"Allow me, Sister," broke in Fandor, "my mission is not over yet." Here the journalist discreetly proffered the note. "This is from M. Bonardin, for your poor." The nun was profuse in her thanks, and looking at Fandor with a touch of malice: "You may perhaps smile, sir, if I say I shall thank St. Martin, the patron saint of the charitable. In any case I shall do it with my whole heart." The soft sound of a bell came from the distance; the Sister instinctively turned her head and looked through the windows at the inner cloister of the convent. "The bell calls you, no doubt, Sister?" he inquired. "It is, indeed, the hour of Vespers." Fandor, followed by the Sister, left the parlour and reached the outer gate. Already the porter was about to open it for him when he pulled up short. Moving at a measured pace, one behind the other, the ladies of the community crossed the courtyard, going toward the chapel at the far end of the garden. "Sister," Fandor inquired anxiously, "who is that nun who walks at the head?" "That is our holy Mother Superior." Fandor was lucky enough to find a taxi as he left the little convent, into which he jumped: he was immersed in such deep reflections that when the taxi stopped he was quite surprised to find himself in Rue Bonaparte, when he had meant to go up to Bonardin's and expected to reach Montmarte. "Where did I tell you to go?" he asked the driver. The man looked at his fare in amazement: "To the address you gave me, I suppose." Fandor did not reply, but paid his fare. "Heaven inspires me," he thought. "To be sure I wanted to see Bonardin to tell him I had done his commission, but it was to prove I should have gone after what I found out at the convent." The journalist remained motionless on the pavement without seeming to feel the jostling of the passers-by. He stood there with his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind lost in a dream. He had unconsciously gone back several years, to his mysterious childhood, stormy and restless. He went over again in thought, this last affair, which had once more brought him so intimately into Juve's life: the abominable crime in the Cité Frochot, in which Chaleck and Loupart were involved, and behind them Fantômas--the crime of which the victim--as Juve had clearly established--was no other than Lady---- He quickly entered the house and rushed up the stairs, but halted on the landing. "What have I come here for? If I am to believe the papers, Juve is under lock and key: It must be instinct that guides me. I feel that I am going to see Juve: besides, I must." He did not ring, for he enjoyed the unique favour of a key which allowed him to enter Juve's place at will. He entered and went straight to the study: it was empty. He then cried out: "Juve! Many things have happened since I had the pleasure of seeing you! Be good enough to let me into your office. I have two words to say to you."