igating magistrate took it. A suspicion crossed his mind. This
compromising letter happened to be very conveniently in Claire's pocket;
and yet young girls do not usually carry about with them requests for
secret interviews. At a glance, he read the ten lines of the note.

"No date," he murmured, "no stamp, nothing at all."

Claire did not hear him; she was racking her brain to find other proofs
of the interview.

"Sir," said she suddenly, "it often happens, that when we wish to be,
and believe ourselves alone, we are nevertheless observed. Summon, I
beseech you, all of my grandmother's servants, and inquire if any of
them saw Albert that night."

"Inquire of your servants! Can you dream of such a thing, mademoiselle?"

"What, sir? You fear that I shall be compromised. What of that, if he is
only freed?"

M. Daburon could not help admiring her. What sublime devotion in this
young girl, whether she spoke the truth or not! He could understand the
violence she had been doing to her feelings during the past hour, he who
knew her character so well.

"That is not all," she added; "the key which I threw to Albert, he did
not return it to me; he must have forgotten to do so. If it is found in
his possession, it will well prove that he was in the garden."

"I will give orders respecting it, mademoiselle."

"There is still another thing," continued Claire; "while I am here, send
some one to examine the wall."

She seemed to think of everything.

"That is already done, mademoiselle," replied M. Daburon. "I will not
hide from you that one of the letters which I have just sent off ordered
an examination of your grandmother's wall, a secret examination, though,
be assured."

Claire rose joyfully, and for the second time held out her hand to the
magistrate.

"Oh, thanks!" she said, "a thousand thanks! Now I can well see that you
are with me. But I have still another idea: Albert ought to have the
note I wrote on Tuesday."

"No, mademoiselle, he burnt it."

Claire drew back. She imagined she felt a touch of irony in the
magistrate's reply. There was none, however. M. Daburon remembered the
letter thrown into the fire by Albert on the Tuesday afternoon. It could
only been the one Claire had sent him. It was to her, then, that the
words, "She cannot resist me," applied. He understood, now, the action
and the remark.

"Can you understand, mademoiselle," he next asked, "how M. de Commarin
could lead justice astray, and