The news that M. Lozé, the Préfect of Paris Police, had called and had a prolonged interview with the Tzar’s spy had caused considerable excitement in the Revolutionist settlement at La Glacière. It was anticipated that the General and the Préfect were putting their heads together for the purpose of getting the worst-noted of the refugees entrapped by the Russian police. In order, therefore, to watch Martianoff’s movements closely, I had been sent to Paris with instructions to ascertain, if possible, who were the suspected persons and what system of espionage was being adopted. Was it surprising that upon this brutal agent of his Imperial Majesty, who had wrecked the careers of my sister and myself, I kept a watchful eye? He was a ferret in human shape, and with the dozen Russian detectives under him, he had a keen scent for Revolutionists and criminating circumstances. Since his resignation from the governorship of Mstislavl he had graduated at the Bureau of Secret Police in Petersburg. He lived in the Boulevard Haussmann, at the corner of the Avenue de Messine, where he occupied an _entresol_ which looked out into the courtyard, leading the life of a man with an adequate income. He only had two saddle horses, with a groom of all-work brought by him from Russia, and he contented himself with a hired brougham. He breakfasted in his rooms, dined at the fashionable restaurants, showed himself in the Bois of an afternoon, at theatrical first-nights, knew all Paris—the “_tout Paris_” of the Boulevard—and was received in a very exclusive set. Yet he had few intimate friends, he seldom received his habitual acquaintances at his rooms, and often absented himself for several days without saying where he was going. His concierge revered him, and never expressed astonishment when he saw rather seedy-looking people climb the stairs leading to the apartments of this rich and respectable tenant. General Martianoff made a show of philanthropy, and, according to the hall-porter, his reputation as a charitable gentleman exposed him to the visits of needy-looking individuals. I did not return to Paris by the same train as the spy, but lingered in order to make inquiries regarding the companion he had so unceremoniously quitted. With that object I remained at a small _estaminet_ on the road which runs through the Bois de Vésinet to Montesson, chatting to an old wood-cutter, and eliciting some facts regarding the Guéneau family. The Château belonged to Count Jules Guéneau, a wealthy old gentleman, who, according to the wood-cutter’s statement, had held important Government offices under the Empire, but who was now on the verge of senile imbecility, and lived in seclusion with his son Gaston. The latter had travelled a great deal, and had quite recently settled down at the Château, at the old Count’s request.