ied life."

"What were your feelings upon learning this?"

"I should speak falsely, sir, if I said I did not feel very bitterly.
When one is in the high position I occupied, the fall is terrible.
However, I never for a moment entertained the thought of contesting M.
Noel Gerdy's rights. I always purposed, and still purpose, to yield, I
have so informed M. de Commarin."

M. Daburon expected just such a reply; and it only strengthened his
suspicions. Did it not enter into the line of defence which he had
foreseen? It was now his duty to seek some way of demolishing this
defence, in which the prisoner evidently meant to shut himself up like a
tortoise in its shell.

"You could not oppose M. Gerdy," continued the magistrate, "with any
chance of success. You had, indeed on your side, the count, and your
mother; but M. Gerdy was in possession of evidence that was certain to
win his cause, that of Widow Lerouge."

"I have never doubted that, sir."

"Now," continued the magistrate, seeking to hide the look which he
fastened upon Albert, "justice supposes that, to do away with the only
existing proof, you have assassinated Widow Lerouge."

This terrible accusation, terribly emphasised, caused no change in
Albert's features. He preserved the same firm bearing, without bravado.

"Before God," he answered, "and by all that is most sacred on earth,
I swear to you, sir, that I am innocent! I am at this moment a
close prisoner, without communication with the outer world, reduced
consequently to the most absolute helplessness. It is through your
probity that I hope to demonstrate my innocence."

"What an actor!" thought the magistrate. "Can crime be so strong as
this?"

He glanced over his papers, reading certain passages of the preceding
depositions, turning down the corners of certain pages which contained
important information. Then suddenly he resumed, "When you were
arrested, you cried out, 'I am lost,' what did you mean by that?"

"Sir," replied Albert, "I remember having uttered those words. When I
knew of what crime I was accused, I was overwhelmed with consternation.
My mind was, as it were, enlightened by a glimpse of the future. In a
moment, I perceived all the horror of my situation. I understood the
weight of the accusation, its probability, and the difficulties I
should have in defending myself. A voice cried out to me, 'Who was most
interested in Claudine's death?' And the knowledge of my imminent peril
for