She took one of the three apples which Desmalions handed her from the dish and lifted it to her mouth.

It was a decisive act.  If the two marks resembled each other, the proof existed, assured and undeniable.

Before completing her movement, she stopped short, as though seized with a sudden fear....  Fear of what?  Fear of the monstrous chance that might be her undoing?  Or fear rather of the dread weapon which she was about to deliver against herself?  In any case nothing accused her with greater directness than this last hesitation, which was incomprehensible if she was innocent, but clear as day if she was guilty!

“What are you afraid of, Madame?” asked M. Desmalions.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shuddering.  “I don’t know....  I am afraid of everything....  It is all so horrible—­”

“But, Madame, I assure you that what we are asking of you has no sort of importance and, I am persuaded, can only have a fortunate result for you.  If you don’t mind, therefore—­”

She raised her hand higher and yet higher, with a slowness that betrayed her uneasiness.  And really, in the fashion in which things were happening, the scene was marked by a certain solemnity and tragedy that wrung every heart.

“And, if I refuse?” she asked, suddenly.

“You are absolutely entitled to refuse,” said the Prefect of Police.  “But is it worth while, Madame?  I am sure that your counsel would be the first to advise you—­”

“My counsel?” she stammered, understanding the formidable meaning conveyed by that reply.

And, suddenly, with a fierce resolve and the almost ferocious air that contorts the face when great dangers threaten, she made the movement which they were pressing her to make.  She opened her mouth.  They saw the gleam of the white teeth.  At one bite, the white teeth dug into the fruit.

“There you are, Monsieur,” she said.

M. Desmalions turned to the examining magistrate.

“Have you the apple found in the garden?”

“Here, Monsieur le Prefet.”

M. Desmalions put the two apples side by side.

And those who crowded round him, anxiously looking on, all uttered one exclamation.

The two marks of teeth were identical.

Identical!  Certainly, before declaring the identity of every detail, the absolute analogy of the marks of each tooth, they must wait for the results of the expert’s report.  But there was one thing which there was no mistaking and that was the complete similarity of the two curves.

In either fruit the rounded arch was bent according to the same inflection.  The two semicircles could have fitted one into the other, both very narrow, both a little long-shaped and oval and of a restricted radius which was the very character of the jaw.

The men did not speak a word.  M. Desmalions raised his head.  Mme. Fauville did not move, stood livid and mad with terror.  But all the sentiments of terror, stupor and indignation that she might simulate with her mobile face and her immense gifts as an actress, did not prevail against the compelling proof that presented itself to every eye.