ously--on the Quai de l'Horloge. They had both got into
the motor bus that runs from the Place Saint-Michel to the Gare
Saint-Lazare.

Don Luis went back to a lonely little street where he had left his car in
the charge of a boy. He set the engine going and drove at full speed to
the Gare Saint-Lazare, From the omnibus shelter he went off on a fresh
track which also proved to be wrong, lost quite another hour, returned to
the terminus, and ended by learning for certain that Florence had stepped
by herself into a motor bus which would take her toward the Place du
Palais-Bourbon. Contrary to all his expectations, therefore, the girl
must have gone home.

The thought of seeing her again roused his anger to its highest pitch.
All the way down the Rue Royale and across the Place de la Concorde he
kept blurting out words of revenge and threats which he was itching to
carry out. He would abuse Florence. He would sting her with his insults.
He felt a bitter and painful need to hurt the odious creature.

But on reaching the Place du Palais-Bourbon he pulled up short. His
practised eye had counted at a glance, on the right and left, a
half-dozen men whose professional look there was no mistaking. And
Mazeroux, who had caught sight of him, had spun round on his heel and was
hiding under a gateway.

He called him:

"Mazeroux!"

The sergeant appeared greatly surprised to hear his name and came up
to the car.

"Hullo, the Chief!"

His face expressed such embarrassment that Don Luis felt his fears taking
definite shape.

"Look here, is it for me that you and your men are hanging about outside
my house?"

"There's a notion, Chief," replied Mazeroux, looking very uncomfortable.
"You know that you're in favour all right!"

Don Luis gave a start. He understood. Mazeroux had betrayed his
confidence. To obey his scruples of conscience as well as to rescue the
chief from the dangers of a fatal passion, Mazeroux had denounced
Florence Levasseur.

Perenna clenched his fists in an effort of his whole being to stifle his
boiling rage. It was a terrible blow. He received a sudden intuition of
all the blunders which his mad jealousy had made him commit since the day
before, and a presentiment of the irreparable disasters that might result
from them. The conduct of events was slipping from him.

"Have you the warrant?" he asked.

Mazeroux spluttered:

"It was quite by accident. I met the Prefect, who was back. We spoke of
the