I was only conscious of a confused murmur of voices, of the click of firearms, of words of command passing to and fro, and of several violent oaths uttered in the not unfamiliar voice of M. Aristide Fournier.  But already I had spied Leroux.  I only exchanged a few words with him, for indeed my share of the evening’s work was done as far as he was concerned, and I made haste to retrace my steps through the darkness and the rain along the lonely mountain path toward the goal where chivalry and manly ardour beckoned to me from afar.

I found my vehicle waiting for me at St. Cergues, and by the promise of an additional pourboire, I succeeded in making the driver whip up his horses to some purpose.  Less than an hour later we drew up at Gex outside the little inn, pretentiously called Le Roi de Rome.  On alighting I was met by the proprietress who, in answer to my inquiry after two ladies who had arrived that afternoon, at once conducted me upstairs.

Already my mind was busy conjuring up visions of the fair lady of yester-eve.  The landlady threw open a door and ushered me into a small room which reeked of stale food and damp clothes.  I stepped in and found myself face to face with a large and exceedingly ugly old woman who rose with difficulty from the sofa as I entered.

“M.  Aristide Barrot,” she said as soon as the landlady had closed the door behind me.

“At your service, Madame,” I stammered.  “But—­”

I was indeed almost aghast.  Never in my life had I seen anything so grotesque as this woman.  To begin with she was more than ordinarily stout and unwieldy—­indeed, she appeared like a veritable mountain of flesh; but what was so disturbing to my mind was that she was nothing but a hideous caricature of her lovely daughter, whose dainty features she grotesquely recalled.  Her face was seamed and wrinkled, her white hair was plastered down above her yellow forehead.  She wore an old-fashioned bonnet tied under her chin, and her huge bulk was draped in a large-patterned cashmere shawl.

“You expected to see my dear daughter beside me, my good M. Barrot,” she said after a while speaking with remarkable gentleness and dignity.

“I confess, Madame—­” I murmured.

“Ah! the darling has sacrificed herself for my sake.  We found to-day that though my son was out of the way, he had set his abominable servants to watch over us.  Soon we realized that we could not both get away.  It meant one of us staying behind to act the part of unconcern and to throw dust in the eyes of our jailers.  My daughter—­ah! she is an angel, Monsieur—­feared that the disappointment and my son’s cruelty, when he returned on the morrow and found that he had been tricked, would seriously endanger my life.  She decided that I must go and that she would remain.”

“But, Madame—­” I protested.