ent," he said. "Let us go the first day that is possible."

He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable.

"Will to-morrow suit you?" he asked.

"To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?"

Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which
appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette.

"Does he imagine, the young 'confrere', that I am going to believe his
time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give
me an hour?"

But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His
almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact
hour of sunset that he wished: "26 March, 6h. 20m." At this moment
it would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville's for lamps to be
lighted, and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him
clearly in the uncertain light of evening.

"Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o'clock."

"Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at
seven o'clock in the Rue Royale."

Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance,
enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville's before the lamps would
be lighted.

When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room.

"A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o'clock, at Madame
Dammauville's."

She threw herself on his breast.

"I knew that you would forgive me."

CHAPTER XXXII. THE FATAL LIGHT

It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon
slip away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted
himself at each instant to look at the clock.

Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it
seemed to stand still.

This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more
necessary than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only
in being master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the
coolness of a surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a
battle; and the coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous
and agitated.

Could he escape from this danger?

This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he
knew the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or
against him?

Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had
not; but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He d