Chapter IV

ABOUT five o’clock Madame Baradier had just returned, and was reading in her small salon; her daughter, Amélie, and Geneviève de Trémont were working at the table, chatting pleasantly the while, when the servant entered, and said—

“There is a priest here, who wishes to speak to you, madame.”

Madame Baradier, lady patroness of several charitable institutions, was continually receiving appeals to her generosity. She made no distinction between the clergy and the laity, but received all with equal benevolence. Accordingly, she ordered the visitor to be showed in. The first glance she gave him showed her a fine, intelligent face, the general aspect being rather that of a fashionable and carefully dressed priest. The first words he uttered confirmed this judgment—

“Madame,” said the visitor, “I am the Abbé d’Escayrac, secretary of the Issy establishment, which is under the lofty patronage of the Bishop of Andropolis.”

“Superior of the Absolutionists, unless I am mistaken.”

“You are not mistaken, madame.”

“What can I do for your work, Monsieur l’Abbé?”

“You can do much, madame. But, first of all,”—here the Abbé lowered his voice—“I have information of special importance to communicate to you, and it might be better, if you have no objection, if we were alone.”

“As you please, Monsieur l’Abbé.”

The two girls had been well brought up. On a look from Madame Baradier, they arose, bowed, and left the room.

“You may now speak freely, Monsieur l’Abbé.”

“I am well aware, madame, how you are animated by a sincere Christian fervour,” continued the priest, “and it is on the certainty that all apostolic work must receive your cordial assistance that my mission is based. As you know, we are devoted heart and soul to the service of the poor. Poverty and misery, nay, even vice itself, have an exclusive claim on our interest and attention. To us a criminal is a brother we try to restore to the path of virtue, just as we use our best efforts to save a sick man. In this way a vast amount of misfortune and crime is revealed to us. We are the confidents of the most painful of physical vices, the most lamentable of moral back-slidings. We offer help to all, without exception, and often serve as intermediaries between those who have the power to punish and those who wish to be spared. We are never deaf to repentance, and try to turn it to the advantage of our holy religion.”

He spoke with grave earnestness, and an insinuating voice, turning on one side the obstacles in the way, preparing his ground, and gradually attempting to win over to his side the intelligence of the wife, so as to make of her an ally against the husband. Madame Baradier, astonished at this lengthy introduction, was beginning to wonder what was the meaning of it all, so she asked—

“Is it pecuniary help you want, Monsieur l’Abbé? If so, you will find us very sympathetically disposed towards your work.”

“We shall be very grateful, madame, for whatever you may do for us, but money is not at present the object of my visit. Recently, we have founded in the Var an important establishment, where we propose, in imitation of other powerful religious orders, to open a business establishment. To facilitate our efforts, we have received very important assistance. We are full of gratitude towards those who have helped us, and, the opportunity of doing them a service now offering itself, I, your humble servant, have been appointed to bring to you a message of conciliation from a man who, for many years, has been in a state of hostility with your family, but who now wishes to end his life in concord and peace.”

Madame Baradier, for the last few minutes, had been manifesting serious symptoms of uneasiness. She saw that the interview was assuming a form which did not please her; accordingly, she cut short the speech of the amiable Abbé, and said—

“Will you kindly tell me what you wish, Monsieur l’Abbé? The man’s name will, I believe, explain the affair far better.”

The young priest smiled; and, with the suppliant look of a martyr, he said—

“I am a minister of charity and pardon, madame. The man’s name is M. Lichtenbach.”

“I suspected it.”

“Am I to imagine that his personality will render all understanding impossible, even in the interests of religion?”

“It is not my place to form such a resolution, Monsieur l’Abbé. I cannot forget that there are in this house two men who are alone entitled to reply: my husband and my brother. Permit me to call them.”

“I am at your disposal, madame.”

“No. Monsieur l’Abbé, do not speak so. Whatever happens, be sure that we all rightly appreciate the mission of conciliation you have accepted. We shall not confound the mission with its agent.”

Bowing to the priest, she left the room. The Abbé remained motionless in his armchair, buried in thought. He was fulfilling a mission useful to his order in a double sense. No preoccupation foreign to his religious duties troubled him. He rightly appreciated Elias, but the evangelical spirit would not allow him to neglect the salvation of even the most despicable of men. Had not Christ permitted the kiss of Judas? Did not the Holy Father lave the feet of the filthiest of beggars? Besides, the interests of the Church inspired him. The door opened, and Graff appeared. Coming up to the young Abbé, he bowed—

“My sister, Madame Baradier, has just informed me of your presence, Monsieur l’Abbé. My brother-in-law, Barassin, is busy in the office, and begs to be excused. Besides, I have full permission to act as I think best. Will you explain?”

“Has not Madame Baradier told you?”

“In a few hasty words. You are sent by Lichtenbach? Good! That does not astonish us in the least. So long as he was the stronger, he did us all the harm he could. Now that we have the upper hand, he is trying to stop the game. Let us hear what he wants.”

M. d’Escayrac smiled.

“It is pleasant to talk to you, monsieur; one knows at once where one is going.”

“Very well, Monsieur l’Abbé; since you know, proceed at once to facts.”

“By chance, your firm and that of Lichtenbach have met on the same ground concerning the exploitation of a patent.”

“You call that chance? Good! Good! As for the ‘same ground,’ there is some truth in that, since, in order to obtain the patent in question, they have exploded a house, that of one of our friends; set fire to a manufactory, our own; assassinated two men, and risked killing several others. It is a ‘ground’ sprinkled with blood, Monsieur l’Abbé! But, still, it is that abominable ‘same ground!’”

The priest crossed his hands with an expression of horror.

“Monsieur, I knew nothing of what you are now revealing to me. Were it any one but yourself who were speaking, I should think he had taken leave of his senses. It is impossible that the man, in whose name I am here, should have committed the frightful acts you now reproach him with.”

“Let us understand one another,” replied Uncle Graff, eagerly. “I do not accuse Lichtenbach of having shed blood. He is incapable of it for several reasons, the best of which is that he would not dare to do such a thing. But the patent of which you speak has been obtained by the means I have just informed you of. Monsieur l’Abbé, you have been beguiled into a disagreeable enterprise. Still, in us you have to deal with those who have too much respect for religion for you to need to fear any responsibility. You may explain yourself without any further beating about the bush. Whatever may be said between us will not be repeated. After all, this interview may have some useful result, who knows?”

“I have no doubt whatever of that,” said the Abbé, considerably troubled all the same. “Oh, monsieur, how pleased I am to have to discuss the interests entrusted to my charge with so benevolent a man as yourself! God be praised! If possible, we will bring about a perfect understanding. If only you knew what I myself dread! In very truth, M. Lichtenbach is not so responsible for all that has happened as you suppose. He is not his own master in this matter; he has to deal with powerful personages, who will not lay down their arms, and who, I am afraid, will have recourse to the most extreme measures to obtain the supremacy over you.”

“We have nothing to fear!”

“There are poisoned weapons which will kill even the most invulnerable. Be on your guard, monsieur, against the plots to which your adversaries at bay may have recourse. I speak to you in all sincerity. I was not aware of the past, but I have been terrified at the glimpse into the future that has been permitted me.”

“By whom? Lichtenbach?”

“Oh! He was terrified himself; and begged me to come and speak to you, simply knowing me to be one whose character could offer him sufficient guarantee for discretion. I can assure you that in him you no longer have an enemy to deal with. Of that he is ready to give you whatever proof you wish.”

“He is deceiving you, Monsieur l’Abbé. You have been his dupe, and know him well. What does he want?”

“He proposes the complete fusion of the two enterprises by the exploitation of the two patents. Though the Dalgetty is previous to the Trémont patent, the two discoveries, being almost similar, shall be considered as equal.”

“What is that?” exclaimed Uncle Graff. “Lichtenbach is, indeed, very kind. One is genuine, the other counterfeit. The Trémont patent is the result of work and intelligence; the Dalgetty patent is the result of fraud and theft.”

“My dear sir,” exclaimed the Abbé, uneasily, “official declarations are a guarantee of faith. One cannot go against facts. The Dalgetty was taken out by an English company before the Trémont.”

“And how does that affect us? The Dalgetty has no value; those who have sent you here are well aware of that fact. We have them in our power, I tell you; they can do nothing. Their patent is not worth the money they have spent in taking it out. For months past Lichtenbach and ourselves have been adversaries over the Explosives Company. We hold the right end, that he well knows. He will soon have to undertake a liquidation. And then?”

“He offers to stop his bear operations.”

“He cannot continue them any longer.”

“He will take at half price the shares of the Explosives of which you are the holders, and pay for them at once.”

“I dare say he will; they will rise at a leap to two hundred francs each!”

“He is ready to offer you a pledge of his frank and, henceforth, invariable co-operation. If, in your family, you had a person belonging to his family, if an alliance united your common interests, would you not consider that an absolute guarantee of his sincere cessation of enmity against you?”

Graff turned pale, but succeeded in mastering his emotions, and, wishing to know his opponent’s inmost thoughts, he said—

“Who is the person in question on Lichtenbach’s side?”

“Mademoiselle Marianne, his daughter.”

“And on ours?”

“Your nephew, M. Baradier.”

“So these two would be married, and Baradier, Graff, and Lichtenbach would form one single family.”

“I do not know whether or not you are acquainted with Mademoiselle Lichtenbach. She is a charming young lady, brought up under the loftiest religious influences, and calculated to offer your nephew the most serious guarantees of happiness possible. It would be a joy to us to have contributed to the reconciliation of former enemies, separated by quarrels, which might, doubtless, easily be forgotten in the midst of general satisfaction. Concord and peace instead of enmity; no more fears or threats. One common and complete prosperity! Come, my dear sir, pronounce the words of redemption and hope, make an effort over your pride, and give the world an example of gentleness and charity.”

Graff had silently listened to the priest’s earnest pleading. His bent forehead and closed eyes gave the Abbé d’Escayrac to believe that his words were having their due effect on the old man’s thoughts. There was a moment’s silence. Then the uncle looked the Abbé straight in the face, and, in firm tones, said—

“Monsieur l’Abbé, in the cemetery of Metz, there are Graffs who would leap from their tombs if one of their descendants were to demean himself so far as to marry the daughter of a Lichtenbach!”

“Monsieur!” exclaimed the Abbé in surprise.

“Then you do not know the Baradiers and Graffs, or you would not propose to them an alliance with a Lichtenbach? Do you know who Lichtenbach is? Between Lorraine and Paris, there is not a mile of ground which has not been strewn with French blood, on account of this wretch. A spy, to lead the enemy to victory; food-supplier to the foe; when our troops were dying of hunger, he fattened on war, and enriched himself on treason. He sold his brothers of France—the Jews, who fought in our ranks and died like brave soldiers, double Judas as he was! And after receiving the reward for his treason, he turned Christian, and set about defiling another religion, by the disgusting intransigence of his apostate zeal! There you have a picture of Lichtenbach, Monsieur l’Abbé. Must I now tell you who Graff and Baradier are?”

“Oh, I know well, my dear sir! Your honour and patriotism are universally respected. But what animosity and rancour! Is this what I shall have to tell the one who sent me?”

“Tell him he is an impudent rascal for having charged such a man as yourself with such a mission. Tell him our scorn for him is only equalled by his hatred against us. Assure him we have not the slightest fear. If he wishes to slander us, we will pay him back in the same coin; if he dares to strike us, we will defend ourselves. In the latter case, let him be careful!”

“Monsieur!” said the Abbé, in tones of entreaty. “Reflect? Anger is a bad counsellor.”

“Monsieur l’Abbé, I am perfectly calm. You do not know me. I never give way to passion. If I did, the result would be terrible. But a great deal would be needed to bring about such a state of things!”

“Must I then leave you without obtaining any result? I am well aware that you are exposed to the most terrible dangers.”

“I thank you for warning us. We shall be on our guard.”

“Is that your last word?”

“No, Monsieur l’Abbé. Never has a priest entered this house without taking away, for himself and his work, a testimony of our respectful deference and humble piety.”

Graff took from his pocket a cheque-book, wrote a few words, and, handing the piece of paper to his visitor, said—

“For your poor parishioners, Monsieur l’Abbé.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the priest. “This is princely liberality. I will pray for you, monsieur, with all my heart.”

“Thanks, Monsieur l’Abbé,” said Graff, with a smile. “But pray, above all, for Lichtenbach.”

And, opening the door, he conducted the priest out.

That same evening, about nine o’clock, after dinner, Lichtenbach descended from his brougham, close to the entrance of the Boulevard Maillat. It was a brilliant night, and the groves in the Bois, under the silvery light of the moon, raised their dark masses against the horizon. The banker hurried along, not without some anxiety, for the spot was a deserted one, and a likely haunt of undesirable characters. After walking about a hundred yards, he halted in front of the ivy-covered gate of a villa, and knocked. A few seconds passed, then a small door turned on its hinges, and a woman appeared. It was Milona. Recognizing the banker, she stepped backwards, without uttering a word, and led the way into a garden in front of the house.

“Is madame at home?” asked Elias.

“She is expecting you,” said the Dalmatian, in guttural accents.

“Good. Have the others arrived?”

“Yes; an hour ago.”

They proceeded along a flower-bed, the flowers of which gave out fragrant odours on to the night air. The servant mounted a flight of steps, followed by Lichtenbach. On reaching a dark ante-chamber, Lichtenbach handed his overcoat and hat to Milona, who opened a door, and out of the darkness he passed suddenly into the light of the salon, the windows and curtains of which were hermetically closed. Seated at a table, Hans and Agostini were playing at piquet and drinking grog. On a divan Sophia reclined, in an elegant white deshabillé. The two men scarcely raised their heads on hearing Lichtenbach enter. The Baroness slowly sat upright, nodded graciously, and said—

“Sit down by my side. They are finishing their game. How did you come? I did not hear the wheels of your carriage.”

“I left it near the Porte Maillot.”

“What precautions! Can you not trust your coachman?”

“I trust no one.”

“And suppose some night prowler had struck you to the ground, to teach you not to walk about alone at night in these parts?”

Elias raised the butt-end of a revolver from his pocket, and said—

“I should have been able to speak to him in his own language.”

“I see; then you never travel without an interpreter?”

“I cannot let myself be murdered for a paltry twenty francs; it would be altogether too stupid!”

The conversation was interrupted by an exclamation from Cesare, who, in a passion, threw the cards down on to the table. Hans laughed to himself, and made a rapid calculation on a piece of paper.

“That makes thirty-five louis for you to pay. You have lost fourteen hundred points!”

“It is enough to make one believe in the Evil Eye!” growled the handsome Italian. “Ever since this Marcel Baradier cast his eyes on me, I cannot touch a single card without losing, at no matter what game!”

Glancing angrily in the direction of Sophia, he said—

“This must come to an end!”

“Come, now, peace!” ordered Hans, authoritatively. “What noise you make for nothing at all! What news have you, father money-bags? Has your jesuit d’Escayrac seen our friends?”

“He has. They refuse.”

“Refuse what? Be precise. Your daughter or our affair?”

Elias changed colour, and his eyes flashed. However, neither anger nor chagrin appeared from his voice.

“They refuse both alliance with me and co-operation with you. Everything, in short!”

“Donnerwetter!” growled Hans. “Are they mad?”

“No; they are aware that you have nothing, and they have everything. This they prove by sending us about our business.”

“You take all this very calmly,” exclaimed Count Cesare. “I have seen you less resigned than you now appear.”

“I am not in the habit of fighting windmills. You have tricked me into an absurd and dangerous business; now I am simply leaving it, that is all.”

“Leaving your feathers behind.”

“As you say. But as few as possible. I have already turned round about and effected a counter-operation.”

“You rogue! You will end by earning money, where we lose everything!” replied Agostini, pale with anger.

“If I do so, it is because I am not so stupid as you, who can do nothing but spend it.”

Hans burst into a laugh. As Agostini seemed to be on the point of losing his temper, he laid his hand on his arm, and forced him to keep his seat.

“Old money-bags is right; but we must not act like horses when there is no hay in the rack, and begin to fight. Let us study the situation, and see what can be done. First of all, what does the beauty say? Up to the present she has not spoken a word. Still, she must have an opinion on the matter; we will allow her to give it first.”

The Baroness appeared to awake from a reverie, and she said, in disdainful tones—

“It is not my custom desperately to follow up badly-conceived operations. You know what I have always told you since the Vanves night: that there was an evil spell over the whole affair. You will arrive at no successful end. After all, you have obtained half of what you wanted—the war powder. Follow the example Lichtenbach sets you. Give it up, and pass on to something else.”

“Something else, indeed!” growled Hans. “No, I shall not let go an affair which has cost me so dear. Some one must pay me for the arm I have lost!”

“Well, what plan have you to offer?” asked the Baroness, impatiently.

“You will arrange to strike up a fresh acquaintance with Marcel Baradier. Bring me the young man here one of these evenings. He knows the secret of the manufacture, and he shall either give it up to you of his own free will, or I will undertake to force him to do so.”

Lichtenbach’s hands trembled nervously. Sophia remained impassive.

“Well, what do you say to my proposal?” asked Hans, in jovial tones.

“I will have nothing further to do with the matter!” declared the Baroness.

“Ah! take care!” exclaimed Agostini. “I know why you refuse to help us against young Marcel. You are afraid for him. That is the difficulty.”

“And what if it were so?”

Hans made no reply. He appeared to reflect deeply. Then, with feigned good temper, he said—

“After all, you may be right. In any case, we can do nothing without you.”

Lichtenbach heaved a sigh of satisfaction. The conciliating attitude suddenly assumed by Hans seemed to be full of meaning. Wishing to know what this terrible partner of his really thought, he judged it useful to dissimulate his own ideas.

“Come, we will say nothing more on the matter! What this affair has cost me I will pass through the profit and loss account. Still, it is a pity we could not find that secret trick of manipulation. There was a great deal of money to be earned by it, after all!”

Hans bit his lips, but made no reply; whilst Agostini turned gracefully round to Lichtenbach, and said—

“And my marriage? What is to become of it?”

“What has become of this affair of ours,” replied Elias, roughly, “nothing. The one fell with the other! My fine fellow, you have no longer a prospective dot. I took you with the Trémont powder, and the only powder now left is blinding dust!”

“Ah! You treat me in this way. I may give you reason to repent it!”

“And if I wished, you would not be allowed in France another twenty-four hours. Let us be going,” added Lichtenbach; “it is already late.”

“We will accompany you to the toll-gate, for fear something may happen to you. This quarter is not very safe at nights. Good night, Sophia.”

“Good night.”

She held out her white hand, which her dreaded ally touched with that iron hand of his, covered with a glove.

“May I not stay a few minutes, Sophia?” asked Agostini.

“No,” said the Baroness, emphatically. “Good night!”

Ringing the bell, Milona appeared.

“Show these gentlemen out, Milo.”

Silently they left the house, preceded by the Dalmatian, who held a round lantern to light the way through the sinuous turnings of the path leading to the little ivy-covered door. This she opened, and then disappeared. They proceeded along the Avenue Maillot in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Suddenly Hans stopped, and said, in low accents—

“Sophia is tricking us. But things shall not happen as she imagines. I pretended to give way, the better to deceive her. Now this is what we will do. Cesare will send a letter in a disguised hand-writing to young Marcel Baradier, fixing a rendezvous at the Boulevard Maillot about ten o’clock at night. I shall be there to receive him, with others on whom I can rely, and I will undertake to introduce the pigeon into the dovecot. Once there, Sophia must be forced to employ her wiles, whether she will or not. It is the same plan I mentioned just now, and which she refused. The only difference is that I do not ask for her permission before putting it into practice.”

“But suppose Baradier does not come?” said Cesare.

“What? Not come? Can you imagine that he would not come to a rendezvous fixed by the Baroness? He will fly to it at once. And when we have him!”

“What will you do?” asked Lichtenbach, in quivering accents.

“That is my own business. Just trust to me to loosen this young man’s tongue!”

“Violence?”

“A mode of persuasion he cannot resist.”

“And suppose he denounces you on leaving the house?”

“If only he will speak beforehand he will have plenty of time to say what he wishes afterwards.”

Lichtenbach shuddered. He felt that Hans had made up his mind to kill Marcel Baradier, and that the bandit was pursuing a double end: possession of the secret, and revenge for his mutilation.

“For the future,” he said, “I will have nothing more to do with your actions, in which I repudiate all share. I do not wish even to know the result of your attempt. You seem to have gone mad!”

“Ah! don’t think we ever relied on you for anything else than an advance of funds?” said Count Cesare, jeeringly. “To us you have been the hen which laid the golden eggs; now that you have stopped laying, go your own way!”

“No tricks with us, Lichtenbach,” said Hans. “If we succeed, the Dalgetty patent will have its full effect, you know; consequently you will share in the profits. What you say now is only another instance of your hypocrisy; you reject the responsibility, but are willing to accept the profits. Very well, my friend, you shall have them!”

They had reached the spot where Lichtenbach’s carriage stood. Agostini gracefully opened the door, saying—

“Good night, my prince, pleasant dreams!”

Meanwhile, M. Mayeur had acted in accordance with information received from Baudoin and Colonel Vallenot. For a week now he had known the details of Count Cesare’s life. Of very good birth, belonging to an illustrious family, Signor Agostini had been obliged to leave the Italian army after an affair of honour.

Concerning Hans, nothing could be discovered. The Baroness had been tracked, through Agostini, to her rooms in the Boulevard Maillot. The hotel had been let furnished. She lived very quietly, under the name of Madame de Frilas. M. Mayeur had sent an intelligent agent to the Baron Grodsko at Nice, and obtained from him full information concerning her.

Provided with his notes, M. Mayeur had returned to the War Office to communicate them to Colonel Vallenot, and ask of him the result of his personal investigations. Introduced at once into the Minister’s cabinet, the magistrate had seen the results of his examination confirmed by supplementary details. In proportion as light was thrown on the personality of the different actors in the drama, the gravity of the affair became more and more evident. They discovered, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt, that they had to deal with an association of international espionage, which had been working for at least ten years on behalf of foreign governments, probably exploiting them in turn, and betraying them to the profit of one another.

It was possible that the whole of Europe had been duped by these clever rascals. The least false step might alarm the culprits and cause them to disappear! M. Mayeur grew pale at the restraint placed on him. But how was it possible to neglect such imperious political necessities? Colonel Vallenot was the first to speak out clearly on the subject—

“From this moment, General, it is certain we hold the Ténébreuse, as our agents call her. This is the woman of whom I spoke to you at the outset of our investigations some months ago, the one involved in the Cominges, Fontenailles affairs, etc. We have only to order, and she is in our power. Is it possible that we can let her escape?”

“It is these deuced formalists, with their politics!” growled the old chief. “If the matter were in my hands it should not be allowed to linger in this way. These lawyers and quibblers astonish me! I only regain possession of myself when in the midst of my officers. What do you say, Monsieur le Juge?”

At that moment the door opened, and the porter brought a card to Colonel Vallenot. The latter handed it to the Minister, who exclaimed—

“Marcel Baradier! Show him in!”

The young man entered, bowed, and, addressing the General, said—

“I undertook, General, to keep you _au courant_ of anything fresh that might happen. I have come to keep my promise.”

“Very good, my friend, explain.”

“This morning, General, I received this letter.”

He placed on the desk a sheet of paper, which the Minister examined attentively.

“No date, very common paper, an evidently counterfeit handwriting, and no signature. Now let us see what it says: ‘If you wish to see once more the one who still loves you, go to-night, at ten o’clock, to the Place de l’Etoile, at the corner of the Avenue Hoche. A carriage will be stationed there. Enter it, the coachman will ask no questions, and will take you where you are expected.’”

“Good. The classic mode of procedure, except that you are not asked to submit to having your eyes bandaged. What have you made up your mind to do?”

“I shall go to the rendezvous.”

“Ah, ah! Without the slightest apprehension?”

“That is another matter, General. All the same, I shall go. I am determined to have the solution to this enigma.”

The magistrate interrupted him in gentle tones—

“Permit me to remark, monsieur, that this resolution of yours is an exceedingly imprudent one. Ninety-nine chances to a hundred they are attempting to entrap you. Do not add to our trouble by exposing yourself to danger for an uncertain result.”

“If it is she who has written to me, I have nothing to fear.”

“The deuce!” exclaimed the General. “You are very affirmative!”

Marcel replied gently—

“You may have concerning this woman whatever opinion your information has permitted you to form. False with the others, she was truthful to me. She betrayed the rest. To me she has been faithful and devoted.”

“Listen!” exclaimed the General. “He is convinced of the truth of what he says. She persuades each and every one of them that she is sincere, and they all believe her!”

“I will run the risk!”

The old soldier brought down his fist on to the desk—

“Well, you are a brave fellow! I like this obstinacy, Vallenot. The deuce take me if I would not have done the same thing at his age. Well, it is understood, go to the rendezvous. But we, too, shall take precautionary measures to protect and defend you, if necessary.”

“Oh! General, do nothing whatever, please! The slightest intervention would ruin everything! If it is really Sophia who has written the letter, I have no need of an escort or protection of any kind. If it is a trap, those who have prepared it have their eyes open, and will notice all your preparations.”

“Do you know where the lady lives?” asked the magistrate.

“No, sir; as you see, no address is given in the letter.”

M. Mayeur then said in measured tones—

“My dear sir, your reasons are not bad ones at all. True, I have recommended you to be prudent, but if you will go to the rendezvous, go. Still, as we must always look at things from a practical standpoint, what result do you expect to obtain?”

“Monsieur,” said Marcel, gravely; “General de Trémont was my friend; his death has not been avenged. Our works have been fired; my uncle Graff, my servant, and myself were almost burnt alive. This crime has not been punished, any more than the assassination of Laforêt. I intend to throw light on all these facts, though it be at the peril of my life.”

“Very good, sir, all I can do is to wish you good luck.”

Marcel bowed and shook hands with the three men.

“He is a true Baradier! But he is too venturesome!”

As soon as the door was closed, M. Mayeur rose from his seat, exclaiming—.

“Here is an opportunity, General, to seize all these rascals at once. Of course, you know as well as I do that it is their object to entice M. Baradier into the house in the Boulevard Maillot, and there force him to give up his secret. Just now you said that these villains must be induced to resist, and then massacred. Without going to that extremity, we have now an opportunity of simplifying the whole proceedings.”

“But you promised Marcel you would not interfere!” said Colonel Vallenot.

“I don’t intend to interfere. He shall do as he likes. But I cannot take no interest in these preparations, nor will I, like young Baradier, be chivalrous with bandits. This is my plan: The rendezvous is for ten o’clock. You know the situation of the Boulevard Maillot; there is a ditch separating it from the Bois de Boulogne. A splendid hiding-place to hide a posse of police entering by the wood. I know a detective officer who is as intelligent as he is determined. I shall give him instructions to post himself there, and keep watch. In case M. Baradier is right, and there is nothing to fear, my men will simply have passed a night in the open-air. If he is mistaken then the danger will be a real one. You heard him say that he would be armed and ready to defend himself. At the first cry or shot my men will invade the house. If they are threatened they resist, if they are struck they will fire. Whether diplomacy wishes or not, if the villains are caught in the act the matter must take its course.”

“Whatever happens, do not let young Baradier be killed, and above all try to lay hands on the woman.”

“What do you think of the plan, General?”

The old soldier looked at the magistrate, then at Vallenot. He noticed the impassive countenance of the latter, and replied—

“You need not ask for my advice. All these judicial operations are out of my province. Act as you think best; I have nothing to say.”

The magistrate shook his head, with a mocking smile; then, taking up his hat, he said—

“Ah, I know what you mean! So long as the affair is not over, no one wishes to have anything to do with it. If it succeeds, then I shall be the only one to be left out of it all. But that matters little. It is my duty, and I will not hesitate. Your servant, General.”

And he left the room accompanied by Colonel Vallenot.