while you were keeping so
assiduous a watch upon me, I did nothing but say to myself, 'I wonder
which she prefers: sweet champagne, dry champagne, or extra-dry?' I was
really puzzled. Especially after our departure from Paris. I had
lost your tracks, that is to say, I feared that you had lost mine and
abandoned the pursuit which was so gratifying to me. When I went for a
walk, I missed your beautiful dark eyes, gleaming with hatred under your
hair just touched with gray. But, this morning, I understood: the room
next to mine was empty at last; and my friend Clarisse was able to take
up her quarters, so to speak, by my bedside. From that moment I was
reassured. I felt certain that, on coming back--instead of lunching in
the restaurant as usual--I should find you arranging my things to your
convenience and suiting your own taste. That was why I ordered two
covers: one for your humble servant, the other for his fair friend."

She was listening to him now and in the greatest terror. So Daubrecq
knew that he was spied upon! For a whole week he had seen through her
and all her schemes!

In a low voice, anxious-eyed, she asked:

"You did it on purpose, did you not? You only went away to drag me with
you?"

"Yes," he said.

"But why? Why?"

"Do you mean to say that you don't know?" retorted Daubrecq, laughing
with a little cluck of delight.

She half-rose from her chair and, bending toward him, thought, as she
thought each time, of the murder which she could commit, of the murder
which she would commit. One revolver-shot and the odious brute was done
for.

Slowly her hand glided to the weapon concealed in her bodice.

Daubrecq said:

"One second, dear friend... You can shoot presently; but I beg you first
to read this wire which I have just received."

She hesitated, not knowing what trap he was laying for her; but he went
on, as he produced a telegram:

"It's about your son."

"Gilbert?" she asked, greatly concerned.

"Yes, Gilbert... Here, read it."

She gave a yell of dismay. She had read:

"Execution on Tuesday morning."

And she at once flung herself on Daubrecq, crying:

"It's not true!... It's a lie... to madden me... Oh, I know you: you are
capable of anything! Confess! It won't be on Tuesday, will it? In two
days! No, no... I tell you, we have four days yet, five days, in which
to save him... Confess it, confess it!"

She had no strength left, exhausted by this fit of rebellion; and her
voic