sked for a moment, and, turning towards the little table, he filled and
drank two large glassfuls of water in succession.

"I am ready!" he then said. And, with a firm step, he followed the
gendarmes along the passage which led to the Palais de Justice.

M. Daburon was just then in great anguish. He walked furiously up and
down his office, awaiting the prisoner. Again, and for the twentieth
time since morning, he regretted having engaged in the business.

"Curse this absurd point of honour, which I have obeyed," he inwardly
exclaimed. "I have in vain attempted to reassure myself by the aid
of sophisms. I was wrong in not withdrawing. Nothing in the world can
change my feelings towards this young man. I hate him. I am his judge;
and it is no less true, that at one time I longed to assassinate him. I
faced him with a revolver in my hand: why did I not present it and fire?
Do I know why? What power held my finger, when an almost insensible
pressure would have sufficed to kill him? I cannot say. Why is not he
the judge, I the assassin? If the intention was as punishable as the
deed, I ought to be guillotined. And it is under such conditions that I
dare examine him!"

Passing before the door he heard the heavy footsteps of the gendarmes in
the passage.

"It is he," he said aloud and then hastily seated himself at his table,
bending over his portfolios, as though striving to hide himself. If
the tall clerk had used his eyes, he would have noticed the singular
spectacle of an investigating magistrate more agitated than the prisoner
he was about to examine. But he was blind to all around him; and, at
this moment, he was only aware of an error of fifteen centimes, which
had slipped into his accounts, and which he was unable to rectify.

Albert entered the magistrate's office with his head erect. His features
bore traces of great fatigue and of sleepless nights. He was very pale;
but his eyes were clear and sparkling.

The usual questions which open such examinations gave M. Daburon an
opportunity to recover himself. Fortunately, he had found time in the
morning to prepare a plan, which he had now simply to follow.

"You are aware, sir," he commenced in a tone of perfect politeness,
"that you have no right to the name you bear?"

"I know, sir," replied Albert, "that I am the natural son of M. de
Commarin. I know further that my father would be unable to recognise me,
even if he wished to, since I was born during his marr