eat, and, above all, something to drink.  At twenty minutes past nine, you planted the well-sharpened end of a foil between her shoulders.  You killed her!  You then overturned everything in the house, and burned certain documents of importance; after which, you tied up in a napkin all the valuables you could find, and carried them off, to lead the police to believe the murder was the work of a robber.  You locked the door, and threw away the key.  Arrived at the Seine, you threw the bundle into the water, then hurried off to the railway station on foot, and at eleven o’clock you reappeared amongst your friends.  Your game was well played; but you omitted to provide against two adversaries, a detective, not easily deceived, named Tirauclair, and another still more clever, named chance.  Between them, they have got the better of you.  Moreover, you were foolish to wear such small boots, and to keep on your lavender kid gloves, besides embarrassing yourself with a silk hat and an umbrella.  Now confess your guilt, for it is the only thing left you to do, and I will give you permission to smoke in your dungeon some of those excellent trabucos you are so fond of, and which you always smoke with an amber mouthpiece.’”

During this speech, M. Tabaret had gained at least a couple of inches in height, so great was his enthusiasm.  He looked at the magistrate, as if expecting a smile of approbation.

“Yes,” continued he, after taking breath, “I would say that, and nothing else; and, unless this man is a hundred times stronger than I suppose him to be, unless he is made of bronze, of marble, or of steel, he would fall at my feet and avow his guilt.”

“But supposing he were of bronze,” said M. Daburon, “and did not fall at your feet, what would you do next?”

The question evidently embarrassed the old fellow.

“Pshaw!” stammered he; “I don’t know; I would see; I would search; but he would confess.”

After a prolonged silence, M. Daburon took a pen, and hurriedly wrote a few lines.

“I surrender,” said he.  “M.  Albert de Commarin shall be arrested; that is settled.  The different formalities to be gone through and the perquisitions will occupy some time, which I wish to employ in interrogating the Count de Commarin, the young man’s father, and your friend M. Noel Gerdy, the young advocate.  The letters he possesses are indispensable to me.”

At the name of Gerdy, M. Tabaret’s face assumed a most comical expression of uneasiness.

“Confound it,” cried he, “the very thing I most dreaded.”

“What?” asked M. Daburon.

“The necessity for the examination of those letters.  Noel will discover my interference.  He will despise me:  he will fly from me, when he knows that Tabaret and Tirauclair sleep in the same nightcap.  Before eight days are past, my oldest friends will refuse to shake hands with me, as if it were not an honour to serve justice.  I shall be obliged to change my residence, and assume a false name.”