ter reproach:

"And it is actually my own father who says that--who suspects me!"

Tears filled the young fellow's eyes and sobs choked him; he grew whiter
still, and seemed so near collapse that his father had to support him to
a chair, where he remained for several minutes utterly prostrated.

M. Rambert paced up and down the room a few times, then took another
chair and sat down in front of his son. Passing a hand across his brow
as if to sweep away the horrible nightmare that was haunting him, he
spoke again.

"Come now, my boy, my poor boy, let us talk it over quietly. I do not
know how it was, but yesterday morning when I saw you at the station I
had a presentiment of something: you were haggard, and tired, and your
eyes were drawn----"

"I told you before," Charles answered tonelessly "that I had had a bad
night: I was over-excited and did not sleep: I was awake the whole
night."

"By Jove, yes!" his father rapped out: "I can believe that! But if you
were not asleep, how do you account for your not hearing anything?"

"Therese did not hear anything either," said Charles after a moment's
reflection.

"Therese's room was a long way off," M. Rambert replied, "while there
was only a thin wall between yours and that of the Marquise. You must
have heard: you did hear! More than that----, oh, my boy, my unhappy
boy!"

Charles was twisting and untwisting his hands, and great drops of cold
perspiration beaded his brow.

"You are the only single person who thinks I committed such an awful
crime!" he said, half questioningly.

"The only one?" Etienne Rambert muttered. "Perhaps! As yet! But you
ought to know that you made a very bad impression indeed upon the
friends of the Marquise during the evening before the crime, when
President Bonnet was reading the particulars of a murder that had been
committed in Paris by--somebody: I forget whom."

"Good heavens!" Charles exclaimed in indignation, "I did not say
anything wrong. Do you mean to say that just because I am interested in
stories of great criminals like Rocambole and Fantomas----"

"You created a deplorable impression," his father repeated.

"So they suspect me too, do they?" Charles enquired. "But you can't make
accusations like that," he said, warming up: "you've got to have facts,
and proofs." He looked at his father for the sympathy and encouragement
of affection. "Listen, papa, I know you will believe me when I swear
that I am innocent; but do you