." Wilhelmine's voice was hard.

It was all Henri could do not to burst into tears of humiliation and
despair.

"Wilhelmine--you are cruel!... If you could only know how you are
making me suffer! Oh, I know I deserve to suffer! I recognise that!...
All I can say now is--Farewell!... Farewell for ever!"

Wilhelmine sat silent, her face hidden in her hands.

Henri went on:

"I leave Paris shortly. I have asked for an exchange. I am to be sent
to Africa, to the outposts of Morocco. I shall carry with me the
memory--how cherished--of your adorable self, dearest of the dear!...
It shall live in my heart until the day when, if Heaven but hear my
prayers, I shall die at the head of my troops."

With that de Loubersac moved slowly to the door, overwhelmed by the
conviction that he had irreparably wounded the girl he adored, that he
had destroyed for ever the love she had borne him!

A stifled cry caught his ear.

"Henri!"...

"Wilhelmine!"

They were in each others' arms and in tears.

How the lovers talked! What plans they made! How happy would be their
coming life together! What bliss!

Wilhelmine broke off:

"Henri, do you know that it is past midnight?"

"I seem only to have come!" cried her lover.

"Ah, but you should not have stayed so late, my Henri!... The baron is
not here. I am alone!... Indeed, indeed, you must go!"

"Oh," laughed the happy Henri: "Why, of course the baron is not
here!"...

Wilhelmine, all smiles, shook a finger at Henri.

"Be off with you!... Do, do be off with you!"

"Wilhelmine!"...

"Henri!"...

The lovers kissed each other--a long, lingering kiss....

XXXIV

A FANTOMAS TRICK

Fandor stared at himself with wild eyes....

He must be in an abominable dream, a mad nightmare!... He must be!...

What was behind all this? This outrage? This Vagualame, criminal
proprietor of this pavilion, was the author of it! To him he owed it
that he was thus bound, masked, disguised!

That sinister menace was still ringing in his ears: "Through Fantomas
thou shalt die!"

Well, however it might come, Death came but once! He would await the
event!

Fandor's spirit rose once more--indomitable.

He closed his eyes.

He lived again, as might a drowning man, his hours of joy, of
struggle, of triumph, of defeat, of high endeavour: all the
thick-packed hours of vivid life. Ah, how Fantomas had haunted him
from childhood onwards!

"'Tis but life's logic," he reflected: "I