e
Monge?

Before he could answer this question she was almost upon him. But she
was so absorbed in her own purposes that she saw him not, merely
turning to the right up the Rue Halle with the quick and certain step
of one who knows. Her black brows were set fiercely, and beneath them
the big dark eyes glittered dangerously. Her full lips were tightly
compressed; in the firmness of her tread was a world of determination.

Jean had obtained a good view of her face as she crossed the street,
and he shuddered. For in it he saw reflected the state of his own
tempestuous soul. He had read therein his own mind distempered by love
and doubt and torn by jealousy, disappointment, and despair.

He recalled the warning of Mlle. Fouchette, and he trembled for the
woman he loved. Well he comprehended the French character where love
and hatred are concerned.

At Rue Bezout the girl turned to the left, crossed over, and ran
rather than walked towards Avenue Montsouris. Jean ran until he
reached the corner, then cautiously peeped around it. Had he not done
so he would have come upon her, for she had stopped within two metres
and fumbled nervously with a package. He could hear her panting and
murmuring in her deep voice. She tore the string from the package with
her teeth and threw the paper wrapper on the ground.

It was a bottle of bluish liquid.

His heart stood still as he saw it; his legs almost failed him. If he
had seen the intended victim of this diabolical design approaching at
that moment he felt that he would scarcely have the strength to cry
out in warning, so overwhelmed was he with the horror of it.

What should he do? Would they come this way, or by Montsouris? He
might fall upon her suddenly,--overpower her where she stood!

Jean softly peeped once more around the angle of the wall. She was
trying to extract the cork from the bottle with a pair of tiny
scissors, but, being half frantic with haste and passion, she had only
broken one point after the other.

A sweet and silvery laugh behind him sent his heart into his throat.
It was Lerouge and Mlle. Remy coming leisurely along the Rue Halle. It
was now or----

But a second glance over his shoulder showed that they had turned down
the narrow Rue Dareau. Madeleine had made a mistake.

Almost at the same instant a piercing shriek of agony burst upon the
night. The scream seemed to split his ears, so near was it, so deep
the pain and terror of it.

And there la