dible, but which little by little took
definite shape. It was said that the Thomery ball had just become the
scene of an accident, of a drama, of a robbery, of a crime!... The
police, and of the highest grade, had intervened.... The news spread
like a train of ignited gunpowder.... Nevertheless, if Thomery's guests
were cognisant of the details, they did not take the beggars and
pickpockets into their confidence: among the light-fingered gentry
conjectures were rife.

The Beadle and the Beard, who tried to catch odds and ends of talk
separately, joined each other again, looking crestfallen, discomfited.
The Beadle broke silence, with an oath, adding:

"I am certain we have been done ... someone has got in before us--been
too smart for us!"

Beard nodded: he was of the same opinion.

But who then could have had the audacity to plan such an attempt and
carry it out, too? Who could have had the same idea as he and his
comrades, and to realise it successfully? Whoever it was had proved
himself the better man. In spite of himself the bandit, in thought,
formulated one word:

Fantomas!

VIII

END OF THE BALL

When Sonia Danidoff entered Thomery's ball-room she made a sensation. It
was not far off midnight when she appeared in all her brilliant beauty
and dazzling array, leaning on the arm of her host and fiance, who bore
his honours proudly. Dancers paused to admire this handsome couple; then
the Hungarian band redoubled their efforts, and the whirling, eddying
waltz started afresh, more gay, more inspiriting than before.

In a corner opposite the musicians a group of persons were in animated
talk: among them Sonia Danidoff, Thomery, and Jerome Fandor. Music was
their theme, some admired Wagner and the classics, others voted for the
moderns, for the sugariest of waltzes, for the romantic, the bizarre.

"For the profane like myself," declared Thomery, laughing, "gipsy music
has its charms!"

"Oh," cried Sonia Danidoff, "you are not going to tell me that such
hackneyed things as _The Smile of Spring_ and _The Blush Rose Waltz_ are
to your taste!"

Her tone was reproachful, but her smile was charming.

Nanteuil, the fashionable banker, who was fluttering about the Princess,
hastened to take her side:

"Come now, Thomery, you would not put your signature to that?"

Jerome Fandor, who had just joined the group, declared:

"For my part, I thoroughly agree with you, my dear Monsieur Thomery!"

Sonia Da