h
fury, and, uttering an inarticulate roar, he rushed out of the bureau
with clenched fists murderously uplifted. The terrified Bondon shrank
into a corner, protected by Aristide, who, smiling like an angel of
peace, intercepted the onslaught of the huge man.

"Be calm, my good Bocardon, be calm."

But Bocardon would not be calm. He found his voice.

"Ah, scoundrel! Miscreant! Wretch! Traitor!" When his vocabulary of
vituperation and his breath failed him, he paused and mopped his
forehead.

Bondon came a step or two forward.

"I know, monsieur, I have all the wrong on my side. Your anger is
justifiable. But I never dreamt of the disastrous effect of my acts. Let
me see her, my good M. Bocardon, I beseech you."

"Let you see her?" said Bocardon, growing purple in the face.

At this moment Zette came running up the passage.

"What is all this noise about?"

"Ah, madame!" cried Bondon, eagerly, "I am heart-broken. You who are so
kind--let me see her."

"_Hein_?" exclaimed Bocardon, in stupefaction.

"See whom?" asked Zette.

"My dear dead one. My dear Euphemie, who has committed suicide."

"But he's mad!" shouted Bocardon, in his great voice. "Euphemie!
Euphemie! Come here!"

At the sight of Euphemie, pale and shivering with apprehension, Bondon
sank upon a bench by the wall. He stared at her as if she were a ghost.

"I don't understand," he murmured, faintly, looking like a trapped hare
at Aristide Pujol, who, debonair, hands on hips, stood a little way
apart.

"Nor I, either," cried Bocardon.

A great light dawned on Zette's beautiful face. "I do understand." She
exchanged glances with Aristide. He came forward.

"It's very simple," said he, taking the stage with childlike exultation.
"I go to find Bondon this morning to kill him. In the train I have a
sudden inspiration, a revelation from Heaven. It is not Zette but
Euphemie that is the _bonne amie_ of Bondon. I laugh, and frighten a
long-toothed English old maid out of her wits. Shall I get out at
Tarascon and return to Nimes and tell you, or shall I go on? I decide to
go on. I make my plan. Ah, but when I make a plan, it's all in a second,
a flash, _pfuit!_ At Avignon I see a pair of handcuffs. I buy them. I
spend hours tracking that animal there. At last I find him at the
station about to start for Lyon. I tell him I am a police agent. I let
him see the handcuffs, which convince him. I tell him Euphemie, in
consequence of the discovery of his