"No, no; and again, no!" cried the girl more and more angrily. "I have
them. I keep them!"

The captain grew pale. She added, a little more gently:

"But, you great stupid, they are of no importance! I'll give them back
to you later--when you are good. You are behaving like a schoolboy!
Come, kiss me! Tell your little Bobe that you are not angry with her!
If you don't I shall cry!"

Already she was beginning to sob, and great tears were dropping.
Captain Brocq, struck dumb, gazed at her sorrowfully. And whilst he
clasped her in his arms, anxiety strained at his heart, anguish
convulsed his soul. Did she really love him, this woman with her
whimsical ways, her independent attitude, this elusive woman who never
gave herself entirely? Was he the dupe of a comedy? Did she consent to
these meetings three times a week through pity, through sympathy only,
or through habit, or, worse still, for some mercenary reason? And this
when he himself would have given up everything so that he might not
miss them! Ah, if that were the truth! The captain felt an immense
void opening in the depths of his lonely soul. He apologised in a low
voice, hurriedly, with bent head, humbly, and Bobinette listened with
curled lip and haughty air: She bore no malice, she declared. Then, a
few moments later, for she was really much upset and did not wish to
show it, she hurried away, dropping a hasty kiss on her lover's
forehead as a token of peace. How ardently he wished that this peace
might last.

"I am very much behind time," she had murmured by way of farewell.

Directly his mistress had gone, Brocq went to the window, watched her
turn the corner of the rue de Lille, enter the rue des Saints-Peres,
and go towards the quays. While he watched her he was trembling. A
roll of paper was sticking out of Bobinette's muff. Brocq knew this
paper: its appearance and colour were familiar to him. Nevertheless,
his mind was so full of his love affair that he immediately forgot
this detail. But, in a minute, the turn of events forced him to recall
it.

"In Heaven's Name!" shouted Captain Brocq, as a violent blow from his
clenched fist made the scattered papers on his bureau tremble. "By
Heaven! It is impossible!"

When he found himself alone, sadly alone in his little flat, Brocq saw
it was five o'clock, and more than time to start for the Ministry of
War. Hastily putting on overcoat and hat, he had hurried into his
study to look for the big leather