that of nightmare, and he could not move a limb. Nay, the man himself

was the nightmare; his presence weighed heavily on his victim like a
poisoned atmosphere. When the wretchedcashier turned to implore the

Englishman's mercy, he met those blazing eyes that discharged electric
currents, which pierced through him and transfixed him like darts of

steel.
"What have I done to you?" he said, in his prostratehelplessness" target="_blank" title="n.无能为力">helplessness, and

he breathed hard like a stag at the water's edge. "What do you want of
me?"

"Look!" cried Melmoth.
Castanier looked at the stage. The scene had been changed. The play

seemed to be over, and Castanier beheld himself stepping from the
carriage with Aquilina; but as he entered the courtyard of the house

on the Rue Richer, the scene again was suddenly changed, and he saw
his own house. Jenny was chatting by the fire in her mistress' room

with a subaltern officer of a line regiment then stationed at Paris.
"He is going, is he?" said the sergeant, who seemed to belong to a

family in easy circumstances; "I can be happy at my ease! I love
Aquilina too well to allow her to belong to that old toad! I, myself,

am going to marry Mme. de la Garde!" cried the sergeant.
"Old toad!" Castanier murmured piteously.

"Here come the master and mistress; hide yourself! Stay, get in here
Monsieur Leon," said Jenny. "The master won't stay here for very

long."
Castanier watched the sergeant hide himself among Aquilina's gowns in

her dressing-room. Almost immediately he himself appeared upon the
scene, and took leave of his mistress, who made fun of him in "asides"

to Jenny, while she uttered the sweetest and tenderest words in his
ears. She wept with one side of her face, and laughed with the other.

The audience called for an encore.
"Accursed creature!" cried Castanier from his box.

Aquilina was laughing till the tears came into her eyes.
"Goodness!" she cried, "how funny Perlet is as the Englishwoman! . . .

Why don't you laugh? Every one else in the house is laughing. Laugh,
dear!" she said to Castanier.

Melmoth burst out laughing, and the unhappycashier shuddered. The
Englishman's laughter wrung his heart and tortured his brain; it was

as if a surgeon had bored his skull with a red-hot iron.
"Laughing! are they laughing!" stammered Castanier.

He did not see the prim English lady whom Perlet was acting with such
ludicrous effect, nor hear the English-French that had filled the

house with roars of laughter; instead of all this, he beheld himself
hurrying from the Rue Richer, hailing a cab on the Boulevard,

bargaining with the man to take him to Versailles. Then once more the
scene changed. He recognized the sorry inn at the corner of the Rue de

l'Orangerie and the Rue des Recollets, which was kept by his old
quartermaster. It was two o'clock in the morning, the most perfect

stillness prevailed, no one was there to watch his movements. The
post-horses were put into the carriage (it came from a house in the

Avenue de Paris in which an Englishman lived, and had been ordered in
the foreigner's name to avoid raising suspicion). Castanier saw that

he had his bills and his passports, stepped into the carriage, and set
out. But at the barrier he saw two gendarmes lying in wait for the

carriage. A cry of horror burst from him but Melmoth gave him a
glance, and again the sound died in his throat.

"Keep your eyes on the stage, and be quiet!" said the Englishman.
In another moment Castanier saw himself flung into prison at the

Conciergerie; and in the fifth act of the drama, entitled The Cashier,
he saw himself, in three months' time, condemned to twenty years of

penal servitude. Again a cry broke from him. He was exposed upon the
Place du Palais-de-Justice, and the executioner branded him with a

red-hot iron. Then came the last scene of all; among some sixty
convicts in the prison yard of the Bicetre, he was awaiting his turn

to have the irons riveted on his limbs.
"Dear me! I cannot laugh any more! . . ." said Aquilina. "You are very

solemn, dear boy; what can be the matter? The gentleman has gone."
"A word with you, Castanier," said Melmoth when the piece was at an

end, and the attendant was fastening Mme. de la Garde's cloak.
The corridor was crowded, and escape impossible.

"Very well, what is it?"
"No human power can hinder you from taking Aquilina home, and going

next to Versailles, there to be arrested."
"How so?"

"Because you are in a hand that will never relax its grasp," returned
the Englishman.

Castanier longed for the power to utter some word that should blot him
out from among living men and hide him in the lowest depths of hell.

"Suppose that the Devil were to make a bid for your soul, would you
not give it to him now in exchange for the power of God? One single

word, and those five hundred thousand francs shall be back in the
Baron de Nucingen's safe; then you can tear up the letter of credit,

and all traces of your crime will be obliterated. Moreover, you would
have gold in torrents. You hardly believe in anything perhaps? Well,

if all this comes to pass, you will believe at least in the Devil."
"If it were only possible!" said Castanier joyfully.

"The man who can do it all gives you his word that it is possible,"
answered the Englishman.

Melmoth, Castanier, and Mme. de la Garde were standing out in the
Boulevard when Melmoth raised his arm. A drizzling rain was falling,

the streets were muddy, the air was close, there was thick darkness
overhead; but in a moment, as the arm was outstretched, Paris was

filled with sunlight; it was high noon on a bright July day. The
trees were covered with leaves; a double stream of joyous holiday

makers strolled beneath them. Sellers of liquorice water shouted their
cool drinks. Splendid carriages rolled past along the streets. A cry

of terror broke from the cashier, and at that cry rain and darkness
once more settled down upon the Boulevard.

Mme. de la Garde had stepped into the carriage. "Do be quick, dear!"
she cried; "either come in or stay out. Really you are as dull as

ditch-water this evening----"
"What must I do?" Castanier asked of Melmoth.

"Would you like to take my place?" inquired the Englishman.
"Yes."

"Very well, then; I will be at your house in a few moments."
"By the by, Castanier, you are rather off your balance," Aquilina

remarked. "There is some mischief brewing: you were quite melancholy
and thoughtful all through the play. Do you want anything that I can

give you, dear? Tell me."
"I am waiting till we are at home to know whether you love me."

"You need not wait till then," she said, throwing her arms round his
neck. "There!" she said, as she embraced him, passionately to all

appearance, and plied him with the coaxing caresses that are part of
the business of such a life as hers, like stage action for an actress.

"Where is the music?" asked Castanier.
"What next? Only think of your hearing music now!"

"Heavenly music!" he went on. "The sounds seem to come from above."
"What? You have always refused to give me a box at the Italiens

because you could not abide music, and are you turning music-mad at
this time of day? Mad--that you are! The music is inside your own

noddle, old addle-pate!" she went on, as she took his head in her
hands and rocked it to and fro on her shoulder. "Tell me now, old man;

isn't it the creaking of the wheels that sings in your ears?"
"Just listen, Naqui! If the angels make music for God Almighty, it

must be such music as this that I am drinking in at every pore, rather
than hearing. I do no know how to tell you about it; it is as sweet as

honey-water!"
"Why, of course, they have music in heaven, for the angels in all the