“I cannot deny,” replied Baradier, “that Graff’s explanation possesses some semblance of likelihood. Graff is a man of imagination, who often sees things that do not exist. Still, in the present circumstances, he would be a bold man who would say that he was mistaken. Perhaps his supposition and mine both contain part of the truth. What cannot be doubted is that the authors of this audacious plot are persons who will shrink before nothing. Accordingly we must be prudent, and not appear to suspect them, living in just our usual manner. Apparently we must abstain from all participation in the work of justice. If the police succeed we shall be satisfied, without having been involved in the affair. If they find nothing, as is very likely, then our turn will come. In my opinion clever and cool-headed criminals it is almost impossible to run to ground. It is only by their imprudence that they betray themselves. It is when they begin to be no longer on their guard that there is a chance of finding some clue to their guilt. So, after all, the most prudent and skilful plan will be to wait. Marcel will return to Ars—” “Not until I have seen Geneviève.” “Of course, you will dine and sleep here, and take the train to-morrow morning. Your mother and uncle will not be sorry to see a little of you.” “And my father?” asked the young man, smiling. “And your father. Now come along with me to see your mother. Graff, you are staying in the office?” “For a few minutes. Then I return home, but will be back in time for dinner.” Proceeding along an inner staircase, father and son reached the private rooms, and were astonished to find in the hall a tall footman waiting there. “Your mother has visitors,” said Baradier. “How has that come about; to-day is not her reception day?” They entered Madame Baradier’s small salon. There she sat, pensive, near the window, her needlework lying idly in her lap. “What! You here?” said Baradier. “I thought you were receiving.” “The visit is not for me.” “What is the meaning of this? No one can have called for Amélie. Then it must be for Mademoiselle de Trémont?” “You are right,” said Madame Baradier. “What is the matter with you?” asked the banker. “There is something extraordinary going on. Explain.” “It is, indeed, very extraordinary. It is a schoolmate of Geneviève, who has come especially from the convent to assure her of her sympathy and affection; a trusted servant came with her, since her father could not come in person.” Baradier’s face turned crimson, as he asked with a frown— “Then it is—?” His wife did not give him time to continue. They understood one another at a glance. “Yes, my dear, it is Mademoiselle Lichtenbach.” A silence fell throughout the room. Marcel had gone straight to his mother, to embrace her. He now stood looking at his father, who, standing before the mantelpiece, was endeavouring to fathom the meaning of this unexpected visit. “What is she like?” asked Marcel.