“I wish to ask,” he said, “if you are certain that in the mechanism of the vision and that of the recognition, which is a vision of the past, there is no confusion?”

She drew a long breath, evidently satisfied to get rid of these subtleties that troubled her.

“It is exactly because I admit the possibility of this confusion, at least in part, that I sent for you,” she said, “in order that you might establish it.”

Saniel appeared not to comprehend.

“I, Madame?”

“Yes.  When you came herewith Monsieur Balzajette a few hours ago, you must have observed that I examined you in a way that was scarcely natural.  Before the lamps were lighted, and when you turned your back to the daylight, I tried in vain to remember where I had seen you.  I was certain that I found in you some points of resemblance to a physiognomy I had known, but the name attached to this physiognomy escaped me.  When you returned, and I saw you more clearly by lamplight, my recollections became more exact; when I raised the lamp-shade the light struck you full in the face, and then your eyes, so characteristic, and at the same time a violent contraction of your features, made me recall the name.  This physiognomy, these eyes, this face, belonged to the man whom from this place” she pointed to the window—­“I saw draw Monsieur Caffies curtains.”

Saniel did not flinch.

“This is a resemblance that would be hard for me,” he said, “if your memory were faithful.”

“I tell myself that it may not be.  And after the first feeling of surprise which made me cry out, I was confirmed in this thought on recalling the fact that you did not wear the long hair and blond beard that the man wore who drew the curtains; but at that moment Monsieur Balzajette spoke of the hair and beard that you had had cut.  I was prostrated.  However, I had the strength to ask if you had had any business with Monsieur Caffie.  Do you remember your answer?”

“Perfectly.”

“After your departure I experienced a cruel anguish.  It was you whom I had seen draw the curtains, and it could not be you.  I tried to think what I ought to do—­to inform the judge or to ask you for an interview.  For a long time I wavered.  At length I decided on the interview, and I wrote to you.”

“I have come at your call, but I declare that I do not know what to reply to this strange communication.  You believe that you recognize in me the man who drew the curtains.”

“I recognize you.”

“Then what do you wish me to say?  It is not a consultation that you ask of me?”

She believed she understood the meaning of this reply and divined its end.

“The question does not concern me,” she said, “neither my moral nor mental state, but yourself.  My eyes, my memory, my conscience, bring a frightful accusation against you.  I cannot believe my eyes or my memory.  I challenge my conscience, and I ask you to reduce this accusation to nothing.”