shed if I join you some fine morning."

"Nothing ever astonishes me," said the Russian. "Nothing!"

And in that word nothing were expressed profound disgust with life and
fierce contempt of death.

Menko warmly grasped his friend's thin and emaciated hand; and, the last
farewell spoken to the fanatic departing for some tragical adventure,
the Hungarian became more sombre and troubled than before, and
Labanoff's appearance seemed like a doubtful apparition. He returned to
his longing to see the end of the most anxious day of his life.

At last, late in the evening, Michel entered his coupe, and was driven
away-down the Rue d'Aumale, through the Rue Pigalle and the Rue de
Douai, to the rondpoint of the Place Clichy, the two lanterns casting
their clear light into the obscurity. The coupe then took the road
to Maisons-Lafitte, crossing the plain and skirting wheat-fields and
vineyards, with the towering silhouette of Mont Valerien on the left,
and on the right, sharply defined against the sky, a long line of hills,
dotted with woods and villas, and with little villages nestling at their
base, all plunged in a mysterious shadow.

Michel, with absent eyes, gazed at all this, as Trilby rapidly trotted
on. He was thinking of what lay before him, of the folly he was about to
commit, as he had said to Labanoff. It was a folly; and yet, who could
tell? Might not Marsa have reflected? Might she not; alarmed at his
threats, be now awaiting him? Her exquisite face, like a lily, rose
before him; an overwhelming desire to annihilate time and space took
possession of him, and he longed to be standing, key in hand, before the
little gate in the garden wall.

He was well acquainted with the great park of Maisons-Lafitte, with the
white villas nestling among the trees. On one side Prince Tchereteff's
house looked out upon an almost desert tract of land, on which a
racecourse had been mapped out; and on the other extended with the
stables and servants' quarters to the forest, the wall of the Avenue
Lafitte bounding the garden. In front of the villa was a broad lawn,
ending in a low wall with carved gates, allowing, through the branches
of the oaks and chestnuts, a view of the hills of Cormeilles.

After crossing the bridge of Sartrouville, Michel ordered his coachman
to drive to the corner of the Avenue Corneille, where he alighted in the
shadow of a clump of trees.

"You will wait here, Pierre," he said, "and don't stir till I ret