the excellent reason that I'm not her cousin. You can't change
a man's personality by making him wear another man's clothes and false
hair. I tell you I'm _not_ Groener."

"Who are you then?" demanded the judge.

"I'm not obliged to say who I am, and you have no business to ask unless
you can show that I have committed a crime, which you haven't done yet.
Ask my fat friend in the corner if that isn't the law."

Maitre Cure nodded gravely in response to this appeal. "The prisoner is
correct," he said.

Here Coquenil whispered to the judge.

"Certainly," nodded the latter, and, turning to Alice, who sat wondering
and trembling through this agitated scene, he said: "Thank you,
mademoiselle, you may go."

The girl rose and, bowing gratefully and sweetly, left the room, followed
by M. Paul.

"Groener, you say that we have not yet shown you guilty of any crime. Be
patient and we will overcome that objection. Where were you about midnight
on the night of the 4th of July?"

"I can't say offhand," answered the other.

"Try to remember."

"Why should I?"

"You refuse? Then I will stimulate your memory," and again he touched the
bell.

Coquenil entered, followed by the shrimp photographer, who was evidently
much depressed.

"Do you recognize this man?" questioned Hauteville, studying the prisoner
closely.

"No," came the answer with a careless shrug.

The shrimp turned to the prisoner and, at the sight of him, started forward
accusingly.

"That is the man," he cried, "that is the man who choked me."

"One moment," said the magistrate. "What is your name?"

"Alexander Godin," piped the photographer.

"You live at the Hotel des Etrangers on the Rue Racine?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are engaged to a young dressmaker who has a room near yours on the
sixth floor?"

"I _was_ engaged to her," said Alexander sorrowfully, "but there's a
medical student on the same floor and----"

"No matter. You were suspicious of this young person. And on the night of
July 4th you attacked a man passing along the balcony. Is that correct?"

The photographer put forth his thin hands, palms upward in mild protest.
"To say that I attacked him is--is a manner of speaking. The fact is
he--he--" Alexander stroked his neck ruefully.

"I understand, he turned and nearly choked you. The marks of his nails are
still on your neck?"

"They are, sir," murmured the shrimp.

"And you are sure this is the man?" he pointed to the accused.