awaits him."

Mme. Gypsy's persistence was becoming alarming. She hastily drew around
her a cashmere shawl, and, putting on her hat, declared that she was
ready to walk from one end of Paris to the other, in search of the
judge.

"Come, monsieur," she said with feverish impatience. "Are you not coming
with me?"

Fanferlot was perplexed. Happily he always had several strings to his
bow.

Personal considerations having no hold upon this impulsive nature, he
resolved to appeal to her interest in Prosper.

"I am at your command, fair lady," he said; "let us go if you desire
it; only permit me, while there is yet time, to say that we are very
probably going to do great injury to M. Bertomy."

"In what way, if you please?"

"Because we are taking a step that he expressly forbade in his letter;
we are surprising him--giving him no warning."

Nina scornfully tossed her head, and replied:

"There are some people who must be saved without warning, and against
their will. I know Prosper: he is just the man to let himself be
murdered without a struggle, without speaking a word--to give himself up
through sheer recklessness and despair."

"Excuse me, madame," interrupted the detective: "M. Bertomy has by
no means the appearance of a man who has given up in despair. On the
contrary, I think he has already laid his plan of defence. By showing
yourself, when he advised you to remain in concealment, you will be very
likely to make vain his most careful precautions."

Mme. Gypsy was silently weighing the value of Fanferlot's objections.
Finally she said:

"I cannot remain here inactive, without attempting to contribute in
some way to his safety. Can you not understand that this floor burns my
feet?"

Evidently, if she was not absolutely convinced, her resolution was
shaken. Fanferlot saw that he was gaining ground, and this certainty,
making him more at ease, gave weight to his eloquence.

"You have it in your power, madame," he said, "to render a great service
to the man you love."

"In what way, monsieur, in what way?"

"Obey him, my child," said Fanferlot, in a paternal manner.

Mme. Gypsy evidently expected very different advice.

"Obey," she murmured, "obey!"

"It is your duty," said Fanferlot with grave dignity, "it is your sacred
duty."

She still hesitated; and he took from the table Prosper's note, which
she had laid there, then continued:

"What! M. Bertomy at the most trying moment, when he is abou