“You met her there by appointment?”

“Ye-es.”

The judge snorted incredulously.  “You don’t even know her name?”

“You think not?”

“Well, what is it?”

“Why should I tell you?  Is she charged with murder?” was the sneering answer.

“Groener,” said Hauteville sternly, “you say this woman is a person of your acquaintance.  We’ll see.”  He touched the bell, and as the door opened, “Madam Cecile,” he said.

A moment later, with a breath of perfume, there swept in a large, overdressed woman of forty-five with bold, dark eyes and hair that was too red to be real.  She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and sat down.

“You are Madam Cecile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You keep a maison de rendez-vous on the Place de la Madeleine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at this man,” he pointed to the prisoner.  “Have you ever seen him before?”

“I have seen him—­once.”

“When was that?”

“This afternoon.  He called at my place and—­” she hesitated.

“Tell me what happened—­everything.”

“He spoke to me and—­he said he wanted a lady.  I asked him what kind of a lady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake.  I told him I had a very pretty widow and he looked at her, but she wasn’t chic enough.  Then I told him I had something special, a young married woman, a beauty, whose husband has plenty of money only——­”

“Never mind that,” cut in the judge.  “What then?”

“He looked her over and said she would do.  He offered her five hundred francs if she would leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage.  It seemed queer but we see lots of queer things, and five hundred francs is a nice sum.  He paid it in advance, so I told her to go ahead and—­she did.”

“Do you think he knew the woman?”

“I’m sure he did not.”

“He simply paid her five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?”

“Exactly.”

“That will do.  You may go.”

With a sigh of relief and a swish of her perfumed skirts, Madam Cecile left the room.

“What do you say to that, Groener?” questioned the judge.

“She’s a disreputable person and her testimony has no value,” answered the prisoner unconcernedly.

“Did you pay five hundred francs to the woman who left the house with you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Do you still maintain that she is a lady whom you know personally?”

“I do.”

Again Hauteville touched the bell.  “The lady who was brought with this man,” he directed.

Outside there sounded a murmur of voices and presently a young woman, handsomely dressed and closely veiled, was led in by a guard.  She was almost fainting with fright.

The judge rose courteously and pointed to a chair.  “Sit down, madam.  Try to control yourself.  I shall detain you only a minute.  Now—­what is your name?”