ly and
solemnly--'Mme. Fauville is innocent'--do they express your real mind? Do
you now absolutely believe in Marie Fauville's innocence?"

Don Luis shrugged his shoulders.

"Mme. Fauville's innocence has nothing to do with the case. It is a
question not of her, but of you, of you two and myself. So come straight
to the point and as quickly as you can. It is to your interest even more
than to mine."

"To our interest?"

"You forget the third heading to the article," cried Don Luis. "I did
more than proclaim Marie Fauville's innocence. I also announced--read for
yourself--The 'imminent arrest of the criminals,'"

Sauverand and Florence rose together, with the same unguarded movement.

"And, in your view, the criminals are--?" asked Sauverand.

"Why, you know as well as I do: they are the man with the ebony
walking-stick, who at any rate cannot deny having murdered Chief
Inspector Ancenis, and the woman who is his accomplice in all his crimes.
Both of them must remember their attempts to assassinate me: the revolver
shot on the Boulevard Suchet; the motor smash causing the death of my
chauffeur; and yesterday again, in the barn--you know where--the barn
with the two skeletons hanging from the rafters: yesterday--you
remember--the scythe, the relentless scythe, which nearly beheaded me."

"And then?"

"Well, then, the game is lost. You must pay up; and all the more so as
you have foolishly put your heads into the lion's mouth."

"I don't understand. What does all this mean?"

"It simply means that they know Florence Levasseur, that they know you
are both here, that the house is surrounded, and that Weber, the deputy
chief detective, is on his way."

Sauverand appeared disconcerted by this unexpected threat. Florence,
standing beside him, had turned livid. A mad anguish distorted her
features. She stammered:

"Oh, it is awful! No, no, I can't endure it!"

And, rushing at Don Luis:

"Coward! Coward! It's you who are betraying us! Coward! Oh, I knew that
you were capable of the meanest treachery! There you stand like an
executioner! Oh, you villain, you coward!"

She fell into her chair, exhausted and sobbing, with her hand to her
face.

Don Luis turned away. Strange to say, he experienced no sense of pity;
and Florence's tears affected him no more than her insults had done, no
more than if he had never loved the girl. He was glad of this release.
The horror with which she filled him had killed his love