er of de Naarboveck, the
rich diplomat! But who, then, is she?"

Juve knew it was useless to say this to de Loubersac, blinded by love
as he was; but his aim--a rather Machiavellian one--was to sow seeds
of suspicion in the heart of this lover, which would drive him to
provoke an explanation, and force Wilhelmine to speak out, for she
must surely know the facts relating to her identity!

This Machiavellian Juve did not hesitate to say to de Loubersac:

"You remember what the false Vagualame told you when you talked with
him on the banks of the Seine?... You are to-day in the presence of
this false Vagualame--of me, Juve--as you know.... Well, I am sorry to
tell you that, whatever outside appearance I adopt, my way of
thinking, my way of seeing things seldom changes."

Henri de Loubersac understood: he grew pale: his lips were pressed
tightly together: he clenched his fists.

Satisfied with this result, Juve repeated to himself this celebrated
aphorism of the Bastille:

"Slander! Slander! Some of it always sticks!"

It was dark. In a little restaurant near by, the two men dined
frugally: it was a mediocre repast, not too well cooked. Anxious
questionings tormented them. The fugitives were long in coming: had
they got wind of what was afoot? Had Vinson and the priest been warned
that detectives were hot on their trail? If so, it was all up with the
arrest!

De Loubersac remained on the watch. Juve returned to the police
station. He was crossing the threshold when the telephone shrilled.
News from the police sergeant at Rouen!

The corporal and the abbe, leaving Rouen, had taken the road to
Barentin, had dined at _The Flowery Crossways Hotel_, and, according
to the chauffeur's statement, they would pass the night there: they
would reach Dieppe next morning at the earliest possible moment.

Juve hurried with the news to de Loubersac. After a short consultation
they separated: each pretended he was going to his own particular
hotel to get some rest.

* * * * *

Juve did not quit the neighbourhood of the quay. Installed in a custom
house official's sentry box, he stolidly set himself to pass the night
with only his thoughts for company. An hour passed. Juve cocked a
listening ear; there were furtive footsteps--stealthy movements close
by!... Juve thrilled!... If it were the traitor Vinson? The steps came
nearer, nearer. Juve slipped out of his shelter. Someone rose up
before him-