"She is charming . . . and so gentle, so grave! Her mother's eyes, eyes that soften you . . . Heavens, how long ago that all is! And what a delightful recollection! A little sad, but so delightful!" And he said, aloud, "Certainly I shall look after her happiness! And that at once! This very evening! That's it, this very evening she shall have a sweetheart! Is not love the essential condition of any young girl's happiness?" He found his car on the high-road: "Home," he said to Octave. * * * * * When Sernine reached home, he rang up Neuilly and telephoned his instructions to the friend whom he called the doctor. Then he dressed, dined at the Rue Cambon Club, spent an hour at the opera and got into his car again: "Go to Neuilly, Octave. We are going to fetch the doctor. What's the time?" "Half-past ten." "Dash it! Look sharp!" Ten minutes later, the car stopped at the end of the Boulevard Inkerman, outside a villa standing in its own grounds. The doctor came down at the sound of the hooter. The prince asked: "Is the fellow ready?" "Packed up, strung up, sealed up." "In good condition?" "Excellent. If everything goes as you telephoned, the police will be utterly at sea." "That's what they're there for. Let's get him on board." They carried into the motor a sort of long sack shaped like a human being and apparently rather heavy. And the prince said: "Go to Versailles, Octave, Rue de la Vilaine. Stop outside the Hôtel des Deux-Empereurs." "Why, it's a filthy hotel," observed the doctor. "I know it well; a regular hovel." "You needn't tell me! And it will be a hard piece of work, for me, at least. . . . But, by Jove, I wouldn't sell this moment for a fortune! Who dares pretend that life is monotonous?" They reached the Hôtel des Deux-Empereurs. A muddy alley; two steps down; and they entered a passage lit by a flickering lamp. Sernine knocked with his fist against a little door. A waiter appeared, Philippe, the man to whom Sernine had given orders, that morning, concerning Gérard Baupré. "Is he here still?" asked the prince. "Yes." "The rope?" "The knot is made." "He has not received the telegram he was hoping for?" "I intercepted it: here it is." Sernine took the blue paper and read it: "Gad!" he said. "It was high time. This is to promise him a thousand francs for to-morrow. Come, fortune is on my side. A quarter to twelve. . . . In a quarter of an hour, the poor devil will take a leap into eternity. Show me the way, Philippe. You stay here, Doctor." The waiter took the candle. They climbed to the third floor, and, walking on tip-toe, went along a low and evil-smelling corridor, lined with garrets and ending in a wooden staircase covered with the musty remnants of a carpet. "Can no one hear me?" asked Sernine. "No. The two rooms are quite detached. But you must be careful not to make a mistake: he is in the room on the left."