“Why—­er—­yes.”

“I don’t ask what there was between you and M. Kittredge, but if there had been everything between you he couldn’t have done more, could he?  And he couldn’t have done less.  So a jury might easily conclude, in the absence of contrary evidence, that there was everything between you.”

“It’s false,” she cried, while Coquenil with keen discernment watched the outward signs of her trouble, the clinching of her hands, the heaving of her bosom, the indignant flashing of her eyes.

“I beg your pardon for expressing such a thought,” he said simply.  “It’s a matter that concerns the judge, only ladies dislike going to the Palais de Justice.”

She started in alarm.  “You mean that I might have to go there?”

“Your testimony is important, and the judge cannot very well come here.”

“But, I’d rather talk to you; really, I would.  You can ask me questions and—­and then tell him.  Go on, I don’t mind.  M. Kittredge was not my lover—­there!  Please make that perfectly clear.  He was a dear, loyal friend, but nothing more.”

“Was he enough of a friend to be jealous of Martinez?”

“What was there to make him jealous?”

“Well,” smiled Coquenil, “I can imagine that if a dear, loyal friend found the lady he was dear and loyal to having supper with another man in a private room, he might be jealous.”

To which Pussy replied with an accent of finality but with a shade of pique:  “The best proof that M. Kittredge would not be jealous of me is that he loves another woman.”

“The girl at Notre-Dame?”

“Yes.”

“But Martinez knew her, too.  There might have been trouble over her,” ventured M. Paul shrewdly.

She shook her head with eager positiveness.  “There was no trouble.”

“You never knew of any quarrel between Kittredge and Martinez?  No words?”

“Never.”

“Madam,” continued Coquenil, “as you have allowed me to speak frankly, I am going to ask if you feel inclined to make a special effort to help M. Kittredge?”

“Of course I do.”

“Even at the sacrifice of your own feelings?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me go back a minute.  Yesterday you made a plucky effort to serve your friend, you gave money for a lawyer to defend him, you even said you would come forward and testify in his favor if it became necessary.”

“Ah, the girl has seen you?”

“More than that, she has seen M. Kittredge at the prison.  And I am sorry to tell you that your generous purposes have accomplished nothing.  He refuses to accept your money and——­”

“I told you he didn’t love me,” she interrupted with a touch of bitterness.

“We must have better evidence than that, just as we must have better evidence of his innocence than your testimony.  After all, you don’t know that he did not fire this shot, you could not see through the wall, and for all you can say, M. Kittredge may have been in Number Seven.”