uld never allow him
to have Susan. But once he had the girl away he would deal on a level
footing with her father. Thinking of all this, he replied by broken
phrases to the remarks addressed to him, and which he did not hear. He
only seemed to come to himself when they returned to Paris.

Susan, too, was thinking, and the bells of the four horses rang in her
ears, making her see endless miles of highway under eternal moonlight,
gloomy forests traversed, wayside inns, and the hurry of the hostlers to
change horses, for every one guesses that they are pursued.

When the landau entered the court-yard of the mansion, they wanted to
keep George to dinner. He refused, and went home. After having eaten a
little, he went through his papers as if about to start on a long
journey. He burnt some compromising letters, hid others, and wrote to
some friends. From time to time he looked at the clock, thinking:
"Things must be getting warm there." And a sense of uneasiness gnawed at
his heart. Suppose he was going to fail? But what could he fear? He
could always get out of it. Yet it was a big game he was playing that
evening.

He went out towards eleven o'clock, wandered about some time, took a
cab, and had it drawn up in the Place de la Concorde, by the Ministry of
Marine. From time to time he struck a match to see the time by his
watch. When he saw midnight approaching, his impatience became feverish.
Every moment he thrust his head out of the window to look. A distant
clock struck twelve, then another nearer, then two together, then a last
one, very far away. When the latter had ceased to sound, he thought: "It
is all over. It is a failure. She won't come." He had made up his mind,
however, to wait till daylight. In these matters one must be patient.

He heard the quarter strike, then the half-hour, then the quarter to,
and all the clocks repeated "one," as they had announced midnight. He no
longer expected her; he was merely remaining, racking his brain to
divine what could have happened. All at once a woman's head was passed
through the window, and asked: "Are you there, Pretty-boy?"

He started, almost choked with emotion, "Is that you, Susan?"

"Yes, it is I."

He could not manage to turn the handle quickly enough, and repeated:
"Ah! it is you, it is you; come inside."

She came in and fell against him. He said, "Go on," to the driver, and
the cab started.

She gasped, without saying a word.

He asked: "Well, how di