"Oh, so you had them on you?" said Prasville.

"I felt so certain, monsieur le secretaire-general, that we should end by coming to an understanding."

He took from his hat a fat envelope, sealed with five red seals, which was pinned inside the lining, and handed it to Prasville, who thrust it into his pocket. Then he said:

"Monsieur le secretaire-general, I don't know when I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again. If you have the least communication to make to me, one line in the agony column of the Journal will be sufficient. Just head it, 'M. Nicole.' Good-day to you."

And he withdrew.

Prasville, when he was alone, felt as if he were waking from a nightmare during which he had performed incoherent actions over which his conscious mind had no control. He was almost thinking of ringing and causing a stir in the passages; but, just then, there was a tap at the door and one of the office-messengers came hurrying in.

"What's the matter?" asked Prasville.

"Monsieur le se cretaire-generaI, it's Monsieur le Depute Daubrecq asking to see you... on a matter of the highest importance."

"Daubrecq !" exclaimed Prasville, in bewilderment. "Daubrecq here! Show him in."

Daubrecq had not waited for the order. He ran up to Prasville, out of breath, with his clothes in disorder, a bandage over his left eye, no tie, no collar, looking like an escaped lunatic; and the door was not closed before he caught hold of Prasville with his two enormous hands;

"Have you the list?"

"Yes."

"Have you bought it?"

"Yes."

"At the price of Gilbert's pardon?"

"Yes."

"Is it signed?"

"Yes."

Daubrecq made a furious gesture:

"You fool! You fool! You've been trapped! For hatred of me, I expect? And now you're going to take your revenge?"

"With a certain satisfaction, Daubrecq. Remember my little friend, the opera-dancer, at Nice... It's your turn now to dance."

"So it means prison?"

"I should think so," said Prasville. "Besides, it doesn't matter. You're done for, anyhow. Deprived of the list, without defence of any kind, you're bound to fall to pieces of your own weight. And I shall be present at the break-up. That's my revenge."

"And you believe that!" yelled Daubrecq, furiously. 'You believe that they will wring my neck like a chicken's and that I shall not know how to defend myself and that I have no claws left and no teeth to bite with! Well, my boy, if I do come to grief, there's always one who will fall with me and that is Master Prasville, the partner of Stanislas Vorenglade, who is going to hand me every proof in existence against him, so that I may get him sent to gaol without delay. Aha, I've got you fixed, old chap! With those letters, you'll go as I please, hang it all, and there will be fine days yet for Daubrecq the deputy! What! You're laughing, are you? Perhaps those letters don't exist?"

Prasville shrugged his shoulders:

"Yes, they exist. But Vorenglade no longer has them in his possession.

"Since when?"

"Since this morning. Vorenglade sold them, two hours ago, for the sum of forty thousand francs; and I have bought them back at the same price."