oked round, and his face, it was so
different--so dreadful. He did not know my voice, and he ran away from me
with a cry.

"Monsieur, my heart is a brave one. I have not what you call nerves, but
when I knew I was alone in the great house with I knew not what, a great
fear clutched me. I stood still in the hall with my eyes fixed on the
stairs above. At first all was silent, then I heard a dreadful sound--a
groan. I wanted to run away then, monsieur, but the good God commanded me
to go up and into the room, where a fellow creature needed me. I went
upstairs, and along to the door of a room which was half open. I pushed
it wide open and went in.

"_Mon Dieu!_ the judge was alone there, dying. Pierre had shot him. He
lay along the floor, gasping, groaning, and the blood dripping from his
breast. When I saw this I ran forward and took his poor head on my knee,
and tried to stop the blood with my handkerchief. But as I did this the
judge groaned once more. He knew me not, though I called him by name. In
terrible agony he writhed his head off my breast. His hand clutched at
the hole in his breast, closing on my handkerchief. And so he died.

"Monsieur, strange it may seem, but I do assure you that I became calm
again when he was dead. I rose to my feet and looked round me in the
room. On the floor near him I saw a revolver. I picked it up and hid it
in my bag. The tube of it was warm. Then I sat down in a chair and
thought what I must do. The police must not know I was there. They must
not know he was my lover. I thought of my letters that I wrote to him. He
had them hidden in a little drawer at the back of his desk--a secret
drawer. Often had he showed me my letters there, and once he had showed
me where to find the spring that opened the drawer. So I searched for the
spring and I found it. The drawer opened and there were my letters tied
together. I took them all and hid them in my bag, and then I closed the
hiding place. There remained but the handkerchief which my lover held in
his hand. I tried to get it out, but I could not. In my hurry I dragged
it out--it came away then, but left a little bit in his hand. It did not
show. I dared not wait longer. I turned out the light, and hurried out of
the room and downstairs. Again I turned out the light, and closed the
door, and hurried away.

"That, monsieur, is my story."

CHAPTER XXIII

As Gabrielle finished her story, she cast a quick glance at Crewe's face
as