“The idea that Florence had entered the room, unknown to me, for such a purpose?” cried the superior.  “Oh, Monsieur le Prefet, Florence is incapable of doing such a thing!”

The girl was silent, but her drawn features betrayed the feelings of alarm that upset her.

Don Luis went up to her and said: 

“The mystery is clearing, Florence, isn’t it?  And you are suffering in consequence.  Who put the letter in Mother Superior’s room?  You know, don’t you?  And you know who is conducting all this plot?”

She did not answer.  Then, turning to the deputy chief, the Prefect said: 

“Weber, please go and search the room which Mlle. Levasseur occupied.”

And, in reply to the nun’s protest: 

“It is indispensable,” he declared, “that we should know the reasons why Mlle. Levasseur preserves such an obstinate silence.”

Florence herself led the way.  But, as Weber was leaving the room, Don Luis exclaimed: 

“Take care, Deputy Chief!”

“Take care?  Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Don Luis, who really could not have said why Florence’s behaviour was making him uneasy.  “I don’t know.  Still, I warn you—­”

Weber shrugged his shoulders and, accompanied by the superior, moved away.  In the hall he took two men with him.  Florence walked ahead.  She went up a flight of stairs and turned down a long corridor, with rooms on either side of it, which, after turning a corner, led to a short and very narrow passage ending in a door.

This was her room.  The door opened not inward, into the room, but outward, into the passage.  Florence therefore drew it to her, stepping back as she did so, which obliged Weber to do likewise.  She took advantage of this to rush in and close the door behind her so quickly that the deputy chief, when he tried to grasp the handle, merely struck the air.

He made an angry gesture: 

“The baggage!  She means to burn some papers!”

And, turning to the superior: 

“Is there another exit to the room?”

“No, Monsieur.”

He tried to open the door, but she had locked and bolted it.  Then he stood aside to make way for one of his men, a giant, who, with one blow of his fist, smashed a panel.

Weber pushed by him, put his arm through the opening, drew the bolt, turned the key, pulled open the door and entered.

Florence was no longer in her room.  A little open window opposite showed the way she had taken.

“Oh, curse my luck!” he shouted.  “She’s cut off!”

And, hurrying back to the staircase, he roared over the balusters: 

“Watch all the doors!  She’s got away!  Collar her!”

M. Desmalions came hurrying up.  Meeting the deputy, he received his explanations and then went on to Florence’s room.  The open window looked out on a small inner yard, a sort of well which served to ventilate a part of the house.  Some rain-pipes ran down the wall.  Florence must have let herself down by them.  But what coolness and what an indomitable will she must have displayed to make her escape in this manner!