That same evening, about nine o’clock, after dinner, Lichtenbach descended from his brougham, close to the entrance of the Boulevard Maillat. It was a brilliant night, and the groves in the Bois, under the silvery light of the moon, raised their dark masses against the horizon. The banker hurried along, not without some anxiety, for the spot was a deserted one, and a likely haunt of undesirable characters. After walking about a hundred yards, he halted in front of the ivy-covered gate of a villa, and knocked. A few seconds passed, then a small door turned on its hinges, and a woman appeared. It was Milona. Recognizing the banker, she stepped backwards, without uttering a word, and led the way into a garden in front of the house. “Is madame at home?” asked Elias. “She is expecting you,” said the Dalmatian, in guttural accents. “Good. Have the others arrived?” “Yes; an hour ago.” They proceeded along a flower-bed, the flowers of which gave out fragrant odours on to the night air. The servant mounted a flight of steps, followed by Lichtenbach. On reaching a dark ante-chamber, Lichtenbach handed his overcoat and hat to Milona, who opened a door, and out of the darkness he passed suddenly into the light of the salon, the windows and curtains of which were hermetically closed. Seated at a table, Hans and Agostini were playing at piquet and drinking grog. On a divan Sophia reclined, in an elegant white deshabillé. The two men scarcely raised their heads on hearing Lichtenbach enter. The Baroness slowly sat upright, nodded graciously, and said— “Sit down by my side. They are finishing their game. How did you come? I did not hear the wheels of your carriage.” “I left it near the Porte Maillot.” “What precautions! Can you not trust your coachman?” “I trust no one.” “And suppose some night prowler had struck you to the ground, to teach you not to walk about alone at night in these parts?” Elias raised the butt-end of a revolver from his pocket, and said— “I should have been able to speak to him in his own language.” “I see; then you never travel without an interpreter?” “I cannot let myself be murdered for a paltry twenty francs; it would be altogether too stupid!” The conversation was interrupted by an exclamation from Cesare, who, in a passion, threw the cards down on to the table. Hans laughed to himself, and made a rapid calculation on a piece of paper. “That makes thirty-five louis for you to pay. You have lost fourteen hundred points!” “It is enough to make one believe in the Evil Eye!” growled the handsome Italian. “Ever since this Marcel Baradier cast his eyes on me, I cannot touch a single card without losing, at no matter what game!” Glancing angrily in the direction of Sophia, he said— “This must come to an end!” “Come, now, peace!” ordered Hans, authoritatively. “What noise you make for nothing at all! What news have you, father money-bags? Has your jesuit d’Escayrac seen our friends?” “He has. They refuse.”