"Moreover," I added hastily, "all my arrangements are made for some time to come. Later on, when an opportunity arises, we shall see what we shall see." I halted. "Write to me during the run of _Omphale_. I shall not forget our little chat. A propos, I am starting to-morrow for Crete; I see the papers are reporting that I am already there, so you need not mention that you have met me--it is never policy to contradict the Press. Yes, I shall bear your name in mind, I assure you." He did not look assured, however; he stood silent, and his lips were trembling. Heaven knows what solid help my amiability had led him to expect, but it was plain that honeyed phrases were a meagre substitute. "You have been most courteous to me," he stammered, "you have done me a great honour--as long as I live I shall remember that I have talked with monsieur Panage; but you are leaving what you found, monsieur--a desperate man!" "Bah! who knows when an opening may occur?" I said, a shade embarrassed. "I may see a chance for you sooner than you think. When I want you I shall send for you." I little dreamt in what strange circumstances I was to send for him. Beauregard was snoring on the sofa when I burst into the room. "Well, you can bestir yourself and pack!" I volleyed. "The place is too hot to hold us; we have to get out!" "Hein?" "There is a pro here who knows me, confound him! I had to tell him we were leaving for Crete in the morning--he mustn't see me here again." The playwright shifted his slippered feet to the floor and sat up. "We go back to Paris?" he inquired, beaming. "How can that be? Of course not! We must discover another retreat." "Fugitives!" moaned Beauregard. "Nomads! Do you not think, Panage, that _I_ might go back to Paris--I could remain cautiously in the house? The truth is, my wife is of a very high-minded character, and it distresses her to have to address tender letters to a monsieur 'Bachelet': she feels that it is not correct." I was in no mood to be tolerant of his subterfuges. He wept. I determined to effect our departure the same evening while he was still intimidated--and if only I had been able to accelerate his movements, my change of intentions would have spared us much. His dilatoriness exposed us to a thunderbolt. We had pealed the bell in his bedroom for the lamp, and when the door was opened at last, I turned to utter a sharp complaint of the delay. To my surprise, I saw that a stranger was walking in. There was a fraction of a second in which I stared indignantly, waiting for an apology for his blunder. Then it was as if my heart slipped slowly to my stomach, and I felt catastrophe in the air, even before I heard his rustic, official tones. He arrested us as Thibaudin and Hazard! Behind me I heard Beauregard's dressing-case drop with a thud.