“Have no fear, fair one,” I murmured in her ear.  “It is I, Hector Ratichon, who adores you and who cannot live without you!  Forgive me for this seeming violence, which was prompted by an undying passion, and remember that to me you are as sacred as a divinity until the happy hour when I can proclaim you to the world as my beloved wife!”

I pressed her against my heart, and my lips imprinted a delicate kiss upon her forehead.  After which, with chaste decorum, she once more turned away from me, covered her face and head with the shawl, and drew back into the remote corner of the carriage, where she remained, silent and absorbed, no doubt, in the contemplation of her happiness.

I respected her silence, and I, too, fell to meditating upon my good fortune.  Here was I, Sir, within sight of a haven wherein I could live through the twilight of my days in comfort and in peace, a beautiful young wife, a modest fortune!  I had never in my wildest dreams envisaged a Fate more fair.  The little house at Chantilly which I coveted, the plot of garden, the espalier peaches—­all, all would be mine now!  It seemed indeed too good to be true!

The very next moment I was rudely awakened from those golden dreams by a loud clatter, and stern voices shouting the ominous word, “Halt!” The carriage drew up with such a jerk that I was flung off my seat against the front window and my nose seriously bruised.  A faint cry of terror came from the precious bundle beside me.

“Have no fear, my beloved,” I whispered hurriedly.  “Your own Hector will protect you!”

Already the door of the carriage had been violently torn open; the next moment a gruff voice called out peremptorily: 

“By order of the Chief Commissary of Police!”

I was dumbfounded.  In what manner had the Chief Commissary of Police been already apprised of this affair?  The whole thing was, of course, a swift and vengeful blow dealt to me by that cowardly Rochez.  But how, in the name of thunder, had he got to work so quickly?  But, of course, there was no time now for reflection.  The gruff voice was going on more peremptorily and more insistently: 

“Is Hector Ratichon here?”

I was dumb.  My throat had closed up, and I could not have uttered a sound to save my life.  The police had even got my name quite straight!

“Now then, Ratichon,” that same irascible voice continued, “get out of there!  In the name of the law I charge you with the abduction of a defenceless female, and my orders are to bring you forthwith before the Chief Commissary of Police.”

Then it was, Sir, that bliss once more re-entered my soul.  I had just felt a small hand pressing something crisp into mine, whilst a soft voice whispered in my ear: 

“Give him this, and tell him to let you go in peace.  Say that I am Mademoiselle Goldberg, your promised wife.”

The feel of that crackling note in my hand at once restored my courage.  Covering the lovely creature beside me with a protecting arm, I replied boldly to the minion of the law.