"And if he gives me orders?" 

"You must obey them, of course. Have you seen him this morning?" 

"Yes. He had ordered me to come to his lodgings in the Rue de France." 

"What did he want?" 

"The scrap of paper which we had found in the breeches' pocket of Maxence." 

"You gave it to him?" 

"Of course," growled Lefèvre savagely. "Haven't we all got to obey him?" 

"You left him in his lodgings, then?" 

"Yes." 

"Doing what?" 

"Reading a book." 

"Reading a book?" exclaimed M. de Saint-Tropèze with a harsh laugh. "What book?" 

"I just noticed the title," replied Lefèvre, "though I'm nothing of a scholar and books don't interest me." 

"What was the title?" 

"Corinne," said the commissary of police. 

Apparently M. le Procureur Impérial had come to the end of the questions which he desired to put to the worthy M. Lefèvre, for he said nothing more, but remained leaning back in his chair and gazing straight out of the window beside him. His pale, aristocratic profile looked almost like chiselled marble against the purple damask of the cushions. He seemed absorbed in thought, or else supremely bored; M. Lefèvre--nothing of a psychologist, despite his calling--could not have said which. 

The ticking of the massive Louis XIV clock upon the mantelpiece and the sizzling of damp wood on the hearth alone broke the silence which reigned in the stately 

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