trick are you going to play me, master?" asked Gautran, in a suspicious tone.
"No trick," replied the Advocate sternly. "Obey me, or I leave you."
Gautran debated with himself in silence for a full minute; then, with an impatient movement, as though it could not matter one way or another, he moved into the light, and held out his hands.
The Advocate, taking a powerful glass from his pocket, examined the prisoner's fingers and nails and wrists with the utmost minuteness, Gautran, the while, wrapped in wonder at the strange proceeding.
"Now," said the Advocate, "hold your head back, so that the light may shine on your face."
Gautran obeyed, warily holding himself in readiness to spring upon the Advocate in case of an attack. By the aid of his glass the Advocate examined Gautran's face and neck with as much care as he had bestowed upon the hands, and then said:
"That will do."
"What is it all for, master?" asked Gautran.
"I am here to ask questions, not to answer them. Since your arrest, have you been examined as I have examined you?"
"No, master."
"Has any examination whatever been made of you by doctors or gaolers or lawyers?"
"None at all."
"How long had you known the girl?"
"Ever since she came into the neighbourhood."
"Were you not acquainted with her before?"
"No."
"From what part of the country did she come?"
"I can't say."
"Not knowing?"
"Not knowing."
"But being intimate with her, you could scarcely avoid asking her the question."
"I did ask her, and I was curious to find out. She would not satisfy me; and when I pressed her, she said the other one-Pauline-had made her promise not to tell."
"You don't know, then, where she was born?"
"No."
"Her refusal to tell you-was it lightly or seriously uttered?"
"Seriously."
"As though there was a secret in her life she wished to conceal?"
"I never thought of it in that way, but I can see now it must have been so."
"Something discreditable, then?"
"Most likely. Master, you go deeper than I do."
"What relationship existed between Pauline and Madeline?"
"Some said they were sisters, but there was a big difference in their ages. Others said that Pauline was her mother, but I don't believe it, for they never spoke together in that way. Master, I don't know what to say about it; it used to puzzle me; but it was no business of mine."
"Did you never hear Pauline address Madeline as her child?"
"Never."
"They addressed each other by their Christian names?"
"Yes."
"Did they resemble each other in feature?"
"There was something of a likeness between them."
"Why did Pauline leave the girl?"
"No one knew."
"That is all you can tell me?"
"That is all."
Then after a slight pause, the Advocate asked:
"Do you value your liberty?"
"Yes, master," replied Gautran excitedly.
"Let no person know what has passed between us, and do not repeat one word I have said to you."
"I understand; you may depend upon me. But master, will you not tell me something more? Am I to be set free or not?"
"You are to be tried; what is brought against you at your trial will establish either your innocence or your guilt."
He knocked at the door of the prison cell, and the gaoler opened it for him and let him out.
"Well, Gautran?" said the gaoler, but Gautran, wrapped in contemplation of the door through which the Advocate had taken his departure, paid no attention to him. "Do you hear me?" cried the gaoler, shaking his prisoner with no gentle hand.
"What now?"
"Is the great lawyer going to defend you?"
"You want to know too much," said Gautran, and refused to speak another word on the subject.
During the whole of the day there were but two figures in his mind-those of the Advocate and the murdered girl. The latter presented itself in various accusing aspects, and he vainly strove to rid himself of the spectre. Its hair hung in wild disorder over neck and bosom, its white lips moved, its mournful eyes struck terror to his soul. The figure of the Advocate presented itself in far different aspects; it was always terrible, Satanic, and damning in its suggestions.
"What matter," muttered Gautran, "if he gets me off? I can do as I please then."
In the evening, when the small window in his cell was dark, the gaoler heard him crying out loudly. He entered, and demanded what ailed the wretch.
"Light-light!" implored Gautran; "give me light!"
"Beast in human shape," said the gaoler; "you have light enough. You'll get no more. Stop your howling, or I'll stop it for you!"
"Light! light! light!" moaned Gautran, clasping his hands over his eyes. But he could not shut out the phantom of the murdered girl, which from that moment never left him. So he lay and writhed during the night, and would have dashed his head against the wall to put an end to his misery had he not been afraid of death.
CHAPTER IX
THE ADVOCATE UNDERTAKES A STRANGE TASK
It was on the evening of this day, the third since the arrival of the Advocate in Geneva, that he said to his wife over the dinner-table:
"I shall in all likelihood be up the whole of to-night in my study. Do not let me be disturbed."
"Who should disturb you?" asked Adelaide languidly. "There are only you and I in the villa; of course I would not venture to intrude upon you without permission."
"You misunderstand me, Adelaide; it is because we are in a strange house that I thought it best to tell you."
"As if there were anything unusual in your shutting yourself up all night in your study! Our notions of the way to lead an agreeable life are so different! Take your own course, Edward; you are older and wiser than I; but you must not wonder that I think it strange. You come to
