he declares that you know who she is."

"What is she like?" Fandor asked. His curiosity was not much aroused.

"Pretty, fair, all in black," replied the boy.

"Good. I'll go in," interrupted Fandor.

He entered the sitting-room and stood face to face with Mademoiselle
Elizabeth Dollon. She came forward, her eyes shining, her face alight
with welcome:

"Ah, monsieur," she cried, taking his hands in hers, a movement of pure
gratitude: "Ah, monsieur, I knew you would come to my help! I have read
your article of yesterday. Thank you again and again! But, I implore
you, since my brother is alive, tell me where I can see him! For mercy's
sake don't keep me waiting!"

Surprise kept Fandor silent a moment.

_La Capitale_ had published the evening before a sensational article by
Fandor, in which, under the guise of suppositions and interrogations, he
had narrated the various adventures as they had happened to himself,
concluding with the question--really an ironical one: "If Jacques
Dollon, who had disappeared from his cell, where he had been left for
dead, had escaped from the Depot by way of the famous chimney of Marie
Antoinette, had reached the roof of the Palais, had redescended by
another passageway to the sewer opening on to the Seine, did it not seem
possible that Dollon had escaped alive from the Depot?"

Fandor had indulged in a gentle irony, despite the gravity of the
circumstances, in order to complicate the already complicated affair,
and so plunge the police into a confusion worse confounded: this, in
spite of his conviction that Dollon was dead, dead as dead could be!

Now the cruelty of this professional game was brought home to him. His
article had raised fresh hopes in Dollon's poor sister! At sight of this
charming girl, brightened with hope, Fandor felt all pity and guilt. He
pressed her hands; he hesitated; he was troubled. He did not know how to
explain. At last he murmured:

"It was wrong of me, mademoiselle, very wrong to write that article in
such a way without warning you beforehand. Alas! You must not cherish
illusions, illusions which this unfortunate article has given rise to,
illusions I cannot believe in myself. I speak with all the sincerity of
which I am capable, with the keenest desire to be of service to you: I
dare not let you buoy yourself up with false hopes.... I assure you
then, that from what I have been able to learn, to see, to know, I am
convinced that your unfortunate broth