e approach, he murmured incoherent words. The recollection of the two
lovers clasped in each other's arms made him cry aloud with jealousy. He
wanted to be revenged. For the first time in his life, the longing, the
feverish craving to kill set his brain boiling.

"Hang it all!" he growled suddenly. "The engine's misfiring! Mazeroux!
Mazeroux!"

"What, Chief! Did you know that I was here?" exclaimed Mazeroux, emerging
from the shadow in which he sat hidden.

"You jackass! Do you think that the first idiot who comes along can hang
on to the footboard of my car without my knowing it? You must be feeling
comfortable down there!"

"I'm suffering agonies, and I'm shivering with cold."

"That's right, it'll teach you. Tell me, where did you buy your petrol?"

"At the grocer's."

"At a thief's, you mean. It's muck. The plugs are getting sooted up."

"Are you sure?"

"Can't you hear the misfiring, you fool?"

The motor, indeed, at moments seemed to hesitate. Then everything became
normal again. Don Luis forced the pace. Going downhill they appeared to
be hurling themselves into space. One of the lamps went out. The other
was not as bright as usual. But nothing diminished Don Luis's ardour.

There was more misfiring, fresh hesitations, followed by efforts, as
though the engine was pluckily striving to do its duty. And then suddenly
came the final failure, a dead stop at the side of the road, a stupid
breakdown.

"Confound it!" roared Don Luis. "We're stuck! Oh, this is the last
straw!"

"Come, Chief, we'll put it right. And we'll pick up Sauverand at Paris
instead of Chartres, that's all."

"You infernal ass! The repairs will take an hour! And then she'll break
down again. It's not petrol, it's filth they've foisted on you."

The country stretched around them to endless distances, with no other
lights than the stars that riddled the darkness of the sky.

Don Luis was stamping with fury. He would have liked to kick the motor to
pieces. He would have liked--

It was Mazeroux who "caught it," in the hapless sergeant's own words. Don
Luis took him by the shoulders, shook him, loaded him with insults and
abuse and, finally, pushing him against the roadside bank and holding him
there, said, in a broken voice of mingled hatred and sorrow.

"It's she, do you hear, Mazeroux? it's Sauverand's companion who has done
everything. I'm telling you now, because I'm afraid of relenting. Yes, I
am a weak coward. She has such