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Maurice had fled just in time, for he had scarcely reached the hothouse when the garden door opened and the man in grey appeared, followed by Lorin and a handful of grenadiers.

“Well?” asked Lorin.

“As you can see,” Maurice answered, “I’m at my post.”

“No one has tried to force their way out?” asked Lorin.

“No one,” Maurice answered, happy to have avoided telling a lie by the manner in which the question had been posed. “No one! What about you? What have you been up to?”

“We have confirmed with certainty that the Knight of Maison-Rouge entered this house one hour ago and has not come out since,” answered the man from the police.

“And you know which is his room?” asked Lorin.

“His room is separated from citizeness Dixmer’s only by a hallway.”

“Aha!” said Lorin.

“There was no need for any separation at all: apparently this Knight of Maison-Rouge is a horny dog.”

Maurice felt the blood rush to his head; he closed his eyes and a blaze of light hit his eyeballs.

“I see! But … what about citizen Dixmer? What did he have to say about that cozy arrangement?” asked Lorin.

“He felt rather honored.”

“Right!” said Maurice in a strangled voice. “What have we decided?”

“We have decided,” said the man from the police, “that we’ll go and take him in his room, maybe even in his bed.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“What is the layout of the terrain?” asked Lorin.

“We have a perfectly exact floor plan,” said the grey man. “A pavilion is situated in one corner of the garden—there it is; you go up four steps—see them here? You find yourself on a landing. To the right, the door of citizeness Dixmer’s apartment; no doubt that’s it, where we can see the window. Opposite the window, at the back, there’s a door opening onto the hall, and off the hall, the door of the traitor’s room.”

“Good, well, that’s some map,” said Lorin. “With a plan like that you could get around blindfolded, or better still with your eyes open. So let’s go.”

“Are the streets well-guarded?” asked Maurice with a keenness that all those present naturally attributed to the fear that the Knight would escape.

“Streets, passageways, crossroads, the whole shebang,” said the grey man. “I defy a mouse to get through without the watchword.”

Maurice shivered; all these precautions made him fear that his treason would not be crowned with bliss.

“Now,” said the grey man, “how many men do you need to arrest the Knight?”

“How many men?” asked Lorin. “I certainly hope Maurice and I can do the trick on our own, eh, Maurice?”

“Yes,” stammered Maurice, “I would think the two of us would be enough.”

“Listen,” said the man from the police, “no pointless boasting. Are you determined to nab him?”

“For heaven’s sake! Are we determined?” cried Lorin. “I should think so! Eh, Maurice? We have to get him, don’t we?”

Lorin emphasized the verb. As he had said, the beginnings of suspicion were hovering over them, and suspicion had to be given no time to take hold, for in those days it took no time at all for it to firm up into fact. Lorin knew that no one would dare doubt the patriotism of the two men who had managed to bag the Knight of Maison-Rouge.

“Well then!” said the man from the police. “If you really are determined, let’s take three men rather than two with us, four rather than three; the Knight always sleeps with a sword under his pillow and two pistols on his night table.”

“Damn!” said one of the grenadiers from Lorin’s company. “Let’s all go in, no special treatment for anyone. If he gives himself up, we’ll hold him for the guillotine; if he resists, we’ll rip him to shreds.”

“Well said!” said Lorin. “Forward! Do we go through the door or the window?”

“Through the door,” said the man from the police. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, the key will be in it, whereas if we go in by the window we have to break a few panes, and that’ll make a noise.”

“The door it is!” said Lorin. “As long as we enter, who cares how? Off we go, sword in hand, Maurice.”

Maurice drew his sword from its sheath mechanically.