onfinement. I exhort you to reflect. Night will
perhaps bring on a better feeling; if you wish at any time to speak
to me, send word, and I will come to you. I will give orders to that
effect. You may read now, Constant."

When Albert had departed under the escort of the gendarmes, the
magistrate muttered in a low tone, "There's an obstinate fellow for
you." He certainly no longer entertained the shadow of a doubt. To him,
Albert was as surely the murderer as if he had admitted his guilt
Even if he should persist in his system of denial to the end of the
investigation, it was impossible, that, with the proofs already in the
possession of the police, a true bill should not be found against him.
He was therefore certain of being committed for trial at the assizes. It
was a hundred to one, that the jury would bring in a verdict of guilty.

Left to himself, however, M. Daburon did not experience that intense
satisfaction, mixed with vanity, which he ordinarily felt after he had
successfully conducted an examination, and had succeeded in getting
his prisoner into the same position as Albert. Something disturbed and
shocked him. At the bottom of his heart, he felt ill at ease. He had
triumphed; but his victory gave him only uneasiness, pain, and vexation.
A reflection so simple that he could hardly understand why it had not
occurred to him at first, increased his discontent, and made him angry
with himself.

"Something told me," he muttered, "that I was wrong to undertake this
business. I am punished for not having obeyed that inner voice. I ought
to have declined to proceed with the investigation. The Viscount
de Commarin, was, all the same, certain to be arrested, imprisoned,
examined, confounded, tried, and probably condemned. Then, being in no
way connected with the trial, I could have reappeared before Claire. Her
grief will be great. As her friend, I could have soothed her, mingled
my tears with hers, calmed her regrets. With time, she might have been
consoled, and perhaps have forgotten him. She could not have helped
feeling grateful to me, and then who knows--? While now, whatever may
happen, I shall be an object of loathing to her: she will never be able
to endure the sight of me. In her eyes I shall always be her lover's
assassin. I have with my own hands opened an abyss! I have lost her a
second time, and by my own fault."

The unhappy man heaped the bitterest reproaches upon himself. He was in
despair. He had