through which he had just passed did not show itself on his
face; and, now that all was lost, now that he was called upon to act, he
recovered that wonderful composure which never abandoned him at decisive
moments. He went up to Florence. She was very pale and was silently
weeping. He said:

"You must not be frightened, Mademoiselle. If you obey me implicitly, you
will have nothing to fear."

She did not reply and he saw that she still mistrusted him. And he almost
rejoiced at the thought that he would compel her to believe in him.

"Listen to me," he said to Sauverand. "In case I should not succeed after
all, there are still several things which you must explain."

"What are they?" asked Sauverand, who had lost none of his coolness.

Then, collecting all his riotous thoughts, resolved to omit nothing, but
at the same time to speak only what was essential, Don Luis asked, in a
calm voice:

"Where were you on the morning before the murder, when a man carrying an
ebony walking-stick and answering to your description entered the Cafe du
Pont-Neuf immediately after Inspector Verot?"

"At home."

"Are you sure that you did not go out?"

"Absolutely sure. And I am also sure that I have never been to the Cafe
du Pont-Neuf, of which I had never even heard."

"Good. Next question. Why, when you learned all about this business, did
you not go to the Prefect of Police or the examining magistrate? It would
have been simpler for you to give yourself up and tell the exact truth
than to engage in this unequal fight."

"I was thinking of doing so. But I at once realized that the plot hatched
against me was so clever that no bare statement of the truth would have
been enough to convince the authorities. They would never have believed
me. What proof could I supply? None at all--whereas, on the other hand,
the proofs against us were overwhelming and undeniable. Were not the
marks of the teeth evidence of Marie's undoubted guilt? And were not my
silence, my flight, the shooting of Chief Inspector Ancenis so many
crimes? No, if I would rescue Marie, I must remain free."

"But she could have spoken herself?"

"And confessed our love? Apart from the fact that her womanly modesty
would have prevented her, what good would it have done? On the contrary,
it meant lending greater weight to the accusation. That was just what
happened when Hippolyte Fauville's letters, appearing one by one,
revealed to the police the as yet unknown m