gaoler prepared to depart, but before he left the cell he said in an undertone:
"Be careful of the man; he is a savage, and not to be trusted."
"There is nothing to fear," said the Advocate.
The gaoler lingered a moment, and then retired.
The cell was but dimly lighted, and the Advocate, coming into it from the full sunlight of a bright day, could not see clearly for a little while. On the other hand. Gautran, whose eyes were accustomed to the gloom, had a distinct view of the Advocate, and in a furtive, hangdog fashion he closely inspected the features of his visitor. The man who stood before him could obtain his condemnation or his acquittal. Dull-witted as he was, this conviction was as much an intuition as an impression gained from the gaoler's remarks.
"You are a woodman?" said the Advocate.
"Aye, a woodman. It is well known."
"Have you parents?"
"They are dead."
"Any brothers or sisters?"
"None. I was the only one."
"Friends?"
"No."
"Have you wife or children?"
"Neither."
"How much money have you?"
"Not a sou."
"What about this murder?" asked the Advocate abruptly.
"What about it, then?" demanded Gautran. The questions asked by the Advocate were more judicial than friendly, and he assumed an air of defiance.
"Speak in a different tone. I am here to assist you, if I see my way. You have no lawyer to defend you?"
"How should I get one? What lawyer works without pay, and where should I find the money to pay him?"
"Heed what I say. I do not ask you if you are innocent or guilty of the crime of which you stand charged, for that is a formula and, guilty or not guilty, you would return but one answer. Have you anything to tell me?"
"I can't think of anything."
"You have led an evil life."
"Not my fault. Can a man choose his own parents and his country? The life I have led I was born into; and that is to stand against me."
"Are there any witnesses who would come forward and speak in your favour?"
"None that I know of."
"Is it true that you were walking with the girl on the night she was murdered?"
"No man has heard me deny it," said Gautran, shuddering.
"Why do you shudder?"
"Master, you asked me just now whether I had a wife, and I told you I had none. This girl was to have been my wife. I loved her, and we were to have been married."
"That is disputed."
"Everything is disputed that would tell in my favour. The truth is of no use to a poor devil caught in a trap as I am. Have you heard any good of me, master?"
"Not any; all that I have heard is against you."
"That is the way of it. Well, then, judge for yourself."
"Can you indicate anyone who would be likely to murder the girl? You shudder again."
"I cannot help it. Master, put yourself in this cell, as I am put, without light, without hope, without money, without a friend. You would need a strong nerve to stand it. You want to know if I can point out anyone who could have done the deed but me? Well, if I were free, and came face to face with him, I might. Not that I could say anything, or swear to anything for certain, for I did not see it done. No, master, I will not lie to you. Where would be the use? You are clever enough to find me out. But I had good reason to suspect, aye, to know, that the girl had other lovers, who pressed her hard, I dare say; some who were rich, while I was poor; some who were almost mad for her. She was followed by a dozen and more. She told me so herself, and used to laugh about it; but she never mentioned a name to me. You know something of women, master; they like the men to follow them-the best of them do-ladies as well as peasants. They were sent into the world to drive us to perdition. I was jealous of her, yes, I was jealous. Am I guilty because of that? How could I help being jealous when I loved her? It is in a man's blood. Well, then, what more can I say?"
In his intent observance of Gautran's manner the Advocate seemed to weigh every word that fell from the man's lips.
"At what time did you leave the girl on the last night you saw her alive?"
"At ten o'clock."
"She was alone at that hour?"
"Yes."
"Did you see her again after that?"
"No."
"Did you have reason to suspect that she was to meet any other man on that night?"
"If I had thought it, I should have stopped with her."
"For what purpose?"
"To see the man she had appointed to meet."
"And having seen him?"
"He would have had to answer to me. I am hot-blooded, master, and can stand up for my rights."
"Would you have harmed the girl?"
"No, unless she had driven me out of my senses."
"Were you in that state on the night of her death?"
"No-I knew what I was about."
"You were heard to quarrel with her."
"I don't deny it."
"You were heard to say you would kill her."
"True enough. I told her if ever I found out that she was false to me, I would kill her."
"Had she bound herself to marry you?"
"She had sworn to marry me."
"The handkerchief round her neck, when her body was discovered in the river, is proved to have been yours."
"It was mine; I gave it to her. I had not much to give."
"When you were arrested you were searched?"
"Yes."
"Was anything taken from you?"
"My knife."
"Had you and the girl's secret lover-supposing she had one-met on that night, you might have used your knife."
"That is speaking beforehand. I can't say what might have happened."
"Come here into the light. Let me look at your hands."
"What
