“When we were about to return home after having taken you to the station,” said Rance to Darzac; “after the train had pulled out, your wife, M. Stangerson and myself thought that we would leave the carriage for a little while and take a stroll on the promenade walk. M. Stangerson gave his arm to his daughter. I was at the right of M. Stangerson, who, therefore, was walking between the two of us. Suddenly, as we paused for a moment near a sort of public garden to let a tramcar pass, I brushed against a man who said to me, ‘I beg your pardon, sir.’ The sound of the voice made me tremble and I knew as well beforehand as I did when I raised my head that it was Larsan. The voice was the voice I had heard at the Court of Assizes. He cast a long, calm look upon the three of us. I do not know how I was able to restrain the exclamation which rose to my lips,--how I kept from crying aloud his miserable name! Happily M. Stangerson and Mme. Darzac had not seen him and I hurried them rapidly away. I made them walk around the garden and listen to the music in the park and then we returned to where the carriage was waiting. Upon the sidewalk in front of the station, there was Larsan again! I do not know--I cannot understand how M. Stangerson and Mme. Darzac could have helped but see him----” “Are you sure that they did not see him?” interrupted Robert Darzac. “Absolutely sure. I feigned a sudden attack of illness. We got into the carriage and ordered the coachman to drive as fast as he could. The man was still standing on the sidewalk, staring after us with his cold, cruel eyes when we drove away.” “And are you certain that my wife did not see him?” repeated Darzac, who was growing more and more agitated. “Certain, I assure you.” “But, Good God, M. Darzac!” interposed Rouletabille. “How long do you think you can deceive your wife as to the fact that Larsan has reappeared and that she actually saw him? If you imagine that you can keep her in ignorance for very long, you are greatly mistaken.” “But,” replied Darzac, “while we were ending our journey, the idea that she had been the victim of a delusion seemed to grow in her mind and by the time we reached Garavan, she seemed to be quite calm.” “At the time you reached Garavan,” said Rouletabille, quietly, “your wife sent me the telegram I am going to ask you to read.” And the reporter held out to M. Darzac the paper which bore the two words, “Save us.” M. Darzac read it with the blood seeming to die away from his face as we looked at him. “She will go mad again,” was all that he said.