Then amidst all this confused din of the London streets,
what was the phrase that kept ringing in his ears?--"_And when she bids
die he shall surely die!_" But he no longer heard the pathetic vibration
of Natalie Lind's voice; the words seemed to him solemn, and distant,
and hopeless, like a knell. But only if it were over--that was again his
wild desire. In the grave was forgetfulness and peace.

Presently a curious fancy seized him. At the corner of Windmill Street a
ragged youth was bawling out the name of a French journal. Brand bought
a copy of the journal, passed on, and walked into an adjacent cafe, and
took a seat at one of the small tables. A waiter came to him, and he
mechanically ordered coffee. He began to search this newspaper for the
array of paragraphs usually headed _Tribunaux_.

At last, in the corner of the newspaper, he found that heading, though
under it there was nothing of any importance or interest. But it was the
heading itself that had a strange fascination for him. He kept his eyes
fixed on it. Then he began to see detached phrases and sentences--or,
perhaps, it was only in his brain that he saw them: "The Assassination
of Count Zaccatelli! The accused, an Englishman, who refuses to declare
his name, admits that he had no personal enmity--commanded to execute
this horrible crime--a punishment decreed by a society which he will not
name--confesses his guilt--is anxious to be sentenced at once, and to
die as soon as the law permits.... This morning the assassin of Cardinal
Zaccatelli, who has declared his name to be Edward Bernard, was
executed."

He hurriedly folded up the paper, just as if he were afraid of some one
overlooking and reading these words, and glanced around. No one was
regarding him. The cafe was nearly full, and there was plenty of
laughing and talking amidst the glare of the gas. He slunk out of the
place, leaving the coffee untasted. But when he had got outside he
straightened himself up, and his face assumed a firmer expression. He
walked quickly along to Clarges Street. The Evelyns' house was dark from
top to bottom; apparently the family had retired for the night. "Perhaps
he is at the Century," Brand said to himself, as he started off again.
But just as he got to the corner of the street a hansom drove up, and
the driver taking the corner too quickly, sent the wheel on to the curb.

"Why don't you look where you're going to?" a voice called out from the
inside of the ca