"I am really very sorry for you, mon cher," she answered, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a kiss on the forehead. As she did so she observed that he was wearing a wig, and looking closer she noticed that his beard was false likewise. Now Pierre's left ear had a very peculiar shape, and on glancing at the photograph in the newspaper which showed the left side of his face, she recognised the same shaped ear at once. Madame gave a little start and dropped the newspaper. "What is the matter?" said Pierre, carefully scrutinizing her face to see if she had observed anything in the photograph which she could recognise in his features. "Nothing, mon cher Sylvestre, but you looked so pale that I got frightened. Take another glass of wine, it will do you good." Pierre seized the decanter, and with a shaking hand poured himself out another glass. He lay down on the sofa while Madame Paradis, going to the piano, played several airs. "Pray go on," he said, as she stopped playing, "I quite enjoy it, you play so beautifully. Let us go into the fresh air," he remarked at length. "I think it will do us both good. We will take a stroll through the public gardens and hear the music, or have some coffee at one of the cafés, and then we can afterwards have some dinner together. Let us make a good night of it, as I regret to say it is my last night in France." "Why? Where are you going to?" she enquired. "I have booked my passage by _La Gascogne_ which sails to-morrow afternoon for Rio de Janeiro." "Well," she said, "I will be pleased to see you off if I may." "That will be delightful," replied Pierre, hoping in his heart that something would turn up to prevent her doing it. Next morning she went to his hotel, and knocking at his bedroom door went straight in and shut it. Pierre felt very much annoyed at seeing her march into his room unannounced in this fashion, but he tried to conceal his feelings and even attempted to smile when she said she had come to bid him good-bye. She bid him sit down on the sofa and took a seat by his side. "Now look here, Monsieur Sylvestre, I know quite well who you are. Your real name is Pierre Gaston Duval. Now it's no use denying it," she added, as he was about to reply. "You insulted me at Maxim's Café only a short time ago--do you remember the scene? I know well enough you are the man who is wanted by the police, I could read your guilt in your face, even if I had no other proofs. Do you see this ear?" said she pointing to the photograph with her finger to the print. "Is it not exactly like yours?" Pierre grew ghastly pale with fear, and trembled from head to foot. He was about to deny all knowledge of it, but she interrupted him.