“I have thought,” he answered impatiently.  “I’ve done nothing but think, ever since Ernestine sent that telegram.”

“You have thought about me,” she chided.  “Have you thought about the case?  Have you thought that, if you give it up, an innocent man will suffer and a guilty man will go unpunished?”

“Hah!  The guilty man!  It’s a jolly sure thing he’ll go unpunished, whatever I do.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried the old lady, springing forward excitedly in her invalid’s chair, “such wickedness cannot go unpunished.  No, my boy, you can conquer, you will conquer.”

“I can’t fight the whole of France,” he retorted sharply.  “You don’t understand this man’s power, mother; I might as well try to conquer the devil.”

“I don’t ask you to do that,” she laughed, “but—­isn’t there anything you can think of?  You’ve always won out in the past, and—­what is this man’s intelligence to yours?” She paused and then went on more earnestly:  “Paul, I’m so proud of you, and—­you can’t rest under this wrong that has been done you.  I want the Government to make amends for putting you off the force.  I want them to publicly recognize your splendid services.  And they will, my son, they must, if you will only go ahead now, and—­there I’m getting foolish.”  She brushed away some springing tears.  “Come, we’ll talk of something else.”

Nothing more was said about the case, but the seed was sown, and as the evening passed, the wise old lady remarked that her son fell into moody silences and strode about restlessly.  And, knowing the signs, she left him to his thoughts.

When bedtime came, Paul kissed her tenderly good night and then turned to withdraw, but he paused at the door, and with a look that she remembered well from the days of his boyhood transgressions, a look of mingled frankness and shamefacedness, he came back to her bedside.

“Mother,” he said, “I want to be perfectly honest about this thing; I told you there is nothing that I could do against this man; as a matter of fact, there is one thing that I could possibly do.  It’s a long shot, with the odds all against me, and, if I should fail, he would do me up, that’s sure; still, I must admit that I see a chance, one small chance of—­landing him.  I thought I’d tell you because—­well, I thought I’d tell you.”

“My boy!” she cried.  “My brave boy!  I’m happy now.  All I wanted was to have you think this thing over alone, and—­decide alone.  Good night, Paul!  God bless you and—­help you!”

“Good night, mother,” he said fondly.  “I will decide before to-morrow, and—­whatever I do, I—­I’ll remember what you say.”

Then he went to his room and for hours through the night Ernestine, watching by the patient, saw his light burning.

The next morning he came again to his mother’s bedside with his old buoyant smile, and after loving greetings, he said simply:  “It’s all right, little mother, I see my way.  I’m going to take the chance, and,” he nodded confidently, “between you and me, it isn’t such a slim chance, either.”