all hope, Madame,
of saving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in the
court and in the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides,
I am going to stay here in the next room."

The count was heard ascending the stairs.

"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"

She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low as
to prevent the detective from hearing her:

"Be sure, we will not try to escape."

She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. He
was paler than death, and his eyes had a fearful, wandering
expression.

"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letter
which I received just now is not from the man whose signature it
professes to bear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, let
us leave this house--"

Laurence overwhelmed him with a look full of hate and contempt,
and said:

"It is too late."

Her countenance and voice were so strange that Tremorel, despite
his distress, was struck by it, and asked:

"What is the matter?"

"Everything is known; it is known that you killed your wife."

"It's false!"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, then, it is true," he added, "for I loved you so--"

"Really! And it was for love of me that you poisoned Sauvresy?"

He saw that he was discovered, that he had been caught in a trap,
that they had come, in his absence, and told Laurence all. He did
not attempt to deny anything.

"What shall I do?" cried he, "what shall I do?"

Laurence drew him to her, and muttered in a shuddering voice:

"Save the name of Tremorel; there are pistols here."

He recoiled, as if he had seen death itself.

"No," said he. "I can yet fly and conceal myself; I will go alone,
and you can rejoin me afterward."

"I have already told you that it is too late. The police have
surrounded the house. And--you know--it is the galleys, or--the
scaffold!"

"I can get away by the courtyard."

"It is guarded; look."

He ran to the window, saw M. Lecoq's men, and returned half mad
and hideous with terror.

"I can at least try," said he, "by disguising myself--"

"Fool! A detective is in there, and it was he who left that
warrant to arrest you on the table."

He saw that he was lost beyond hope.

"Must I die, then?" he muttered.

"Yes, you must; but before you die write a confession of your
crimes, for the innocent may be suspected--"

He sat down mechanically, took the pen which Laure