ed, it was on my account more than his own. He was distressed
at thinking that perhaps I should be grieved, when he confessed to me
that he could no longer give me all that his love dreamed of. I grieved?
Ah! what to me are that great name, that immense wealth? I owe to them
the only unhappiness I have ever known. Was it, then, for such things
that I loved him? It was thus that I replied to him; and he, so sad,
immediately recovered his gaiety. He thanked me, saying, 'You love me;
the rest is of no consequence.' I chided him, then, for having doubted
me; and after that, you pretend that he cowardly assassinated an old
woman? You would not dare repeat it."

Mademoiselle d'Arlange ceased speaking, a smile of victory on her lips.
That smile meant, "At last I have attained my end: you are conquered;
what can you reply to all that I have said?"

The investigating magistrate did not long leave this smiling illusion to
the unhappy child. He did not perceive how cruel and offensive was his
persistence. Always the same predominant idea! In persuading Claire, he
would justify his own conduct to himself.

"You do not know, mademoiselle," he resumed, "how a sudden calamity may
effect a good man's reason. It is only at the time a thing escapes us
that we feel the greatness of the loss. God preserve me from doubting
all that you have said; but picture to yourself the immensity of the
blow which struck M. de Commarin. Can you say that on leaving you he did
not give way to despair? Think of the extremities to which it may
have led him. He may have been for a time bewildered, and have acted
unconsciously. Perhaps this is the way the crime should be explained."

Mademoiselle d'Arlange's face grew deathly pale, and betrayed the utmost
terror. The magistrate thought that at last doubt had begun to effect
her pure and noble belief.

"He must, then, have been mad," she murmured.

"Possibly," replied the magistrate; "and yet the circumstances of the
crime denote a well-laid plan. Believe me, then, mademoiselle, and do
not be too confident. Pray, and wait patiently for the issue of this
terrible trial. Listen to my voice, it is that of a friend. You used to
have in me the confidence a daughter gives to her father, you told me
so; do not, then, refuse my advice. Remain silent and wait. Hide your
grief to all; you might hereafter regret having exposed it. Young,
inexperienced, without a guide, without a mother, alas! you sadly
misplaced yo