At that hour the Count Cesare Agostini reached the Villa de la Cavée, and after traversing the garden he entered a small salon on the ground floor, where the young lady, in mourning, lolling on an easy-chair, was lazily reading a novel. The setting sun, entering through the window, shed his golden rays on the reader’s face. She was no longer the melancholy and timid widow Marcel had met in the woods. Her hair, thrown back on to her forehead, gave her delicate profile a look of audacious pride. On hearing Cesare enter the room, she flung down her book, rose eagerly to her feet, and, in joyous tones, said— “Well, _caro mio_, you are back at last! Are you satisfied with your mission?” “As far as one can be. I have seen your pigeon. He actually holds out the wing, without being asked. You will obtain no merit in plucking such a confiding youth, Sophia.” She laughed outright. “Never mind merit! I can do without glory. Success will suffice for me. So you found the ground well prepared?” “I am afraid distractions are sadly lacking in this district, and that our appearance in the woods has already produced its effect on Marcel.” “Then he will come?” “Yes; and not later than to-morrow. I told him I was going away. Consequently you will have the field free to do as you please. Do not let this affair lag; you have your revenge to take.” “Ah, _mio caro_, the _coup_ missed the first time, all through Hans’ stupid obstinacy. Had he left me to act as I pleased, the General would finally have offered me his formulæ on a silver plate, and kneeling into the bargain. Hans wished to rush everything through, and old Trémont, infatuated as he was, became distrustful. Sorry adventure, in which our friend lost his arm, and almost all of us just missed being compromised. The most stupid part of it was that the General had said to Hans, as he pointed out to him the steel box—a fine box of Fichet’s, supplied with one of those admirable locks, so very complicated, but which are of no use whatever: ‘Look here, my friend, it is impossible to open this without my permission. All my secrets are inside. On raising this lid all my formula would be found. But then one must know how to do it; otherwise one may die in the attempt.’ Ah, ah! Old Trémont spoke the truth! He had made his box into a kind of reversing bomb. One must know how to handle it. Hans perceived the necessity of this. All the same, he distrusted himself. He had taken the precaution to go out on to the perron of the house, and there he tried to open the box. Ah, _caro mio_, when the explosion took place the very earth trembled! I had already returned to Paris in the carriage. The vibration was so great that the very windows of the brougham shook. I thought to myself: There, Hans has smashed up everything! I had no idea I was so near the truth, for the house was entirely destroyed. I cannot possibly understand how Hans, who had succeeded in opening the lock of the box, and who, lying on the ground a