Saint-Lazare she pictured as a grave, a dark hole, in which they buried live women after they had cut off their hair.

She admitted that it was only necessary to leave Fontan and seek powerful protectors.

But as matters stood it was in vain that Satin talked to her of certain lists of women's names, which it was the duty of the plainclothes men to consult, and of certain photographs accompanying the lists, the originals of which were on no account to be touched.

The reassurance did not make her tremble the less, and she still saw herself hustled and dragged along and finally subjected to the official medical inspection.

The thought of the official armchair filled her with shame and anguish, for had she not bade it defiance a score of times?
Now it so happened that one evening toward the close of September, as she was walking with Satin in the Boulevard Poissonniere, the latter suddenly began tearing along at a terrible pace.