ends would visit him, he might receive whomsoever he wished to see.

It was no longer the magistrate who spoke; it was a father, who, no
matter what happens, always keeps in the recesses of his heart, the
greatest indulgence for his child.

M. Daburon did even more. For a moment he imagined himself in Albert's
position. What would he have done after the terrible revelation? He
scarcely dared ask himself. He understood the motive which prompted the
murder of Widow Lerouge; he could explain it to himself; he could almost
excuse it. (Another trap.) It was certainly a great crime, but in no way
revolting to conscience or to reason. It was one of those crimes which
society might, if not forget, at least forgive up to a certain point,
because the motive was not a shameful one. What tribunal would fail
to find extenuating circumstances for a moment of frenzy so excusable.
Besides was not the Count de Commarin the more guilty of the two? Was it
not his folly that prepared the way for this terrible event? His son was
the victim of fatality, and was in the highest degree to be pitied.

M. Daburon spoke for a long time upon this text, seeking those things
most suitable in his opinion to soften the hardened heart of an
assassin. And he arrived always at the same conclusion,--the wisdom
of confessing. But he wasted his eloquence precisely as M. Tabaret had
wasted his. Albert appeared in no way affected. His answers were of the
shortest. He began and ended as on the first occasion, by protesting his
innocence.

One test, which has often given the desired result, still remained to be
tried.

On this same day, Saturday, Albert was confronted with the corpse of
Widow Lerouge. He appeared impressed by the sad sight, but no more than
anyone would be, if forced to look at the victim of an assassination
four days after the crime. One of the bystanders having exclaimed: "Ah,
if she could but speak!" he replied: "That would be very fortunate for
me."

Since morning, M. Daburon had not gained the least advantage. He had had
to acknowledge the failure of his manoeuvres; and now this last attempt
had not succeeded either. The prisoner's continued calmness filled to
overflowing the exasperation of this man so sure of his guilt. His spite
was evident to all, when, suddenly ceasing his wheedling, he harshly
gave the order to re-conduct the prisoner to his cell.

"I will compel him to confess!" he muttered between his teeth.

Perhaps he reg