me in his car from
Bouchotte's house to the lodgings in the Rue St. Jacques, it was very
dark; before the door the diamond in the spy's necktie glittered like a
beacon; three cyclists standing in a group under its rays made off in
divers directions at the car's approach. The angel took no notice, but
Maurice concluded that Arcade's movements interested various important
people in the State. He judged the danger to be pressing, and at once
made up his mind.

The next morning he came to seek the suspect, to take him to the Rue de
Rome. The angel was in bed. Maurice urged him to dress and to follow
him.

"Come," said he. "This house is no longer safe for you. You are watched.
One of these days you will be arrested. Do you wish to sleep in gaol?
No? Well, then, come. I will put you in a safe place."

The spirit smiled with some little compassion on his naive preserver.

"Do you not know," he said, "that an angel broke open the doors of the
prison where Peter was confined, and delivered the apostle? Do you
believe me, Maurice, to be inferior in power to that heavenly brother of
mine, and do you suppose that I am unable to do for myself what he did
for the fisherman of the lake of Tiberias?"

"Do not count on it, Arcade. He did it miraculously."

"Or by a stroke of luck, as a modern historian of the Church has it. But
no matter. I will follow you. Just allow me to burn a few letters and to
make a parcel of some books I shall need."

He threw some papers in the fire-place, put several volumes in his
pockets, and followed his guide to the car, which was waiting for them
not far off, outside the College of France. Maurice took the wheel.
Imitating the Kerub's prudence, he made so many windings and turnings,
and so many rapid twists that he put all the swift and numerous
cyclists, speeding in pursuit, off the scent. At length, having left
wheelmarks in every direction all over the town, he stopped in the Rue
de Rome, before the first-door flat, where the angel had first appeared.

On entering the dwelling which he had left eighteen months before to
carry out his mission, Arcade remembered the irreparable past, and
breathing in the scent used by Gilberte, his nostrils throbbed. He asked
after Madame des Aubels.

"She is very well," replied Maurice. "A little plumper and very much
more beautiful for it. She still bears you a grudge for your forward
behaviour. I hope that she will one day forgive you, as I have forgiven
y