curtains. One o'clock struck. The Avenue de Villiers was deserted,

and its double file of gas lamps stretched away into the darkness of

the damp March night through which great gusts of wind kept

sweeping, laden with rain. There were vague stretches of land on

either side of the road which looked like gulfs of shadow, while

scaffoldings round mansions in process of construction loomed upward

under the dark sky. They laughed uncontrollably as they watched

Muffat's rounded back and glistening shadow disappearing along the