He burst out laughing, sprang behind a cluster of trees that stood to the left of the avenue and slipped along the thick shrubberies. In this way, he reached the castle without the possibility of his being seen from the windows of the drawing-room or the principal bedrooms. He wanted to see Dolores before she saw him and pronounced her name several times, as he had pronounced Geneviève's, but with an emotion that surprised himself: "Dolores. . . . Dolores. . . ." He stole along the passages and reached the dining-room. From this room, through a glass panel, he could see half the drawing-room. He drew nearer. Dolores was lying on a couch; and Pierre Leduc, on his knees before her, was gazing at her with eyes of ecstasy. . . . CHAPTER XV THE MAP OF EUROPE Pierre Leduc loved Dolores! Lupin felt a keen, penetrating pain in the depths of his being, as though he had been wounded in the very source of life; a pain so great that, for the first time, he had a clear perception of what Dolores had gradually, unknown to himself, become to him. Pierre Leduc loved Dolores! And he was looking at her as a man looks at the woman he loves. Lupin felt a murderous instinct rise up within him, blindly and furiously. That look, that look of love cast upon Dolores, maddened him. He received an impression of the great silence that enveloped Dolores and Pierre Leduc; and in silence, in the stillness of their attitude there was nothing living but that look of love, that dumb and sensuous hymn in which the eyes told all the passion, all the desire, all the transport, all the yearning that one being can feel for another. And he saw Mrs. Kesselbach also. Dolores' eyes were invisible under their lowered lids, the silky eyelids with the long black lashes. But how she seemed to feel that look of love which sought for hers! How she quivered under that impalpable caress! "She loves him . . . she loves him," thought Lupin, burning with jealousy. And, when Pierre made a movement: "Oh, the villain! If he dares to touch her, I will kill him!" Then, realizing the disorder of his reason and striving to combat it, he said to himself: "What a fool I am! What, you, Lupin, letting your self go like this! . . . Look here, it's only natural that she should love him. . . . Yes, of course, you expected her to show a certain emotion at your arrival . . . a certain agitation. . . . You silly idiot, you're only a thief, a robber . . . whereas he is a prince and young. . . ." Pierre had not stirred further. But his lips moved and it seemed as though Dolores were waking. Softly, slowly, she raised her lids, turned her head a little and her eyes met the young man's eyes with the look that offers itself and surrenders itself and is more intense than the most intense of kisses.