“Can you understand, mademoiselle,” he next asked, “how M. de Commarin could lead justice astray, and expose me to committing a most deplorable error, when it would have been so easy to have told me all this?”

“It seems to me, sir, that an honourable man cannot confess that he has obtained a secret interview from a lady, until he has full permission from her to do so.  He ought to risk his life sooner than the honour of her who has trusted in him; but be assured Albert relied on me.”

There was nothing to reply to this; and the sentiments expressed by Mademoiselle d’Arlange gave a meaning to one of Albert’s replies in the examination.

“This is not all yet, mademoiselle,” continued the magistrate; “all that you have told me here, you must repeat in my office, at the Palais de Justice.  My clerk will take down your testimony, and you must sign it.  This proceeding will be painful to you; but it is a necessary formality.”

“Ah, sir, I will do so with pleasure.  What can I refuse, when I know that he is in prison?  I was determined to do everything.  If he had been tried at the assizes, I would have gone there.  Yes, I would have presented myself, and there before all I would have told the truth.  Doubtless,” she added sadly, “I should have been greatly compromised.  I should have been looked upon as a heroine of romance; but what matters public opinion, the blame or approval of the world, since I am sure of his love?”

She rose from her seat, readjusting her cloak and the strings of her bonnet.

“Is it necessary,” she asked, “that I should await the return of the police agents who are examining the wall?”

“It is needless, mademoiselle.”

“Then,” she continued in a sweet voice, “I can only beseech you,” she clasped her hands, “conjure you,” her eyes implored, “to let Albert out of prison.”

“He shall be liberated as soon as possible; I give you my word.”

“Oh, to-day, dear M. Daburon, to-day, I beg of you, now, at once!  Since he is innocent, be kind, for you are our friend.  Do you wish me to go down on my knees?”

The magistrate had only just time to extend his arms, and prevent her.

He was choking with emotion, the unhappy man!  Ah! how much he envied the prisoner’s lot!

“That which you ask of me is impossible, mademoiselle,” said he in an almost inaudible voice, “impracticable, upon my honour.  Ah! if it depended upon me alone, I could not, even were he guilty, see you weep, and resist.”

Mademoiselle d’Arlange, hitherto so firm, could no longer restrain her sobs.

“Miserable girl that I am!” she cried, “he is suffering, he is in prison; I am free, and yet I can do nothing for him!  Great heaven! inspire me with accents to touch the hearts of men!  At whose feet must I cast myself to obtain his pardon?”

She suddenly stopped, surprised at having uttered such a word.