e directed the clerk.

"It's quite useless," shrugged the prisoner with careless arrogance, "I
will have nothing to do with Maitre Cure."

"I warn you, Groener, in your own interest, to drop this offensive tone."

"Ta, ta, ta! I'll take what tone I please. And I'll answer your questions
as I please or--or not at all."

At this moment the clerk returned followed by Maitre Cure, a florid-faced,
brisk-moving, bushy-haired man in tight frock coat, who suggested an opera
_impresario_. He seemed amused when told that the prisoner rejected his
services, and established himself comfortably in a corner of the room as an
interested spectator.

Then the magistrate resumed sternly: "You were arrested, sir, this
afternoon in the company of a woman. Do you know who she is?"

"I do. She is a lady of my acquaintance."

"A lady whom you met at Madam Cecile's?"

"Why not?"

"You met her there by appointment?"

"Ye-es."

The judge snorted incredulously. "You don't even know her name?"

"You think not?"

"Well, what is it?"

"Why should I tell you? Is _she_ charged with murder?" was the sneering
answer.

"Groener," said Hauteville sternly, "you say this woman is a person of your
acquaintance. We'll see." He touched the bell, and as the door opened,
"Madam Cecile," he said.

A moment later, with a breath of perfume, there swept in a large,
overdressed woman of forty-five with bold, dark eyes and hair that was too
red to be real. She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and sat
down.

"You are Madam Cecile?"

"Yes, sir."

"You keep a _maison de rendez-vous_ on the Place de la Madeleine?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at this man," he pointed to the prisoner. "Have you ever seen him
before?"

"I have seen him--once."

"When was that?"

"This afternoon. He called at my place and--" she hesitated.

"Tell me what happened--everything."

"He spoke to me and--he said he wanted a lady. I asked him what kind of a
lady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake. I told him I
had a very pretty widow and he looked at her, but she wasn't _chic_ enough.
Then I told him I had something special, a young married woman, a beauty,
whose husband has plenty of money only----"

"Never mind that," cut in the judge. "What then?"

"He looked her over and said she would do. He offered her five hundred
francs if she would leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage.
It seemed queer but we see lots of queer