“You must ask some more constant lover than I. A woman who was charming ten years ago—Bah! what would I be likely to know about her now!”
“Everything, when that woman is Jacqueline Japha,” cried Mr. Sylvester, advancing upon him with a look that would have shaken most men, but which only made the eye of this one burn more eagerly. “Though you might easily wish to give her the slip, she is not one to forget you. If she is alive, you know where she is; speak then, and let the worth of one good action make what amends it can for a long list of evil ones.”
“You really want to see the woman, then; enough to pay for it, I mean?”
“The reward which has been offered for news of the fate or whereabouts of Jacqueline Japha, still stands good,” was Mr. Sylvester’s reply.
The excited stare with which the man received this announcement, slowly subsided into his former subtle look.
“Well, well,” said he, “we will see.” The truth was, that he knew no more than the other where this woman was to be found. “If I happen to come across her in any of my wanderings, I shall know where to apply for means to make her welcome. But that is not what at present concerns us. Your nephew is losing ground with every passing minute. In a half-hour more his future will be decided, unless you bid me order my lawyer to delay the forwarding of that communication to Mr. Stuyvesant. In that case—”