idays! It was leave of
absence, and liberty.

The telephone bell rang.

Fandor hesitated a moment. Should he answer it?

According to custom, the journalist "had left" the evening before: he
could plead his leave, which was in order, and say, like Louis XIV,
"After me the deluge!"

This famous saying would have suited the moment, for it was at that
instant precisely that an inky cloud burst over Paris and emptied
torrents of water over the darkened city.

Perhaps a friend had rung him up--or it was a mistake! So arguing,
Fandor unhooked the receiver.

Having listened a moment, he instinctively adopted a more respectful
attitude, as if his interlocutor at the other end of the line could
see him.

Fandor replied in quick monosyllables, closing the conversation with
these words:

"Agreed. Presently, then chief."

As the journalist hung up the receiver his expression changed: he
frowned, and pulling at his moustache with a nervous hand, fretting
and fuming.

"Hang it! It only wanted this," he grumbled.

Fandor had been called up by M. Dupont, of _L'Aube_, the well-known
opportunist deputy, who was the manager of _La Capitale_ as well. M.
Dupont was only a nominal manager, and generally contented himself
with writing up his editorial without even taking it to the office. He
left the real management to his son-in-law, whose function was that of
editor-in-chief. Thus Fandor had been extremely astonished when his
"Head," as he was called in the editorial department, had rung him up.

M. Dupont had summoned him to the Chamber of Deputies, for three
o'clock in the afternoon: his chief wished to give him some
information for an article on a matter which interested him
particularly. Fandor was puzzled, anxious.

What could it be? The chief could not know that he was taking his
holiday.

"Bah!" said he, "Dupont evidently does not know. I will go to our
meeting-place and will explain my approaching departure to him, and
the devil's in it if he does not pass on this bit of reporting to one
of my colleagues!"

"Madame Angelique," continued Fandor in a joyous voice, turning to the
breathless old housekeeper who had just come back laden with parcels,
"Get me lunch quickly. Then you must strap up my portmanteau. This
evening I am going to make off, whatever happens!"

* * * * *

For two hours, interminable hours they seemed, Fandor had waited for
M. Dupont in the Hall des Perdus[1] o