“Yes; a man of the name of Limézy, who pretends to be an explorer—a Baron de Limézy. I had news of the arrest at one o’clock at the Ministry. They had just brought him to Headquarters.” She did not know Ralph’s name, but she was certain that Bregeac was talking of no one else, and asked in a trembling voice: “What has he done? Who is he? This Baron de Limézy?” “According to Marescal he is the murderer of the express. The third confederate whom they were seeking.” She was on the point of falling. She wore a distracted air and groped giddily in the empty air to find something to hold on to. “What’s the matter, Aurelie? What connection has this business——” “We are lost,” she groaned. “What do you mean?” “You cannot understand.” “Explain yourself. Do you know this man?” he cried on a rising note. “Yes, yes. He rescued me. He saved me from Marescal and from William and from that man Jodot who used to come here. He would have saved us again to-day.” He stared at her, confounded, and said: “Was it him you were waiting for?” “Yes,” she said. “He promised to be on the spot. I was quite easy in mind. I have seen him do such things—fool Marescal.” “Well?” said Bregeac. “Well,” she replied in the same distracted tone. “It would perhaps be better to get into hiding—you as well as I. There are stories to your disadvantage—stories of years ago.” “You’re mad!” cried Bregeac, aghast. “There’s nothing of the kind! For my part, I fear nothing!” In spite of his denials, he went out of the room, dragging Aurelie with him on to the landing. It was she who at the last moment resisted. “But no. What use would it be? We shall be saved—he will come—he will escape. Why not wait for him?” “One does not escape from Headquarters,” snarled Bregeac. “You think not? Oh, how horrible all this is!” She did not know what to do. Terrible ideas whirled through her mind, weakened by her illness—fear of Marescal and of immediate arrest—and the police who were going to seize her and twist her wrists. The terror of her step-father decided her. Carried away by the fury of the storm, she ran to her room and reappeared at once with a suit-case in her hand. Bregeac was also ready. They had the air of two criminals who had nothing else to look at except a desperate flight. They went down the staircase and crossed the hall. At that very moment the bell rang. “Too late,” whispered Bregeac. “No,” she said, encouraged by a sudden hope. “Perhaps he has come. He has come and is going to take me away.” She thought of her friend and of the convent terrace. He had sworn never to abandon her and that at the very last minute even he would be able to save her. Obstacles? Were there any obstacles for him? Was he not master of men and of events? The bell rang again. The old servant came out of the dining-room. “Open,” said Bregeac to him, in a low voice. They heard whisperings and the shuffling of feet on the other side of the door. Some one knocked.