The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his associate on the right and whispered earnestly, then toward his associate on the left, and, one after another, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows.  The public prosecutor blazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench.

No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced a brief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and the audience buzzed their wonder.  During this interval the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored.

On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judge that important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of so unusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interrupt proceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question.  It was further ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under any circumstances.

“Call the first witness!” ordered the judge, and amidst the excitement caused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman entered leaning on a guard.  She was dressed simply in black and heavily veiled, but her girlish figure showed that she was young.  As she appeared, Kittredge started violently.

The clerk of the court cleared his throat and called out something in incomprehensible singsong.

The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil.  As she did so, three distinct things happened:  the audience murmured its admiration at a vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and De Heidelmann-Bruck felt the cold hand of death clutching at his heart.

It was Alice come to her lover’s need!  Alice risen from the flames!  Alice here for chastening and justice!

“What is your name?” questioned the judge.

“Mary Coogan,” was the clear answer.

“Your nationality?”

“I am an American.”

“You have lived a long time in France?”

“Yes.  I came to France as a little girl.”

“How did that happen?”

“My father died and—­my mother married a second time.”

Her voice broke, but she shot a swift glance at the prisoner and seemed to gain strength.

“Your mother married a Frenchman?”

“Yes.”

“What is the name of the Frenchman whom your mother married?”

The girl hesitated, and then looking straight at the baron, she said:  “The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck.”

There was something in the girl’s tone, in her manner, in the fearless poise of her head, that sent a shiver of apprehension through the audience.  Every man and woman waited breathless for the next question.  In their absorbed interest in the girl they scarcely looked at the aristocratic visitor.

“Is your mother living?”

“No.”

“How did she die?”