The car sped through the streets of Geneva. Celia Harland, with a little sigh of relief, nestled down between the two men. "If I knew you better," she said to Hanaud, "I should tell you--what, of course, I do not tell you now--that I feel as if I had a big Newfoundland dog with me." "Mlle. Celie," said Hanaud, and his voice told her that he was moved, "that is a very pretty thing which you have said to me." The lights of the city fell away behind them. Now only a glow in the sky spoke of Geneva; now even that was gone and with a smooth continuous purr the car raced through the cool darkness. The great head lamps threw a bright circle of light before them and the road slipped away beneath the wheels like a running tide. Celia fell asleep. Even when the car stopped at the Pont de La Caille she did not waken. The door was opened, a search for contraband was made, the book was signed, still she did not wake. The car sped on. "You see, coming into France is a different affair," said Hanaud. "Yes," replied Ricardo. "Still, I will own it, you caught me napping yesterday. "I did?" exclaimed Ricardo joyfully. "You did," returned Hanaud. "I had never heard of the Pont de La Caille. But you will not mention it? You will not ruin me?" "I will not," answered M. Ricardo, superb in his magnanimity. "You are a good detective." "Oh, thank you! thank you!" cried Hanaud in a voice which shook--surely with emotion. He wrung Ricardo's hand. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. And still Celia slept. M. Ricardo looked at her. He said to Hanaud in a whisper: "Yet I do not understand. The car, though no serious search was made, must still have stopped at the Pont de La Caille on the Swiss side. Why did she not cry for help then? One cry and she was safe. A movement even was enough. Do you understand?" Hanaud nodded his head. "I think so," he answered, with a very gentle look at Celia. "Yes, I think so." When Celia was aroused she found that the car had stopped before the door of an hotel, and that a woman in the dress of a nurse was standing in the doorway. "You can trust Marie," said Hanaud. And Celia turned as she stood upon the ground and gave her hands to the two men. "Thank you! Thank you both!" she said in a trembling voice. She looked at Hanaud and nodded her head. "You understand why I thank you so very much?" "Yes," said Hanaud. "But, mademoiselle"--and he bent over the car and spoke to her quietly, holding her hand--"there is ALWAYS a big Newfoundland dog in the worst of troubles--if only you will look for him. I tell you so--I, who belong to the Surete in Paris. Do not lose heart!" And in his mind he added: "God forgive me for the lie." He shook her hand and let it go; and gathering up her skirt she went into the hall of the hotel. Hanaud watched her as she went. She was to him a lonely and pathetic creature, in spite of the nurse who bore her company.