ear -

"Close the casket, and compose your face."

Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbane and tranquil

presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This personage had

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