The watcher now inspected the rue Raffet. The house which interested him so much was situated just where the rue du Docteur Blanche opens into the street at right-angles. Auteuil is certainly not a frequented part, but, as a rule, the rue Raffet is generally more lonely than any of the streets in Auteuil: no carriages, no pedestrians.

From an early hour in the evening, that hilly road was, more often than not, quite deserted; so was the rue du Docteur Blanche, still surrounded by waste ground, and more especially at the rue Raffet end.

A glance or two sufficed to show the man the lie of the land. He noted the feeble glimmer of the street lamps; he made certain that not one of the neighbouring houses could perceive his actions, mark his movements. He repeated in a theatrical tone of voice with a note of amusement in it:

“Not a soul! Not a solitary soul! Well, it is no joke to wait here; but, after all, it is a quiet spot, and I can count on not being disturbed in the job I have in hand to-night.” This shadowy individual traversed the rue Raffet, reached the rue du Docteur-Blanche, and, wrapping himself up in his voluminous black cloak, ensconced himself in a break in the palisades bordering the pavement. He stood there motionless; anyone might have passed within a few yards of him without suspecting his pre sence, so still was he, so imperceptibly did his dark figure blend with the blackness of the night.

He started slightly. The church clock struck nine, its notes sounding silvery clear through the tranquil night... in the distance some convent clock chimed an evening prayer, then a deeper silence fell on the darkness of night.

Suddenly, the front door of the house, which the stranger had watched with intense scrutiny, was thrown wide open, showing a large, luminous square in the darkness. Two women were speaking.

“Are you going out, my darling?” asked the elder.

“Don’t be anxious, madame,” replied a girlish voice.

“There is no need to wait for me. I am only going to the post.” “Why not give Jules your letter?”

“No, I prefer to post it myself.”

“You would not like someone to go with you? There are not many people about at this hour.”

The same fresh young voice replied:

“Oh, I am not frightened... besides, it’s only rue Raffet which is deserted; as soon as I reach rue Mozart there will be nothing more to fear.”

The luminous square, cast on the darkness of the garden, disappeared.

The mysterious stranger, who had not lost a word of this conversation, heard the door of the vestibule close, then the gravel of the garden crunch under the feet of the girl coming down the path. Very soon the gate of the garden grated on its badly oiled hinges, and then the elegant outline of a young girl was visible on the badly lighted pavement.