Pierre saw it was no use temporising, so he frankly admitted it with a laugh. He had quite lost his head in the presence of this charming siren, but although irresistibly attracted by her manners, he nevertheless felt afraid of her. Her face lit up with smiles, but her lips were thin and compressed, and he could feel that she might become a terrible adversary if she had a fit of anger or jealousy. "You don't seem to be paying much attention to the play, monsieur," she remarked with a smile. "Well, I confess, madame, you possess charms which far surpass those of the play, and consequently I have been devoting myself exclusively to the enjoyment of your company, instead of watching the actors." "You flatter me, sir." "Not at all--not in the least. But if you are not otherwise engaged it would give me immense pleasure to take you out to supper." "Shall we go?" she enquired in a winning voice. Pierre assented. "You can go home now, Marie," she added to her maid. Pierre took her to a fashionable restaurant on one of the boulevards, and afterwards saw her home. "What a pity," he said to himself as he entered his hotel, "I shall have no further opportunity of spending an evening in madame's charming company--well, it can't be helped, but I must try to see her, once more, to-morrow afternoon before I leave." The next day on opening her newspaper, Madame Paradis's attention was drawn to an account of a dreadful murder which had been committed in Paris on a retired general of the name of Duval, and also on a celebrated professor of science, together with a photograph of the suspected criminal. "Mon Dieu, but this is interesting." At this moment M. Adam was announced. "Ah, ma mie," said Pierre, alias Sylvestre Adam, "I trust you are well, and that fortune smiles upon you. Diable! what were you so interested about when I came in?" "A terrible murder has been committed in Paris. Haven't you seen it? The papers are full of it. General Duval has been brutally murdered by his son. See, here is the photograph of the assassin," and she showed it to Sylvestre. A cold shudder went through him as he saw his own likeness in the newspaper. He turned very pale, and seizing a decanter on the table, he poured himself out a glass of wine and tossed it off. "What's the matter?" she asked, noticing the change which went over him. "Don't you feel well?" "My dear one," he answered, "no wonder I feel pale, seeing that General Duval is my god-father, and one of my dearest friends. He always placed his house at my disposal. Ah! many a time he has given me a thousand franc note to meet some small debt of honour. Just think of it? To lose one's greatest benefactor in this dreadful way," and he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away a tear. "Good God," he said to himself, "however could the police have found it out? I suppose that scoundrel Deschamps, must have given the show away."