reports were in duplicate, so that they must have emanated from two different sources.  And at last she came upon a pile of letters, anonymous letters of every shape, and in every description of handwriting.  They brought her amazement to a climax.  In one letter she recognised the villainous hand of Mademoiselle Saget, denouncing the people who met in the little sanctum at Lebigre’s.  On a large piece of greasy paper she identified the heavy pot-hooks of Madame Lecoeur; and there was also a sheet of cream-laid note-paper, ornamented with a yellow pansy, and covered with the scrawls of La Sarriette and Monsieur Jules.  These two letters warned the Government to beware of Gavard.  Farther on Lisa recognised the coarse style of old Madame Mehudin, who in four pages of almost indecipherable scribble repeated all the wild stories about Florent that circulated in the markets.  However, what startled her more than anything else was the discovery of a bill-head of her own establishment, with the inscription Quenu-Gradelle, Pork Butcher, on its face, whilst on the back of it Auguste had penned a denunciation of the man whom he looked upon as an obstacle to his marriage.

The official had acted upon a secret idea in placing these papers before her.  “You don’t recognise any of these handwritings, do you?” he asked.

“No,” she stammered, rising from her seat, quite oppressed by what she had just learned; and she hastily pulled down her veil again to conceal the blush of confusion which was rising to her cheeks.  Her silk dress rustled, and her dark gloves disappeared beneath her heavy shawl.

“You see, madame,” said the bald man with a faint smile, “your information comes a little late.  But I promise you that your visit shall not be forgotten.  And tell your husband not to stir.  It is possible that something may happen soon that——­”

He did not complete his sentence, but, half rising from his armchair, made a slight bow to Lisa.  It was a dismissal, and she took her leave.  In the ante-room she caught sight of Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, who hastily turned their faces away; but she was more disturbed than they were.  She went her way through the halls and along the corridors, feeling as if she were in the clutches of this system of police which, it now seemed to her, saw and knew everything.  At last she came out upon the Place Dauphine.  When she reached the Quai de l’Horloge she slackened her steps, and felt refreshed by the cool breeze blowing from the Seine.

She now had a keen perception of the utter uselessness of what she had done.  Her husband was in no danger whatever; and this thought, whilst relieving her, left her a somewhat remorseful feeling.  She was exasperated with Auguste and the women who had put her in such a ridiculous position.  She walked on yet more slowly, watching the Seine as it flowed past.  Barges, black with coal-dust, were floating down the greenish water; and all along the bank anglers