With these conflicting emotions in my mind, I was going across the square of Ste. Croix, when I once again met Achon and his suite. They were evidently returning from the palace, when we crossed each other, coming almost face to face, and this time Achon greeted me, saying as he did so: “Monsieur! A word with you, with your permission.” “It cannot, I imagine, be to seek alms for the poor,” I answered with a sneer--I wished the man to know that I was aware of the part he had played in Rue des Lavandières. But his face remained immovable, as he looked at me coldly, saying: “It was not only to seek alms that I was in the Rue des Lavandières--there were other things I wanted--some I got----” “Stole, rather! That list of names! Those----” “Letters,” he interrupted, still with that cold smile on his face. “They were even more interesting than the scroll. Bah! Monsieur de Vibrac! I thought better of you. I little imagined you could be the plaything of a coquette!” I winced at the words, and he went on: “Such women as that take the soul out of a man. They should be destroyed like vampires.” “Is this all you have to say?” I asked unsteadily as we rode side by side slowly down the Rue Jeanne d’Arc. “No, monsieur; events are moving more rapidly than I thought, and it becomes necessary for us to move with them.” “Indeed!” I replied. “I see not how the matter concerns me.” “Is your memory defective?” he asked, with a sneer. “On the contrary, it is peculiarly retentive.” There was something in my voice, low as it was, something in the words, that had a convincing effect, and Achon appreciated the position. His tone and manner changed on the instant, and it was with a cat-like, caressing purr that he said: “Your pardon, de Vibrac! The old Adam comes out in me too often, I fear, long and painfully though I have borne the cross----” But, still hot with resentment and the thoughts he had inspired, I interrupted him. “Monsieur, I am pressed for time.” “And so am I,” with a quick, almost imperceptible change to his former manner. “You have not forgotten our little agreement.” “I have already said that my memory is retentive.” “Ah! You men of war are like flint and steel.” The shadow of a smile flickered over his thin, red lips. “I but recalled you to that promise, monsieur, because I would like it fulfilled to-night.” “To-night?” “Yes. A few hours sooner or later can matter little to you.” “Not a rush! When and where?” “An hour after compline, in the priory of the Jacobins. You know it?” “There will be no difficulty in finding it out.” “And you will come?” “Yes,” I answered slowly, and then leaning forward, he touched me slightly on the arm. “I will return you those letters there if you do what I want. They are useless to me--but to you----” And he simply looked at me, the unspoken sentence in his eyes. I felt my heart beat at his words, but said nothing; and Achon continued: “You will be punctual, monsieur--a good day!”