, even though it
be my fault--be absolutely convinced of this--whatever I may do will be
for your good--more than that I must not say!"

Elizabeth had not a word to say, but his words were humming and buzzing
in her ears when Fandor was in the magistrate's room.

With a cordial handshake, Monsieur Fuselier began by congratulating him
on having saved Elizabeth Dollon's life.

"Ah," said he, smiling, "you journalists have all the luck; and, between
yourselves, I envy you a little, for your lucky star has led you to the
discovery of a drama, and has enabled you to prevent a fatal ending to
it. Now, do you not think, as I do, that this Auteuil affair is not a
case of suicide, but of attempted assassination?"

"There is no doubt about it," replied Fandor quietly.

The magistrate drew himself up with a satisfied air.

"That is also my opinion--has been so from the start."

The clerk now interrupted the two men, who were talking as friends
rather than as magistrate and witness, asking, in nasal tone:

"Does His Honour wish to take the evidence of Monsieur Jerome Fandor?"

"In four lines then. I do not think Monsieur Fandor has anything more to
tell us than what he has already told us in the columns of _La
Capitale_. That is so, is it not?" asked the magistrate, looking at
Fandor.

"That is correct," replied our journalist.

The clerk rapidly drew up the deposition of Monsieur Jerome Fandor, in
due form, and read it aloud in a monotonous voice.

Fandor signed it. It did not compromise him at all. He was about to
leave when Monsieur Fuselier caught him by the arm.

"Please wait a minute! There are one or two points to be cleared up: I
am going to ask the witnesses a few questions: we will have a general
confrontation--we will compare evidence!"

Then, the journalist's friend, now all the magistrate, asked the
assembled witnesses certain questions, in an emphatic and professional
tone.

Fandor, seated a little apart, had leisure to examine the faces of the
different persons whom circumstances had brought together in this room.

His first look was for Elizabeth: energy and courage were plainly marked
on her pretty, sad face. Then there was the proprietor of the Auteuil
boarding-house: an honest, vulgar creature, red-faced, perpetually
mopping her brow and raising her hands to heaven; ready to bewail her
position, deploring the untimely publicity given to this affair, a
publicity which threatened discredit to her