.

THE THEFT.
La Boulaye sat once more in the Rue Nationale and with his head in his hands, his elbows supported by the writing-table, he stared before him, his face drawn with the pain and anger of the defeat he had sustained where no defeat had been expected.
He had been so assured that he had but to ask for Ombreval's life, and it would be accorded him; he had promised Suzanne with such confidence--boasting almost--that he could do this, and to do it he had pledged his word.

And now?
For very shame he could not go to her and tell her that despite his fine promises despite his bold bargaining, he was as powerless to liberate Ombreval as was she herself.
And with reflection he came to see that even did he bear her such a tale she would not believe it.

The infinite assurance of his power, implicit in everything that he had said to her, must now arise in her memory, and give the lie to his present confession of powerlessness.

She would not believe him, and disbelieving him, she would seek a motive for the words that she would deem untrue.