dangerous enemy, and returned as late as possible in the evening.
But scarcely had he stepped out of his carriage when the porter met him with a parcel in his hand.
“Sir,” said he, “that man has been here.”
“What man?” said Andrea carelessly, apparently forgetting him whom he but too well recollected.
“Him to whom your excellency pays that little annuity.”
“Oh,” said Andrea, “my father’s old servant. Well, you gave him the two hundred francs I had left for him?”
“Yes, your excellency.” Andrea had expressed a wish to be thus addressed. “But,” continued the porter, “he would not take them.”
Andrea turned pale, but as it was dark his pallor was not perceptible. “What? he would not take them?” said he with slight emotion.
“No, he wished to speak to your excellency; I told him you were gone out, and after some dispute he believed me and gave me this letter, which he had brought with him already sealed.”
“Give it me,” said Andrea, and he read by the light of his carriage-lamp:
“ ‘You know where I live; I expect you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.’ ”
Andrea examined it carefully, to ascertain if the letter had been opened, or if any indiscreet eyes had