n't understand."

"Because the truth lies hidden in that story."

"But that truth is your innocence, isn't it?"

"It is Marie's innocence."

"But I don't dispute it!"

"What is the use of that if you can't prove it?"

"Exactly! It's for you to give me proofs."

"I have none."

"What!"

"I tell you, I have no proof of what I am asking you to believe."

"Then I shall not believe it!" cried Don Luis angrily. "No, and again no!
Unless you supply me with the most convincing proofs, I shall refuse to
believe a single word of what you are going to tell me."

"You have believed everything that I have told you so far," Sauverand
retorted very simply.

Don Luis offered no denial. He turned his eyes to Florence Levasseur; and
it seemed to him that she was looking at him with less aversion, and as
though she were wishing with all her might that he would not resist the
impressions that were forcing themselves upon him. He muttered:

"Go on with your story."

And there was something really strange about the attitude of those two
men, one making his explanation in precise terms and in such a way as to
give every word its full value, the other listening attentively and
weighing every one of those words; both controlling their excitement;
both as calm in appearance as though they were seeking the philosophical
solution in a case of conscience. What was going on outside did not
matter. What was to happen presently did not count.

Before all, whatever the consequences of their inactivity at this moment
when the circle of the police was closing in around them, before all it
was necessary that one should speak and the other listen.

"We are coming," said Sauverand, in his grave voice, "we are coming to
the most important events, to those of which the interpretation, which is
new to you, but strictly true, will make you believe in our good faith.
Ill luck having brought me across Hippolyte Fauville's path in the course
of one of my walks in the Bois, I took the precaution of changing my
abode and went to live in the little house on the Boulevard
Richard-Wallace, where Florence came to see me several times.

"I was even careful to keep her visits a secret and, moreover, to refrain
from corresponding with her except through the _poste restante_. I was
therefore quite easy in my mind.

"I worked in perfect solitude and in complete security. I expected
nothing. No danger, no possibility of danger, threatened us. And, I may