criminals, he was far more concerned about his money than
about his life, which was in such imminent danger.

"That is my money!" he raged. "No one has a right to take it from me. It
is infamous to ill use a man who has been unfortunate, and to rob him."

The magistrate, no doubt quite accustomed to such scenes, did not even
listen to Crochard, but carefully opened the packet. It contained three
notes of a thousand francs each, wrapped up in a sheet of letter-paper,
which was all greasy, and worn out in the folds. The bank-notes had
nothing peculiar; but on the sheet of paper, traces could be made out
of lines of writing; and at least two words were distinctly
legible,--_University_ and _Street_.

"What paper is this, Crochard?" asked the lawyer.

"I don't know. I suppose I picked it up somewhere."

"What? Are you going to lie again? What is the use? Here is evidently
the address of some one who lives in University Street."

Daniel was trembling on his bed.

"Ah, sir!" he exclaimed, "I used to live in University Street, Paris."

A slight blush passed over the lawyer's face, a sign of unequivocal
satisfaction in him. He uttered half loud, as if replying to certain
objections in his own mind,--

"Everything is becoming clear."

And yet, to the great surprise of his listeners, he abandoned this
point; and, returning to the prisoner, he asked him,--

"So you acknowledge having received money for the murder of Lieut.
Champcey?"

"I never said so."

"No; but the three thousand francs found concealed on your person say so
very clearly. From whom did you receive this money?"

"From nobody. They are my savings."

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders; and, looking very sternly at
Crochard, he said,--

"I have before compelled you to make a certain confession. I mean to
do so again and again. You will gain nothing, believe me, by struggling
against justice; and you cannot save the wretches who tempted you to
commit this crime. There is only one way left to you, if you wish for
mercy; and that is frankness. Do not forget that!"

The assassin was, perhaps, better able to appreciate the importance of
such advice than anybody else there present. Still he remained silent
for more than a minute, shaken by a kind of nervous tremor, as if a
terrible struggle was going on in his heart. He was heard to mutter,--

"I do not denounce anybody. A bargain is a bargain. I am not a tell-
tale."

Then, all of a sudden, making u