tion was proceeding. He was moving towards Monsieur Fuselier's
room, the magistrate in charge of the Auteuil affair, and he must have
looked his vexation, for Elizabeth said:

"I am a little to blame, perhaps, that you had not due notice, but what
could I do! Yesterday evening when you telephoned to the convent to ask
for news of me, I was just going to tell you at what time I was
summoned, but when I went to the telephone...."

"What's this you are telling me?" asked Fandor, staring hard at
Elizabeth. "I never telephoned to you yesterday evening. Who told you I
had been asking for you on the telephone?"

"Nobody said so; but I supposed it was you! Who else would be so kindly
interested in my doings?"

Fandor made no reply to this. Here was the telephone mystery again--an
alarming mystery. Elizabeth had not given her address to anyone: Fandor
had been careful not to give it to a soul.... Clearly, this poor girl,
even in the heart of this peaceful convent, was not secure from some
unknown, outside interference; and Fandor, optimist though he was, could
not help shuddering at the thought of these mysterious adversaries,
implacable and formidable, who might work harm to this unfortunate girl,
whose devoted protector he now was.... Besides ... did he not feel for
Jacques Dollon's pretty sister something sweeter and more tender than
pure sympathy?... Whenever he was near her, did he not experience a
thrill of emotion? Fandor did not analyse his feelings, but they
influenced him unconsciously.

He turned to Elizabeth.

"Since you cannot remain any longer at the convent, where do you think
of staying?"

"Well, monsieur, I shall go back to the convent this evening, though it
is painful to me--very, very painful--to be obliged to accept their icy
hospitality ... as for to-morrow!"

Fandor was about to make a suggestion, when the door of Monsieur
Fuselier's room opened half-way. The magistrate's clerk appeared, and,
glancing round the passage over his spectacles, called, in a dull tone:

"Monsieur Jerome Fandor!"

"Here!" replied our journalist. "I am coming!"

Then, taking a hasty farewell of Elizabeth as he went towards the
magistrate's room, he whispered:

"Wait for me, mademoiselle; and, for the love of Heaven, remember
this--whatever I may say, whatever happens, whether we are alone,
together, or in the presence of others, whether it be in a few minutes,
or later on, do not be astonished at what may befall you