The Beadle and the Beard, who tried to catch odds and ends of talk separately, joined each other again, looking crestfallen, discomfited. The Beadle broke silence, with an oath, adding: "I am certain we have been done ... someone has got in before us--been too smart for us!" Beard nodded: he was of the same opinion. But who then could have had the audacity to plan such an attempt and carry it out, too? Who could have had the same idea as he and his comrades, and to realise it successfully? Whoever it was had proved himself the better man. In spite of himself the bandit, in thought, formulated one word: Fantomas! VIII END OF THE BALL When Sonia Danidoff entered Thomery's ball-room she made a sensation. It was not far off midnight when she appeared in all her brilliant beauty and dazzling array, leaning on the arm of her host and fiance, who bore his honours proudly. Dancers paused to admire this handsome couple; then the Hungarian band redoubled their efforts, and the whirling, eddying waltz started afresh, more gay, more inspiriting than before. In a corner opposite the musicians a group of persons were in animated talk: among them Sonia Danidoff, Thomery, and Jerome Fandor. Music was their theme, some admired Wagner and the classics, others voted for the moderns, for the sugariest of waltzes, for the romantic, the bizarre. "For the profane like myself," declared Thomery, laughing, "gipsy music has its charms!" "Oh," cried Sonia Danidoff, "you are not going to tell me that such hackneyed things as _The Smile of Spring_ and _The Blush Rose Waltz_ are to your taste!" Her tone was reproachful, but her smile was charming. Nanteuil, the fashionable banker, who was fluttering about the Princess, hastened to take her side: "Come now, Thomery, you would not put your signature to that?" Jerome Fandor, who had just joined the group, declared: "For my part, I thoroughly agree with you, my dear Monsieur Thomery!" Sonia Danidoff looked her surprise. Thomery replied, with a touch of malice: "Monsieur Fandor is like myself--the Tonkinoise is more to his taste!" "More than Wagner's operatic big guns!" finished Fandor. Then turning to the Princess who still wore her air of surprise: "Yes, Princess, I confess it--my taste in music is deplorable: it comes from absolute ignorance. I do not understand these modern symphonies--the simple romantic suits me best!" "And that is?" ... queried Nanteuil: "Just some music-hall air or ditty," answered Fandor with a smile as frank as his confession. The Princess was amused at this little pseudo-artistic discussion. She was about to speak when a couple of waltzers broke into the group and scattered it.