to die, he will confess
everything," said Jacques Collin, addressing the gendarme.

Bibi-Lupin dared not say a word for fear of being recognized.

"Say something to show me that you are he; you have nothing but his
voice," said Theodore.

"You see, poor boy, he assures me that he is innocent," said Jacques
Collin to Bibi-Lupin, who dared not speak for fear of being recognized.

"Sempre mi," said Jacques, returning close to Theodore, and speaking the
word in his ear.

"Sempre ti," replied Theodore, giving the countersign. "Yes, you are the
boss----"

"Did you do the trick?"

"Yes."

"Tell me the whole story, that I may see what can be done to save you;
make haste, Jack Ketch is waiting."

The Corsican at once knelt down and pretended to be about to confess.

Bibi-Lupin did not know what to do, for the conversation was so rapid
that it hardly took as much time as it does to read it. Theodore hastily
told all the details of the crime, of which Jacques Collin knew nothing.

"The jury gave their verdict without proof," he said finally.

"Child! you want to argue when they are waiting to cut off your
hair----"

"But I might have been sent to spout the wedge.--And that is the way
they judge you!--and in Paris too!"

"But how did you do the job?" asked _Trompe-la-Mort_.

"Ah! there you are.--Since I saw you I made acquaintance with a girl, a
Corsican, I met when I came to Paris."

"Men who are such fools as to love a woman," cried Jacques Collin,
"always come to grief that way. They are tigers on the loose, tigers who
blab and look at themselves in the glass.--You were a gaby."

"But----"

"Well, what good did she do you--that curse of a moll?"

"That duck of a girl--no taller than a bundle of firewood, as slippery
as an eel, and as nimble as a monkey--got in at the top of the oven,
and opened the front door. The dogs were well crammed with balls, and
as dead as herrings. I settled the two women. Then when I got the swag,
Ginetta locked the door and got out again by the oven."

"Such a clever dodge deserves life," said Jacques Collin, admiring the
execution of the crime as a sculptor admires the modeling of a figure.

"And I was fool enough to waste all that cleverness for a thousand
crowns!"

"No, for a woman," replied Jacques Collin. "I tell you, they deprive
us of all our wits," and Jacques Collin eyed Theodore with a flashing
glance of contempt.

"But you were not there!" said the Corsican; "I