“The last people in the world I wanted to see then!  They had gone that evening to some amateur concert for the delectation of the poor people, you know; but she had insisted on leaving early, on purpose to call in Hermione Street on the way home, under the pretext of having some work to do.  Her usual task was to correct the proofs of the Italian and French editions of the Alarm Bell and the Firebrand.” . . .

“Heavens!” I murmured.  I had been shown once a few copies of these publications.  Nothing, in my opinion, could have been less fit for the eyes of a young lady.  They were the most advanced things of the sort; advanced, I mean, beyond all bounds of reason and decency.  One of them preached the dissolution of all social and domestic ties; the other advocated systematic murder.  To think of a young girl calmly tracking printers’ errors all along the sort of abominable sentences I remembered was intolerable to my sentiment of womanhood.  Mr. X, after giving me a glance, pursued steadily.

“I think, however, that she came mostly to exercise her fascinations upon Sevrin, and to receive his homage in her queenly and condescending way.  She was aware of both—­her power and his homage—­and enjoyed them with, I dare say, complete innocence.  We have no ground in expediency or morals to quarrel with her on that account.  Charm in woman and exceptional intelligence in man are a law unto themselves.  Is it not so?”

I refrained from expressing my abhorrence of that licentious doctrine because of my curiosity.

“But what happened then?” I hastened to ask.

X went on crumbling slowly a small piece of bread with a careless left hand.

“What happened, in effect,” he confessed, “is that she saved the situation.”

“She gave you an opportunity to end your rather sinister farce,” I suggested.

“Yes,” he said, preserving his impassive bearing.  “The farce was bound to end soon.  And it ended in a very few minutes.  And it ended well.  Had she not come in, it might have ended badly.  Her brother, of course, did not count.  They had slipped into the house quietly some time before.  The printing-cellar had an entrance of its own.  Not finding any one there, she sat down to her proofs, expecting Sevrin to return to his work at any moment.  He did not do so.  She grew impatient, heard through the door the sounds of a disturbance in the other cellar and naturally came in to see what was the matter.

“Sevrin had been with us.  At first he had seemed to me the most amazed of the whole raided lot.  He appeared for an instant as if paralyzed with astonishment.  He stood rooted to the spot.  He never moved a limb.  A solitary gas-jet flared near his head; all the other lights had been put out at the first alarm.  And presently, from my dark corner, I observed on his shaven actor’s face an expression of puzzled, vexed watchfulness.  He knitted his heavy eyebrows.  The corners of his mouth dropped scornfully.  He was angry.  Most likely he had seen through the game, and I regretted I had not taken him from the first into my complete confidence.