a grave face, with the eyes of a child.
But it's she, Mazeroux. She lives in my house. Remember her name:
Florence Levasseur. You'll arrest her, won't you? I might not be able to.
My courage fails me when I look at her. The fact is that I have never
loved before.

"There have been other women--but no, those were fleeting fancies--not
even that: I don't even remember the past! Whereas Florence--! You must
arrest her, Mazeroux. You must deliver me from her eyes. They burn into
me like poison. If you don't deliver me I shall kill her as I killed
Dolores--or else they will kill me--or--Oh, I don't know all the ideas
that are driving me wild--!

"You see, there's another man," he explained. "There's Sauverand, whom
she loves. Oh, the infamous pair! They have killed Fauville and the boy
and old Langernault and those two in the barn and others besides: Cosmo
Mornington, Verot, and more still. They are monsters, she most of
all--And if you saw her eyes-"

He spoke so low that Mazeroux could hardly hear him. He had let go his
hold of Mazeroux and seemed utterly cast down with despair, a surprising
symptom in a man of his amazing vigour and authority.

"Come, Chief," said the sergeant, helping him up. "This is all stuff and
nonsense. Trouble with women: I've had it like everybody else. Mme.
Mazeroux--yes, I got married while you were away--Mme. Mazeroux turned
out badly herself, gave me the devil of a time, Mme. Mazeroux did. I'll
tell you all about it, Chief, how Mme. Mazeroux rewarded my kindness."

He led Don Luis gently to the car and settled him on the front seat.

"Take a rest, Chief. It's not very cold and there are plenty of furs. The
first peasant that comes along at daybreak, I'll send him to the next
town for what we want--and for food, too, for I'm starving. And
everything will come right; it always does with women. All you have to do
is to kick them out of your life--except when they anticipate you and
kick themselves out.... I was going to tell you: Mme. Mazeroux--"

Don Luis was never to learn what had happened with Mme. Mazeroux. The
most violent catastrophies had no effect upon the peacefulness of his
slumbers. He was asleep almost at once.

It was late in the morning when he woke up. Mazeroux had had to wait till
seven o'clock before he could hail a cyclist on his way to Chartres.

They made a start at nine o'clock. Don Luis had recovered all his
coolness. He turned to his sergeant.

"I said a lot las