this ridiculous charge. Mistaken
identity? To prove that, he must at once prove himself--who he was,
whence he came. Tell the Cure, and make it a point of honour for his
secret to be kept? But once told, the new life would no longer stand
by itself as the new life, cut off from all contact with the past. Its
success, its possibility, must lie in its absolute separateness, with
obscurity behind--as though he had come out of nothing into this very
room, on that winter morning when memory returned.

It was clear that he must, somehow, evade the issue. He glanced at Jo,
whose eyes, strained and painful, were fixed upon the door. Here was a
man who suffered for his sake.... He took a step forward, as though with
sudden resolve, but there came a knocking, and, pausing, he motioned Jo
to open the door. Then, turning to a shelf, he took something from it
hastily, and kept it in his hand.

Jo roused himself with an effort, and opened to the knocking.

Three people entered: the Seigneur, the Cure, and the Abbe Rossignol, an
ascetic, severe man, with a face of intolerance and inflexibility. Two
constables in plain clothes followed; one stolid, one alert, one
English and one French, both with grim satisfaction in their faces--the
successful exercise of his trade is pleasant to every craftsman. When
they entered, Charley was standing with his back to the fireplace, his
eye-glass adjusted, one hand stroking his beard, the other held behind
his back.

The Cure came forward and shook hands in an eager friendly way.

"My dear Monsieur," said he, "I hope that you are better."

"I am quite well, thank you, Monsieur le Cure," answered Charley. "I
shall get back to work on Monday, I hope."

"Yes, yes, that is good," responded the Cure, and seemed confused.
He turned uneasily to the Seigneur. "You have come to see my friend
Portugais," Charley remarked slowly, almost apologetically. "I will take
my leave." He made a step forward. The two constables did the same, and
would have laid their hands upon his shoulder but that the Seigneur said
tartly:

"Stand off, Jack-in-boxes!"

The two stood aside, and looked covertly at the Seigneur, whose temper
seemed unusually irascible. Charley's face showed no surprise, but he
looked inquiringly at the Cure.

"If they wish to be measured for uniforms--or manners--I will see them
at my shop," he said.

The Seigneur chuckled. Charley stepped again towards the door. The
two constables stood bef