ry was to sit, and the
church of Saint Louis, where requiem High Mass was to be celebrated.
Finally as much as remained of the holiday was spent at a cafe before a
glass of coffee or aperitif, with the satisfaction of a sacred duty
conscientiously performed.

Lepine, as he made his way through the crowd, noticed that there was no
longer any talk of treachery or treason,--even the word "sabotage" was
no longer uttered. Every one agreed that the affair was another
accident, deplorable indeed, but unavoidable and without dishonour, and
so not to be taken too deeply to heart. France could build other
battleships! The mercury in the national temperament was asserting
itself.

For an hour Lepine walked about with thoughtful face, listening to the
talk, watching the crowd, joining a group here and there, catching
chance words from passers-by. He had had only three hours' sleep, but he
showed no trace of fatigue. Certainly nothing was farther from his
thoughts at this moment than that he needed rest.

He made his way at last to the Quai de Cronstadt and joined the crowd
which was staring at the wreck. A barge had been moored alongside, and a
heavy crane was lifting the detached debris into it and clearing the way
for the searching parties. On the quay opposite the wreck, at Number
Ten, was a cafe, the Cafe des Voyageurs as its sign announced, and to
this Lepine presently crossed, sat down at a table and ordered a bock.

The cafe was crowded, for its situation could not have been more
fortunate; a steady stream of money had poured into the pockets of its
proprietor ever since the disaster. The shattered windows were in
themselves an advertisement, and no effort had as yet been made to
replace them. Lepine looked about the place with interest. It was not
large, but it had a certain air of prosperity bespeaking a good
patronage, even at ordinary times. At the Prefecture, Lepine had made
some discreet inquiries concerning its proprietor, who, he was told, had
the reputation of being an honest fellow and had never been in trouble
with the police. Nevertheless, as a friend of Crochard's, Lepine would
have welcomed a look at him; but the place at the moment was apparently
in charge of the head-waiter. It was the head-waiter himself who
responded when Lepine rapped for the "addition," and, as he paid it,
slipped a note into his hand. Lepine opened it, under cover of his hat,
and found that it contained a single line:

"Mons