her sitting on a sofa in the large salon, engaged
in an animated conversation with Madeleine.

"Of course they are talking over the scene; but what has become of
Lagors and De Clameran?"

He soon saw them wandering among the groups scattered about the room,
and eagerly asking questions.

"I will bet my head these honorable gentlemen are trying to find out
who I am. Keep it up, my friends, ask everybody in the room; I wish you
success!"

They soon gave it up, but were so preoccupied, and anxious to be alone
in order to reflect and deliberate, that, without waiting for supper,
they took leave of Mme. Fauvel and her niece, saying they were going
home.

The clown saw them go up to the dressing-room for their cloaks, and in a
few minutes leave the house.

"I have nothing more to do here," he murmured; "I might as well go too."

He completely covered his dress with a domino, and started for home,
thinking the cold frosty air would cool his confused brain.

He lit a cigar, and, walking up the Rue St. Lazare, crossed the Rue
Notre Dame de Lorette, and struck into the Faubourg Montmartre.

A man suddenly started out from some place of concealment, and rushed
upon him with a dagger.

Fortunately the clown had a cat-like instinct, which enabled him
to protect himself against immediate danger, and detect any which
threatened.

He saw, or rather divined, the man crouching in the dark shadow of a
house, and had the presence of mind to strike an attitude which enabled
him to ward off the assassin by spreading out his arms before him.

This movement certainly saved his life; for he received in his arm a
furious stab, which would have instantly killed him had it penetrated
his breast.

Anger, more than pain, made him cry out:

"Ah, you villain!"

And recoiling a few feet, he put himself on the defensive.

But the precaution was useless.

Seeing his blow miss, the assassin did not return to the attack, but
made rapidly off.

"That was certainly Lagors," said the clown, "and Clameran must be
somewhere near. While I walked around one side of the church, they must
have gone the other and lain in wait for me."

His wound began to pain him; he stood under a gas-lamp to examine it.

It did not appear to be dangerous, but the arm was cut through to the
bone.

He tore his handkerchief into four bands, and tied his arm up with the
dexterity of a surgeon.

"I must be on the track of some great crime, since these fell