Forthwith he searched the study and took possession of some papers and other unimportant things. But neither he, nor Sauvinoux, found what they were looking for, the bottle on the label of which he had had time to read, when he came to a stop in the Avenue Wagram: “Eau de Jouvence.” They went away to lunch in a neighboring restaurant. They came back and Marescal searched furiously. At last, at a quarter past two, Sauvinoux discovered the famous bottle behind the marble slab under the mantelpiece. It was corked and carefully sealed with red sealing-wax. Marescal shook it and held it up against the light of an electric light bulb. It contained a roll of paper. He hesitated—should he read that paper? “No, no! Not yet!—Later in the presence of Bregeac! Bravo, Sauvinoux! You’ve worked splendidly, my lad!” His joy was overflowing. He went away, murmuring: “This time I am near my goal. I hold Bregeac in my hands and I’ve only to tighten my grip. As for the girl, there is no longer any one to defend her. Her lover is in prison. There are just you and I, darling!” CHAPTER IX SISTER ANN, SISTER ANN, DO YOU SEE ANYTHING? At two o’clock the same day Aurelie was dressing feebly. An old servant of the house of Valentine, who was now the only servant they had, had brought up her lunch to her room and had told her that Bregeac wished to speak to her. She had not fully recovered from her illness. Pale and very feeble, she put some rouge on her lips and cheeks and forced herself to appear before the man she detested, carrying her head high. Bregeac was waiting for her in his study on the first floor, a large room with closed shutters, lighted by an electric light. “Sit down,” he said. “No.” “Sit down. You’re tired.” “Tell me at once what you want to say and let me go back to my room,” she said coldly. Bregeac walked up and down the room with an harassed and anxious air. He watched her furtively, with as much hostility as passion, as a man who finds himself balked by an indomitable will. Also he was full of pity for her. He came to her and putting his hand on her shoulder forced her to sit down and sat down himself. “You’re right,” he said. “It will not take long. What I have to tell you can be said in a few words. You can then decide.” They were near one another, yet further apart than two bitter enemies. Bregeac was aware of it. The words he was trying to speak would only widen the abyss between them. He clenched his fists and said: “So you still do not understand that we are surrounded by enemies and that the situation cannot last?” “What enemies?” she muttered. “You know quite well,” he said. “Marescal, who detests you and is burning to avenge himself.”