THE EQUINOX
the stiletto. Silver-gilt; blades of exquisite fineness; the
cipher of a princely house of France shone in tiny diamonds
upon the pommels.
“The thought sent new courage and determination thrill-
ing through me. I had saved a princess from shame and
torture; I loved her! She loved me, for I had saved her—
ah! but I had not yet saved her. That was to do.
“But how to act? I had plenty of time. Jean would not
return to the house, in all probability. But the markets were
stirring; the weapons and my blood would arouse curiosity.
Well, how to act?
“The positive certitude that I had had about the name of
the street was my bane. Had I doubted I could have more
easily carried out the systematic search that I proposed. But
as it was my organised patrol of the quarter was not scientific ;
I was biased. I came back again and again to the street
and searched it, as if the house might have been hidden in the
gutter or vanished and reappeared by magic; as if my previous
search might (by some incredible chance) have been imperfect,
through relaxed attention. So one may watch a conjuror,
observing every movement perfectly, except the one flash which
does the trick.
“The search, too, could not be long; so I reflected as
disappointment sobered me. One cannot go far from the
Carrefour de YOdéon in any direction without striking
some unmistakable object. The two boulevards, the schools,
the Odéon itself, St. Sulpice—one could not be far off.
Yet—could I possibly have mistaken the Odéon for the
Luxembourg ?
“CouldI...?...? A host of conjectures chased each
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