morning, came
the sound of urgent knocking. He sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from
his eyes, for he knew that not without good cause would any one dare
disturb him at that hour. Then he stepped to the floor, thrust his feet
into a pair of slippers, his arms into the sleeves of a dressing-robe,
and opened the door.

"A telegram, sir, marked 'Most Important,'" said his valet, and passed
it in to him.

It was from Vice-Admiral Bellue, commander at Toulon, and a moment later
M. Delcasse had learned of the terrible disaster.

He ordered his carriage and dressed rapidly with trembling hands. He was
shocked and distressed as he had rarely been before. Would these
disasters never cease? First the _Jena_ow the _Liberte_--both ships
the pride of their country, the last formidable word in marine
architecture! He gulped down the cup of coffee which his valet brought
him, seized hat and gloves, hastened to his carriage, and drove
straight to the Elysee Palace.

The President was already up, and his broad face, usually so placid and
good-humoured, was convulsed with grief as he greeted his Minister. He
held in his hand a telegram, which he had just opened.

"See," he said, after the first moment, "the sad news is already
abroad," and he held out the message.

Delcasse took it and read it with astonished eyes. It was from the
German Emperor, and expressed his grief at the catastrophe, and his
sympathy with France, which he had directed his ambassador to call at
once in person to convey more fully.

"The Kaiser is certainly well-served!" muttered Delcasse, reading the
message again, his lips twitching with emotion. "There is something
ironical in this promptness. He must have had the news before we did!"

The President nodded gloomily. Then the other members of the cabinet
came whirling up, and were convened at once by their chief in secret
session.

Not many hours later, as a result of that session, a special train
rolled out of the Gare de Lyon, and headed away for the south, with a
clear track and right-of-way over everything. Aboard it were the
President himself, the Minister of Marine, the Minister of War, and a
score of minor officials. There was also a thin little man with white
hair and yellowish-white beard--M. Louis Jean Baptiste Lepine, Prefect
of Police, and the most famous hunter of criminals in the world; and in
the last car were a dozen of the best men of his staff, under command of
his most trusted lieut