The woman sat silent, wringing her hands in distress, then she burst out:  “It will disgrace me, it will ruin me.”

“Not at all,” assured Hauteville.  “Your name will not go on the records—­you need not even speak it aloud.  Simply whisper it to me.”

Rising in agitation the lady went to the judge’s desk and spoke to him inaudibly.

“Really!” he exclaimed, eying her in surprise as she stood before him, face down, the picture of shame.

“I have only two questions to ask,” he proceeded.  “Look at this man and tell me if you know him,” he pointed to the accused.

She shook her head and answered in a low tone:  “I never saw him before this afternoon.”

“You met him at Madam Cecile’s?”

“Ye-es,” very faintly.

“And he paid you five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?”

She nodded but did not speak.

“That was the only service you were to render, was it, for this sum of money, simply to leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage?”

“That was all.”

“Thank you, madam.  I hope you will learn a lesson from this experience.  You may go.”

Staggering, gasping for breath, clinging weakly to the guard’s arm, the lady left the room.

“Now, sir, what have you to say?” demanded the judge, facing the prisoner.

“Nothing.”

“You admit that the lady told the truth?”

“Ha, ha!” the other laughed harshly.  “A lady would naturally tell the truth in such a predicament, wouldn’t she?”

At this the judge leaned over to Coquenil and, after some low words, he spoke to the clerk who bowed and went out.

“You denied a moment ago,” resumed the questioner, “that your name is Groener.  Also that you were disguised this afternoon as a wood carver.  Do you deny that you have a room, rented by the year, in the house where Madam Cecile has her apartment?  Ah, that went home!” he exclaimed.  “You thought we would overlook the little fifth-floor room, eh?”

“I know nothing about such a room,” declared the other.

“I suppose you didn’t go there to change your clothes before you called at Madam Cecile’s?”

“Certainly not.”

“Call Jules,” said Hauteville to the sleepy guard standing at the door, and straightway the clerk reappeared with a large leather bag.

“Open it,” directed the magistrate.  “Spread the things on the table.  Let the prisoner look at them.  Now then, my stubborn friend, what about these garments?  What about this wig and false beard?”

Groener rose wearily from his chair, walked deliberately to the table and glanced at the exposed objects without betraying the slightest interest or confusion.

“I’ve never seen these things before, I know nothing about them,” he said.

“Name of a camel!” muttered Coquenil.  “He’s got his nerve with him all right!”