d to burn them in a few minutes and send the ashes to the bottom
of the well.

"So you see, Florence, all my measures are taken. You need not hope
for compassion from me, nor for help from anywhere else, since no one
knows where I have brought you, and Arsene Lupin is no longer alive.
Under these conditions, Florence, make your choice. The ending is in
your own hands: either you die, absolutely and irrevocably, or you
accept my love."

There was a moment of silence, then:

"Answer me yes or no. A movement of your head will decide your fate. If
it's no, you die. If it's yes, I shall release you. We will go from here
and, later, when your innocence is proved--and I'll see to that--you
shall become my wife. Is the answer yes, Florence?"

He put the question to her with real anxiety and with a restrained
passion that set his voice trembling. His knees dragged over the
flagstones. He begged and threatened, hungering to be entreated and, at
the same time, almost eager for a refusal, so great was his natural
murderous impulse.

"Is it yes, Florence? A nod, the least little nod, and I shall believe
you implicitly, for you never lie and your promise is sacred. Is it yes,
Florence? Oh, Florence, answer me! It is madness to hesitate. Your life
depends on a fresh outburst of my anger. Answer me! Here, look, my
cigarette is out. I'm throwing it away, Florence. A sign of your head: is
the answer yes or no?"

He bent over her and shook her by the shoulders, as if to force her to
make the sign which he asked for. But suddenly seized with a sort of
frenzy, he rose to his feet and exclaimed:

"She's crying! She's crying! She dares to weep! But, wretched girl, do
you think that I don't know what you're crying for? I know your secret,
pretty one, and I know that your tears do not come from any fear of
dying. You? Why, you fear nothing! No, it's something else! Shall I tell
you your secret? Oh, I can't, I can't--though the words scorch my lips.
Oh, cursed woman, you've brought it on yourself! You yourself want to
die, Florence, as you're crying--you yourself want to die--"

While he was speaking he hastened to get to work and prepare the horrible
tragedy. The leather pocket-book which he had mentioned as containing the
papers was lying on the ground; he put it in his pocket. Then, still
trembling, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the nearest bush.
Next, he took up the pickaxe and climbed the lower stones, stamping with
rag