a
simple matter of instinct with him, like that which impels the
hunting hound on the track of his game.

"It is clear enough now," he went on, "that it was Mademoiselle
Courtois who put an end to his hesitation and eternal delay. His
passion for her, irritated by obstacles, goaded him to delirium.
On learning her condition, he lost his head and forgot all prudence
and reason. He was wearied, too, of a punishment which began anew
each morning; he saw himself lost, and his wife sacrificing herself
for the malignant pleasure of sacrificing him. Terrified, he took
the resolution to commit this murder."

Many of the circumstances which had established M. Lecoq's
conviction had escaped Dr. Gendron.

"What!" cried he, stupefied. "Do you believe in Mademoiselle
Laurence's complicity?"

The detective earnestly protested by a gesture.

"No, Doctor, certainly not; heaven forbid that I should have such
an idea. Mademoiselle Courtois was and is still ignorant of this
crime. But she knew that Tremorel would abandon his wife for her.
This flight had been discussed, planned, and agreed upon between
them; they made an appointment to meet at a certain place, on a
certain day."

"But this letter," said the doctor.

M. Plantat could scarcely conceal his emotion when Laurence was
being talked about.

"This letter," cried he, "which has plunged her family into the
deepest grief, and which will perhaps kill poor Courtois, is only
one more scene of the infamous drama which the count has planned."

"Oh," said the doctor, "is it possible?"

"I am firmly of Monsieur Plantat's opinion," said the detective.
"Last evening we had the same suspicion at the same moment at the
mayor's. I read and re-read her letter, and could have sworn that
it did not emanate from herself. The count gave her a rough draft
from which she copied it. We mustn't deceive ourselves; this letter
was meditated, pondered on, and composed at leisure. Those were not
the expressions of an unhappy young girl of twenty who was going to
kill herself to escape dishonor."

"Perhaps you are right," remarked the doctor visibly moved. "But
how can you imagine that Tremorel succeeded in persuading her to
do this wretched act?"

"How? See here, Doctor, I am not much experienced in such things,
having seldom had occasion to study the characters of well-brought-up
young girls; yet it seems to me very simple. Mademoiselle Courtois
saw the time coming when her disgrace would