rtaker's assistant, and of
Caroline Piedlent, his wife."

Prosper looked vexed and impatient; he did not know that the judge was
reading him this report to convince him that nothing can escape the
police.

"Palmyre Chocareille," he continued, "at twelve years of age was
apprenticed to a shoemaker, and remained with him until she was sixteen.
Traces of her for one year are lost. At the age of seventeen she is
hired as a servant by a grocer on the Rue St. Denis, named Dombas, and
remains there three months. She lives out during this same year,
1857, at eight different places. In 1858 she entered the store of a
fan-merchant in Choiseul Alley."

As he read, the judge watched Prosper's face to observe the effect of
these revelations.

"Toward the close of 1858 she was employed as a servant by Madame Munes,
and accompanied her to Lisbon. How long she remained in Lisbon, and
what she did while she remained there, is not reported. But in 1861 she
returned to Paris, and was sentenced to three months' imprisonment for
assault and battery. Ah, she returned from Portugal with the name of
Nina Gypsy."

"But I assure you, monsieur," Prosper began.

"Yes, I understand; this history is less romantic, doubtless, than the
one related to you; but then it has the merit of being true. We lose
sight of Palmyre Chocareille, called Gypsy, upon her release from
prison, but we meet her again six months later, having made the
acquaintance of a travelling agent named Caldas, who became infatuated
with her beauty, and furnished her a house near the Bastille. She
assumed his name for some time, then she deserted him to devote herself
to you. Did you ever hear of this Caldas?"

"Never, monsieur."

"This foolish man so deeply loved this creature that her desertion drove
him almost insane from grief. He was a very resolute man, and publicly
swore that he would kill his rival if he ever found him. The current
report afterward was, that he committed suicide. He certainly sold
the furniture of the House occupied by Chocareille, and suddenly
disappeared. All the efforts made to discover him proved fruitless."

The judge stopped a moment as if to give Prosper time for reflection,
and then slowly said:

"And this is the woman whom you made your companion, the woman for whom
you robbed the bank!"

Once more M. Patrigent was on the wrong track, owing to Fanferlot's
incomplete information.

He had hoped that Prosper would betray himself by utte