“If only it is not too late!” he muttered.

He staggered under the shock of the sensations and ideas that crowded upon him.  Everything clashed in his brain with tragic violence:  certainty, joy, dismay, despair, fury.  He was struggling in the clutches of the most hideous nightmare; and he already seemed to see a detective’s heavy hand descending on Florence’s shoulder.

“Come away!  Come away!” he cried, starting up in alarm.  “It is madness to remain!”

“But the house is surrounded,” Sauverand objected.

“And then?  Do you think that I will allow for a second—?  No, no, come!  We must fight side by side.  I shall still entertain some doubts, that is certain.  You must destroy them; and we will save Mme. Fauville.”

“But the detectives round the house?”

“We’ll manage them.”

“Weber, the deputy chief?”

“He’s not here.  And as long as he’s not here I’ll take everything on myself.  Come, follow me, but at some little distance.  When I give the signal and not till then—­”

He drew the bolt and turned the handle of the door.  At that moment some one knocked.  It was the butler.

“Well?” asked Don Luis.  “Why am I disturbed?”

“The deputy chief detective, M. Weber, is here, sir.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ROUTED

Don Luis had certainly expected this formidable blow; and yet it appeared to take him unawares, and he repeated more than once: 

“Ah, Weber is here!  Weber is here!”

All his buoyancy left him, and he felt like a retreating army which, after almost making good its escape, suddenly finds itself brought to a stop by a steep mountain.  Weber was there—­that is to say, the chief leader of the enemies, the man who would be sure to plan the attack and the resistance in such a manner as to dash Perenna’s hopes to the ground.  With Weber at the head of the detectives, any attempt to force a way out would have been absurd.

“Did you let him in?” he asked.

“You did not tell me not to, sir.”

“Is he alone?”

“No, sir, the deputy chief has six men with him.  He has left them in the courtyard.”

“And where is he?”

“He asked me to take him to the first floor.  He expected to find you in your study, sir.”

“Does he know now that I am with Sergeant Mazeroux and Mlle. Levasseur?”

“Yes, sir.”

Perenna thought for a moment and then said: 

“Tell him that you have not found me and that you are going to look for me in Mlle. Levasseur’s rooms.  Perhaps he will go with you.  All the better if he does.”

And he locked the door again.

The struggle through which he had just passed did not show itself on his face; and, now that all was lost, now that he was called upon to act, he recovered that wonderful composure which never abandoned him at decisive moments.  He went up to Florence.  She was very pale and was silently weeping.  He said: