-Sulpice interview, when, so it had seemed to
him, Wilhelmine had avoided a categorical denial of his accusation
regarding her liaison with Captain Brocq, the frantic lover had flown
to Juve and had poured out his soul to the sympathetic detective.

Juve had shown himself no sceptic. He believed Wilhelmine's story and
statements. They coincided with his own prognostications: they
explained why Wilhelmine went regularly to pray at Lady Beltham's
tomb: they corroborated his conjectures, they confirmed his forecasts.

If he did not confess it to de Loubersac, he knew in his own mind that
these statements indicated that between this Baron de Naarboveck and
the redoubtable bandit he was pursuing so determinedly there was some
connection, possibly as yet unfathomed, but in his heart of hearts he
believed he had lighted on the truth. His conviction that de
Naarboveck and Fantomas had relations of some sort dated from the
night of his own arrest as Vagualame in the house of de Naarboveck. He
had gone further than that.

"Yes," he had said to himself: "de Naarboveck must be a manifestation
of Fantomas!"

Corporal Vinson's revelations regarding the den in the rue Monge had
but strengthened Juve's impression. He had said to himself after that,
"De Naarboveck, Vagualame, Fantomas, are but one."

Juve had reassured de Loubersac: he declared that Wilhelmine had
spoken the truth, that she certainly was Therese Auvernois and the
most honest girl in the world.

Juve calmed and finally convinced de Loubersac.

It only remained for the repentant lover to reinstate himself in
Wilhelmine's good graces--if that were possible. Now, more ardently
than ever before, he desired to make Wilhelmine his wife. See her, be
reconciled to her, he must!

He arrived at a favourable moment. The poor girl, lonely and alone,
was a prey to the most gloomy forebodings. Life had lost all its
savour. She was in the depths of despair.

De Loubersac, standing before her, as at a judgment bar, again
implored her forgiveness.

"Oh, how I regret the brutal, wounding things I said to you,
Wilhelmine!" he murmured humbly, sorrowfully.

The innocent girl, so bitterly wronged by his thoughts and words,
crimsoned with indignation at the memory of them. Her tone was icy.

"I may be able to forgive you, Monsieur, but that is all you can hope
for."

"Will you never be able to love me again?" begged Henri, with the
humble simplicity of a boy.

"No, Monsieur