other, tossed by irresolution, he was by no
means the strong man that he had believed himself: one to go to the end
unmoved, ready to face every attack; master of his nerves as of his will,
in full possession of all his powers. On the contrary, he had been the
plaything of agitation and weakness. If a serious danger had risen.
before him, he would not have known on which side to attack it; fear
would have paralyzed him, and he would have been lost.

To tell the truth, his hand had been firm, but his head had been
bewildered.

There was something humiliating in this, he was obliged to acknowledge;
and, what was more serious, it was alarming. Because, although everything
had gone as he wished, up to the present time, all was not finished, nor
even begun.

If the investigations of the law should reach him, how should he defend
himself?

He felt sure that he had not been seen in Caffies house at the moment
when the crime was committed; but does one ever know whether one has been
seen or not?

And there was the production of money that he should use to pay his
debts, which might become an accusation against which it would be
difficult to defend himself. In any case, he must be ready to explain his
position. And what might complicate the matter was, that Caffie, a
careful man, had probably taken care to write the numbers of his
bank-notes in a book, which would be found.

On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to
his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood
that might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right
one, which was still red. But suddenly it occurred to him that he might
be followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived. He hastened
his steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, and
took the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was little
chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on his
clothing or boots. He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, turning
and returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place Vendome
twice, where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go home, not
knowing whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all quest, or
whether he should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of panic.

As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him,
and, running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness. Saniel,