esponsibility for all that we have done.
Don't you agree? Besides, it'll do you all the good in the world.

"Put yourself forward, flatly; suppress me as much as you can; and, above
all--I don't suppose that you will have any objection to this little
detail--don't be such a fool as to say that you went to sleep for a
single second, last night, in the passage. First of all, you'd only be
blamed for it. And then ... well, that's understood, eh? So we have only
to say good-bye.

"If the Prefect wants me, as I expect he will, telephone to my address,
Place du Palais-Bourbon. I shall be there. Good-bye. It is not necessary
for me to assist at the inquiry; my presence would be out of place.
Good-bye, old chap."

He turned toward the door of the passage.

"Half a moment!" cried Mazeroux.

"Half a moment?... What do you mean?"

The detective sergeant had flung himself between him and the door and was
blocking his way.

"Yes, half a moment ... I am not of your opinion. It's far better that
you should wait until the Prefect comes."

"But I don't care a hang about your opinion!"

"May be; but you shan't pass."

"What! Why, Alexandre, you must be ill!"

"Look here, Chief," said Mazeroux feebly. "What can it matter to you?
It's only natural that the Prefect should wish to speak to you."

"Ah, it's the Prefect who wishes, is it?... Well, my lad, you can tell
him that I am not at his orders, that I am at nobody's orders, and that,
if the President of the Republic, if Napoleon I himself were to bar my
way ... Besides, rats! Enough said. Get out of the road!"

"You shall not pass!" declared Mazeroux, in a resolute tone,
extending his arms.

"Well, I like that!"

"You shall not pass."

"Alexandre, just count ten."

"A hundred, if you like, but you shall not...."

"Oh, blow your catchwords! Get out of this."

He seized Mazeroux by both shoulders, made him spin round on his
heels and, with a push, sent him floundering over the sofa. Then he
opened the door.

"Halt, or I fire!"

It was Mazeroux, who had scrambled to his feet and now stood with his
revolver in his hand and a determined expression on his face.

Don Luis stopped in amazement. The threat was absolutely indifferent to
him, and the barrel of that revolver aimed at him left him as cold as
could be. But by what prodigy did Mazeroux, his former accomplice, his
ardent disciple, his devoted servant, by what prodigy did Mazeroux dare
to act as he was doing