The hut was at least sixty feet from the pavement, and the fall was the more appalling because the body of Andre struck some of the intervening scaffolding first, and thence bounced off, until the unhappy young man fell with a dull thud, bleeding and senseless in the street.

Nearly three hundred persons in the Champs Elysees witnessed this hideous sight; for, at Vignol’s cry, every one had stopped, and, frozen with horror, had not missed one detail of the grim tragedy.

In an instant a crowd was collected round the poor, inert mass of humanity which lay motionless in a pool of blood.  But two workmen, roused by Vignol’s shrieks, were soon on the spot, and pushed their way through the crowd of persons who were gazing with a morbid curiosity on the man who had fallen from a height of sixty feet.

Andre gave no sign of life.  His face was dreadfully bruised, his eyes were closed, and a stream of blood poured from his mouth, as Vignol raised his friend’s head upon his knee.

“He is dead!” cried the lookers on.  “No one could survive such a fall.”

“Let us take him to the Hospital Beaujon!” exclaimed Vignol.  “We are close by there.”

An ambulance was speedily procured, and the workmen, placing their insensible friend carefully in it, asked permission to carry him to the hospital.

One curious event had excited the attention of some of the lookers on.  Just as Andre fell, a commissaire had rushed forward and seized a woman.  She was one of the class of unfortunates who frequent the Champs Elysees, and she it was who had uttered the cry that had lured Andre to destruction.  The woman made an effort to escape, but Palot, for it was he, caught her arm.

“Not a word,” said he sternly.  The wretched creature seemed in abject terror, and obeyed him.

“Why did you cry out?” asked he.

“I do not know.”

“It is a lie!”

“No, it is true; a gentleman came up to me, and said, ’Madame, if you will cry out now, Andre, it is I—­your Sabine; help!  I will give you two louis.’  Of course I agreed.  He gave me the fifty francs, and I did as he asked me.”

“What was this man like?”

“He was tall, old, and very shabby and dirty, with glasses on.  I never set eyes on him before.”

“Do you know,” returned the commissaire sternly, “that the words you have uttered have caused the death of the poor fellow who has just fallen from the house?”

“Why did he not take more care?” asked she indifferently.

Palot, with an angry gesture, handed her over to a police-constable.

“Take her to the station-house,” said he, “and do not lose sight of her, for she will be a most important witness at a trial that must soon come on.”

“What the woman says is true,” muttered Palot.  “She did not know what she was doing, and it was Tantaine that gave her the two coins.  He shall pay for this; but certainly, if the whole gang are collared, it won’t bring the poor young fellow to life.”