He ran up to his bedroom on the second floor and dipped his face into cold water.  Never had he experienced such a stimulation of his whole being, such an unbridling of his blind instincts.

“It’s she!” he spluttered.  “I hear her!  She is at the bottom of the stairs.  At last!  Oh, the joy of having her in front of me!  Face to face!  She and I alone!”

He returned to the landing outside the boudoir.  He took the key from his pocket.  The door opened.

He uttered a great shout:  Gaston Sauverand was there!  In that locked room Gaston Sauverand was waiting for him, standing with folded arms.

CHAPTER TEN

GASTON SAUVERAND EXPLAINS

Gaston Sauverand!

Instinctively, Don Luis took a step back, drew his revolver, and aimed it at the criminal: 

“Hands up!” he commanded.  “Hands up, or I fire!”

Sauverand did not appear to be put out.  He nodded toward two revolvers which he had laid on a table beyond his reach and said: 

“There are my arms.  I have come here not to fight, but to talk.”

“How did you get in?” roared Don Luis, exasperated by this display of calmness.  “A false key, I suppose?  But how did you get hold of the key?  How did you manage it?”

The other did not reply.  Don Luis stamped his foot: 

“Speak, will you?  Speak!  If not—­”

But Florence ran into the room.  She passed him by without his trying to stop her, flung herself upon Gaston Sauverand, and, taking no heed of Perenna’s presence, said: 

“Why did you come?  You promised me that you wouldn’t.  You swore it to me.  Go!”

Sauverand released himself and forced her into a chair.

“Let me be, Florence.  I promised only so as to reassure you.  Let me be.”

“No, I will not!” exclaimed the girl eagerly.  “It’s madness!  I won’t have you say a single word.  Oh, please, please stop!”

He bent over her and smoothed her forehead, separating her mass of golden hair.

“Let me do things my own way, Florence,” he said softly.

She was silent, as though disarmed by the gentleness of his voice; and he whispered more words which Don Luis could not hear and which seemed to convince her.

Perenna had not moved.  He stood opposite them with his arm outstretched and his finger on the trigger, aiming at the enemy.  When Sauverand addressed Florence by her Christian name, he started from head to foot and his finger trembled.  What miracle kept him from shooting?  By what supreme effort of will did he stifle the jealous hatred that burnt him like fire?  And here was Sauverand daring to stroke Florence’s hair!

He lowered his arm.  He would kill them later, do with them what he pleased, since they were in his power, and since nothing henceforth could snatch them from his vengeance.

He took Sauverand’s two revolvers and laid them in a drawer.  Then he went back to the door, intending to lock it.  But hearing a sound on the first-floor landing, he leant over the balusters.  The butler was coming upstairs with a tray in his hand.