cions against Olivier.
That La Regnie's action was by no means severe or premature, but wholly
regular; indeed, that to do otherwise would be to neglect his duty as a
Judge. He did not believe that he--d'Andilly--could save Brusson from
the rack, by the very ablest of pleading. Nobody could do that but
Brusson himself, either by making the fullest confession, or by
accurately relating the circumstances of Cardillac's murder, which
might lead to further discoveries.

"Then I will throw myself at the King's feet and sue for mercy," cried
Mademoiselle Scuderi, her voice choked by weeping.

"For Heaven's sake, do not do that," cried d'Andilly. "Keep it in
reserve for the last extremity. If it fails you once, it is lost for
ever. The King will not pardon a criminal such as Brusson; the people
would justly complain of the danger to them. Possibly Brusson, by
revealing his secret, or otherwise, may manage to dispel the suspicion
which is on him at present. Then would be the time to resort to the
King, who would not ask what was legally proved, but be guided by his
own conviction."

Mademoiselle Scuderi could not but agree with what d'Andilly's great
experience dictated. She was sitting in her room, pondering as to
what--in the name of the Virgin and all the saints--she should try next
to do, when La Martiniere came to say that the Count de Miossens,
Colonel of the King's Body Guard, was most anxious to speak with her.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," said the Colonel, bowing with a soldier's
courtesy, "for disturbing you, and breaking in upon you at such an
hour. Two words will be sufficient excuse for me. I come about Olivier
Brusson."

"Olivier Brusson," cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, all excitement as to
what she was going to hear, "that most unfortunate of men! What have
you to say of him?"

"I knew," said Miossens, laughing again, "that your _protege's_ name
would ensure me a favourable hearing. Everybody is convinced of
Brusson's guilt. I know you think otherwise, and, it is said, your
opinion rests on what he himself has told you. With me the case is
different. Nobody can be more certain than I that Brusson is innocent
of Cardillac's death."

"Speak! Oh, speak!" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi.

"I was the man who stabbed the old goldsmith, in the Rue St. Honore,
close to your door," said the Colonel.

"_You_--_you!_" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi. "In the name of all the
Saints, how?"

"And I vow to you, Mademoiselle, th