He expected this very natural indignation and
these questions, and was prepared for them. The only reply he made
was to step one side, thus revealing M. Plantat behind him.

Laurence was so much overcome on recognizing her old friend, that,
in spite of her resolution, she came near falling.

"You!" she stammered; "you!"

The old justice was, if possible, more agitated than Laurence. Was
that really his Laurence there before him? Grief had done its work
so well that she seemed old.

"Why did you seek for me?" she resumed. "Why add another grief to
my life? Ah, I told Hector that the letter he dictated to me would
not be believed. There are misfortunes for which death is the only
refuge."

M. Plantat was about to reply, but Lecoq was determined to take the
lead in the interview.

"It is not you, Madame, that we seek," said he, "but Monsieur de
Tremorel."

"Hector! And why, if you please? Is he not free?"

M. Lecoq hesitated before shocking the poor girl, who had been but
too credulous in trusting to a scoundrel's oaths of fidelity. But
he thought that the cruel truth is less harrowing than the suspense
of intimations.

"Monsieur de Tremorel," he answered, "has committed a great crime."

"He! You lie, sir."

The detective sorrowfully shook his head.

"Unhappily I have told you the truth. Monsieur de Tremorel murdered
his wife on Wednesday night. I am a detective and I have a warrant
to arrest him."

He thought this terrible charge would overwhelm Laurence; he was
mistaken. She was thunderstruck, but she stood firm. The crime
horrified her, but it did not seem to her entirely improbable,
knowing as she did the hatred with which Hector was inspired by
Bertha.

"Well, perhaps he did," cried she, sublime in her energy and despair;
"I am his accomplice, then--arrest me."

This cry, which seemed to proceed from the most senseless passion,
amazed the old justice, but did not surprise M. Lecoq.

"No, Madame," he resumed, "you are not this man's accomplice.
Besides, the murder of his wife is the least of his crimes. Do you
know why he did not marry you? Because in concert with Bertha, he
poisoned Monsieur Sauvresy, who saved his life and was his best
friend. We have the proof of it."

This was more than poor Laurence could bear; she staggered and fell
upon a sofa. But she did not doubt the truth of what M. Lecoq said.
This terrible revelation tore away the veil which, till then, had
hidden the past from her