advocate made a confession of all his follies, laid bare his
financial condition, showed himself in his true light, sunk in debt; and
he finally begged his mother to have recourse to M. de Commarin.

This also she refused, and prayers and threats availed nothing against
her resolution. For a fortnight, there was a terrible struggle between
mother and son, in which the advocate was conquered.

It was then that the idea of murdering Claudine occurred to him.

The unhappy woman had not been more frank with Madame Gerdy than
with others, so that Noel really thought her a widow. Therefore, her
testimony suppressed, who else stood in his way?

Madame Gerdy, and perhaps the count. He feared them but little. If
Madame Gerdy spoke, he could always reply: "After stealing my name for
your son, you will do everything in the world to enable him to keep it."
But how to do away with Claudine without danger to himself?

After long reflection, the advocate thought of a diabolical stratagem.

He burnt all the count's letters establishing the substitution, and he
preserved only those which made it probable.

These last he went and showed to Albert, feeling sure, that, should
justice ever discover the reason of Claudine's death, it would naturally
suspect he who appeared to have most interest in it.

Not that he really wished Albert to be suspected of the crime, it was
simply a precaution. He thought that he could so arrange matters
that the police would waste their time in the pursuit of an imaginary
criminal.

Nor did he think of ousting the Viscount de Commarin and putting himself
in his place. His plan was simply this; the crime once committed,
he would wait; things would take their own course, there would be
negotiations, and ultimately he would compromise the matter at the price
of a fortune.

He felt sure of his mother's silence, should she ever suspect him guilty
of the assassination.

His plan settled, he decided to strike the fatal blow on the Shrove
Tuesday.

To neglect no precaution, he, that very same evening, took Juliette to
the theatre, and afterwards to the masked ball at the opera. In case
things went against him, he thus secured an unanswerable _alibi_.

The loss of his overcoat only troubled him for a moment. On reflection,
he reassured himself, saying: "Pshaw! who will ever know?"

Everything had resulted in accordance with his calculations; it was, in
his opinion, a matter of patience.

But when Mada