"What did it say?" asked Patrice, anxiously. "It was all about a key." "Don't you remember the details?" "Here is the letter. I kept it in order to give it back to him and warn him what he had done. Here, it's certainly his writing. . . ." Patrice took the sheet of notepaper; and the first thing that he saw was his own name. The letter was addressed to him, as he anticipated: "_Patrice_, "You will this evening receive a key. The key opens two doors midway down a lane leading to the river: one, on the right, is that of the garden of the woman you love; the other, on the left, that of a garden where I want you to meet me at nine o'clock in the morning on the 14th of April. She will be there also. You shall learn who I am and the object which I intend to attain. You shall both hear things about the past that will bring you still closer together. "From now until the 14th the struggle which begins to-night will be a terrible one. If anything happens to me, it is certain that the woman you love will run the greatest dangers. Watch over her, Patrice; do not leave her for an instant unprotected. But I do not intend to let anything happen to me; and you shall both know the happiness which I have been preparing for you so long. "My best love to you." "It's not signed," said Bournef, "but, I repeat, it's in Siméon's handwriting. As for the lady, she is obviously Mme. Essarès." "But what danger can she be running?" exclaimed Patrice, uneasily. "Essarès is dead, so there is nothing to fear." "I wouldn't say that. He would take some killing." "Whom can he have instructed to avenge him? Who would continue his work?" "I can't say, but I should take no risks." Patrice waited to hear no more. He thrust the letter into M. Masseron's hand and made his escape. "Rue Raynouard, fast as you can," he said, springing into a taxi. He was eager to reach his destination. The dangers of which old Siméon spoke seemed suddenly to hang over Coralie's head. Already the enemy, taking advantage of Patrice's absence, might be attacking his beloved. And who could defend her? "If anything happens to me," Siméon had said. And the supposition was partly realized, since he had lost his wits. "Come, come," muttered Patrice, "this is sheer idiocy. . . . I am fancying things. . . . There is no reason . . ." But his mental anguish increased every minute. He reminded himself that old Siméon was still in full possession of his faculties at the time when he wrote that letter and gave the advice which it contained. He reminded himself that old Siméon had purposely informed him that the key opened the door of Coralie's garden, so that he, Patrice, might keep an effective watch by coming to her in case of need.