“After all, you may be right. In any case, we can do nothing without you.” Lichtenbach heaved a sigh of satisfaction. The conciliating attitude suddenly assumed by Hans seemed to be full of meaning. Wishing to know what this terrible partner of his really thought, he judged it useful to dissimulate his own ideas. “Come, we will say nothing more on the matter! What this affair has cost me I will pass through the profit and loss account. Still, it is a pity we could not find that secret trick of manipulation. There was a great deal of money to be earned by it, after all!” Hans bit his lips, but made no reply; whilst Agostini turned gracefully round to Lichtenbach, and said— “And my marriage? What is to become of it?” “What has become of this affair of ours,” replied Elias, roughly, “nothing. The one fell with the other! My fine fellow, you have no longer a prospective dot. I took you with the Trémont powder, and the only powder now left is blinding dust!” “Ah! You treat me in this way. I may give you reason to repent it!” “And if I wished, you would not be allowed in France another twenty-four hours. Let us be going,” added Lichtenbach; “it is already late.” “We will accompany you to the toll-gate, for fear something may happen to you. This quarter is not very safe at nights. Good night, Sophia.” “Good night.” She held out her white hand, which her dreaded ally touched with that iron hand of his, covered with a glove. “May I not stay a few minutes, Sophia?” asked Agostini. “No,” said the Baroness, emphatically. “Good night!” Ringing the bell, Milona appeared. “Show these gentlemen out, Milo.” Silently they left the house, preceded by the Dalmatian, who held a round lantern to light the way through the sinuous turnings of the path leading to the little ivy-covered door. This she opened, and then disappeared. They proceeded along the Avenue Maillot in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Suddenly Hans stopped, and said, in low accents— “Sophia is tricking us. But things shall not happen as she imagines. I pretended to give way, the better to deceive her. Now this is what we will do. Cesare will send a letter in a disguised hand-writing to young Marcel Baradier, fixing a rendezvous at the Boulevard Maillot about ten o’clock at night. I shall be there to receive him, with others on whom I can rely, and I will undertake to introduce the pigeon into the dovecot. Once there, Sophia must be forced to employ her wiles, whether she will or not. It is the same plan I mentioned just now, and which she refused. The only difference is that I do not ask for her permission before putting it into practice.” “But suppose Baradier does not come?” said Cesare. “What? Not come? Can you imagine that he would not come to a rendezvous fixed by the Baroness? He will fly to it at once. And when we have him!” “What will you do?” asked Lichtenbach, in quivering accents.