ce, vainly struggling to
release himself. And, in a spluttering whisper, "Mercy... mercy."

It was a dreadful sight... The faces of the three sons were
horror-struck. Lupin shuddered, sick at heart, and realized that he
himself could never have accomplished that abominable thing. He
listened for the words that were bound to come. He must learn the truth.
Daubrecq's secret was about to be expressed in syllables, in words wrung
from him by pain. And Lupin began to think of his retreat, of the car
which was waiting for him, of the wild rush to Paris, of the victory at
hand.

"Speak," whispered d'Albufex. "Speak and it will be over."

"Yes... yes..." gasped Daubrecq.

"Well...?"

"Later... to-morrow..."

"Oh, you're mad!... What are you talking about: to-morrow?...
Sebastiani, another turn!"

"No, no!" yelled Daubrecq. "Stop!"

"Speak!"

"Well, then... the paper... I have hidden the paper..."

But his pain was too great. He raised his head with a last effort,
uttered incoherent words, succeeded in twice saying, "Marie... Marie..."
and fell back, exhausted and lifeless.

"Let go at once!" said d'Albufex to Sebastiani. "Hang it all, can we
have overdone it?"

But a rapid examination showed him that Daubrecq had only fainted.
Thereupon, he himself, worn out with the excitement, dropped on the
foot of the bed and, wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead,
stammered:

"Oh, what a dirty business!"

"Perhaps that's enough for to-day," said the huntsman, whose rough face
betrayed a certain emotion. "We might try again to-morrow or the next
day..."

The marquis was silent. One of the sons handed him a flask of brandy. He
poured out half a glass and drank it down at a draught:

"To-morrow?" he said. "No. Here and now. One little effort more. At
the stage which he has reached, it won't be difficult." And, taking the
huntsman aside, "Did you hear what he said? What did he mean by that
word, 'Marie'? He repeated it twice."

"Yes, twice," said the huntsman. "Perhaps he entrusted the document to a
person called Marie."

"Not he!" protested d'Albufex. "He never entrusts anything to anybody.
It means something different."

"But what, monsieur le marquis?"

"We'll soon find out, I'll answer for it."

At that moment, Daubrecq drew a long breath and stirred on his couch.

D'Albufex, who had now recovered all his composure and who did not take
his eyes off the enemy, went up to him and said:

"You see,