without flinching. It was
plain that he had steeled himself to carry through the diabolical
device his revenge had planned, and the fluttering hope with which
Marie had inspired Bertrand died within him. Derville repeated slowly
and firmly what the clerk had previously stated; adding, that no one
save Bertrand, Jeanne Favart, and the clerk whom he first suspected,
had been in the room after he left it. The note now produced was the
one that had been stolen, and was safe in his desk at half-past seven
the previous evening. M. Mangier said: 'The assertion of Bertrand,
that I advanced him this note, or any other, is entirely false.'

'What have you to say in reply to these grave suspicions?' said M.
Blaise. 'Your father was an honest man; and you, I hear, have hitherto
borne an irreproachable character,' he added, on finding that the
accused did not speak. 'Explain to us, then, how you came into
possession of this note; if you do not, and satisfactorily--though,
after what we have heard, that seems scarcely possible--we have no
alternative but to give you into custody.'

'I have nothing to say at present--nothing,' muttered Bertrand, whose
impatient furtive looks were every instant turned towards the door.

'Nothing to say!' exclaimed the banker; 'why, this is a tacit
admission of guilt. We had better call in the gendarmes at once.'

'I think,' said Dufour, 'the young man's refusal to speak is owing to
the entreaties of Mademoiselle de la Tour, whom we overheard implore
him, for her sake, or as he loved her, not to say a word.'

'What do you say?' exclaimed Derville, with quick interrogation, 'for
the sake of Mademoiselle de la Tour! Bah! you could not have heard
aright.'

'Pardon, monsieur,' said the clerk who had accompanied Dufour: 'I also
distinctly heard her so express herself--but here is the lady
herself.'

The entrance of Marie, accompanied by Jeanne Favart, greatly surprised
and startled M. Derville; he glanced sharply in her face, but unable
to encounter the indignant expression he met there, quickly averted
his look, whilst a hot flush glowed perceptibly out of his pale
features. At her request, seconded by M. Blaise, Derville repeated his
previous story; but his voice had lost its firmness, his manner its
cold impassibility.

'I wish Monsieur Derville would look me in the face,' said Marie, when
Derville had ceased speaking. 'I am here as a suppliant to him for
mercy.'

'A suppliant for mercy!' mur