ravel: suppose, for a
moment, that it is a formidable, inexhaustible treasure--or else an
invisible, prodigious, fantastic refuge--or both perhaps. Think of the
superhuman power which I must derive from it! And you do not know,
either, all the resources which I have within myself--all that my will
and my imagination enable me to undertake and to undertake
successfully. Only think that my whole life--ever since I was born, I
might almost say--has tended toward the same aim, that I worked like a
convict before becoming what I am and to realize, in its perfection,
the type which I wished to create--which I have succeeded in creating.
That being so--what can you do? At that very moment when you think that
victory lies within your grasp, it will escape you--there will be
something of which you have not thought--a trifle--a grain of sand
which I shall have put in the right place, unknown to you. I entreat
you, give up--I should be obliged to hurt you; and the thought
distresses me." And, placing his hand on the boy's forehead, he
repeated, "Once more, youngster, give up. I should only hurt you. Who
knows if the trap into which you will inevitably fall has not already
opened under your footsteps?"

Beautrelet uncovered his face. He was no longer crying. Had he heard
Lupin's words? One might have doubted it, judging by his inattentive
air.

For two or three minutes, he was silent. He seemed to weigh the
decision which he was about to take, to examine the reasons for and
against, to count up the favorable and unfavorable chances. At last, he
said to Lupin:

"If I change the sense of the article, if I confirm the version of your
death and if I undertake never to contradict the false version which I
shall have sanctioned, do you swear that my father will be free?"

"I swear it. My friends have taken your father by motor car to another
provincial town. At seven o'clock to-morrow morning, if the article in
the Grand Journal is what I want it to be, I shall telephone to them
and they will restore your father to liberty."

"Very well," said Beautrelet. "I submit to your conditions."

Quickly, as though he saw no object in prolonging the conversation
after accepting his defeat, he rose, took his hat, bowed to me, bowed
to Lupin and went out. Lupin watched him go, listened to the sound of
the door closing and muttered:

"Poor little beggar!"

* * * * *

At eight o'clock the next morning, I sen