She was walking fast...

The stranger remained stationary until the girl had gone some way; then pressing against the wall, concealing his movements with practised ability, he followed her at a discreet distance...

“There can be no doubt about it,” he murmured. “I recognised her voice directly!... It’s the very devil!... It’s going to complicate matters!... A lover’s meeting? Not likely!... She must be going to the post, as she said... She will return in about a quarter of an hour, and then... then!” The girl was far from suspecting that she was being followed. She had walked down rue Mozart, turned into rue Poussin, posted her letter, and then walked quietly back to the house.

The stranger had not followed her into the more frequented streets: he awaited her return in a dark and deserted side-alley. When she came into view again, he sighed a sigh of great satisfaction.

“Al, there is the dear child!... That’s all right. Now we shall have some fun!... or, rather, I shall!” Anyone seeing the man’s face, while making these pointed exclamations, would have been frightened by his sneering laugh, his hideous grin.

A few minutes later, the girl re-entered the little garden of the house in the rue Raffet. A stout woman opened to her ring.

“Ah, there you are, darling.” There was relief in her tone. “Yes, here I am, safe and sound, madame!”

“Nothing unpleasant – no one molested you, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth Dollon, for she it was, shook her head and smiled a smile both sad and sweet.

“Ah, no, madame!... I was sure you would be waiting for me – I am so sorry!”

“No, not at all!... Tell me, Elizabeth... Jules has told me that you would not be going out tomorrow. The poor fellow is so stupid that I ask myself if he has not made a mistake?”

“No,” said Elizabeth. “It is quite true.I not think I shall go out, either in the morning or the afternoon.”

“You expect a caller?”

“It is possible someone may come to see me. If by any chance I have to go out for a few minutes, to get something or other, I must warn Jules: he must make the visitor wait: I shall not go far in case...”

“All right! That’s settled then, darling. Now, good night, I am going to my room.”

“Good evening, madame, and good night!”

Leaving stout and kindly Madame Bourrat, owner of this private boarding-house where Elizabeth Dollon had found a refuge, the poor girl, still with a smile on her pale lips, made her way upstairs, entered her bedroom, and carefully locked the door. She lit the lamp. Her face now wore a tragic look: its expression was wild and desperate.

“If only he would come!” she sighed. “I am afraid! I am afraid!... I am terribly afraid!”

Elizabeth stood motionless – a frozen image of fear – all but her eyes: they were casting terrified glances about her.