Valenglay looked at him attentively, then went to a table, took up a newspaper and handed it to him, pointing his finger at an article as he did so. Lupin cast his eye at the head-line and read: "EXECUTION OF THE MONSTER" "Louis de Malreich underwent the death-penalty this morning. . . ." He read no more. Thunderstruck, crushed, he fell into the premier's chair with a moan of despair. . . . * * * * * How long he remained like that he could not say. When he was outside again, he remembered a great silence and then Valenglay bending over him and sprinkling water on his forehead. He remembered, above all, the premier's hushed voice whispering: "Listen . . . you won't say anything about this will you? Innocent, perhaps, I don't say not. . . . But what is the use of revelations, of a scandal? A judicial error can have serious consequences. Is it worth while? . . . A rehabilitation? For what purpose? He was not even sentenced under his own name. It is the name of Malreich which is held up to public execration . . . the name of the real criminal, as it happens. . . . So . . ." And, pushing Lupin gradually toward the door, he said: "So go. . . . Go back there. . . . Get rid of the corpse. . . . And let not a trace remain, eh? Not the slightest trace of all this business. . . . I can rely on you, can I not?" And Lupin went back. He went back like a machine, because he had been told to do so and because he had no will left of his own. * * * * * He waited for hours at the railway-station. Mechanically, he ate his dinner, took a ticket and settled down in a compartment. He slept badly. His brain was on fire between nightmares and half-waking intervals in which he tried to make out why Malreich had not defended himself: "He was a madman . . . surely . . . half a madman. . . . He must have known her formerly . . . and she poisoned his life . . . she drove him crazy. . . . So he felt he might as well die. . . . Why defend himself?" The explanation only half satisfied him, and he promised himself sooner or later to clear up the riddle and to discover the exact part which Massier had played in Dolores' life. But what did it matter for the moment? One fact alone stood out clearly, which was Massier's madness, and he repeated, persistently: "He was a madman . . . Massier was undoubtedly mad. Besides, all those Massiers . . . a family of madmen. . . ." He raved, mixing up names in his enfeebled brain. But, on alighting at Bruggen Station, in the cool, moist air of the morning, his consciousness revived. Things suddenly assumed a different aspect. And he exclaimed: "Well, after all, it was his own look-out! He had only to protest. . . . I accept no responsibility. . . . It was he who committed suicide. . . . He was only a dumb actor in the play. . . . He has gone under. . . . I am sorry. . . . But it can't be helped!"