he tell you that he must see Madeline?"
"Yes, and I went into the house, and informed the girl. She said she would not see him, and I went down to Gautran and told him so. He then tried to force himself into the house, and I stood in his way. He struck me, and Madeline, frightened by my cries, ran to the door, and begged him to go away."
"It is a fact that he was often seen in Madeline's company?"
"Yes; do what they would, they could not get rid of him; and they were frightened, if they angered him too much, that he would commit an act of violence."
"As he did?"
"As he did. It is written on Madeline's grave."
"Had the poor girl any other lovers?"
"None that I should call lovers. But she was greatly admired."
"Was any one of these lovers especially favoured?"
"Not that I knew of."
"Did any of them visit the house?"
"No-but may I speak?"
"Certainly."
"It was not what I should call a visit. A gentleman came once to the door, and before I could get there, Pauline was with him. All that I heard was this: 'It is useless,' Pauline said to him; 'I will not allow you to see her, and if you persecute us with your attentions I will appeal for help to those who will teach you a lesson.' 'What is your objection to me?' he asked, and he was smiling all the time he spoke. 'Am I not a gentleman?' 'Yes,' she answered; 'and it is because of that, that I will not permit you to address her. Gentlemen! I have had enough of gentlemen!' 'You are a foolish woman,' he said, and he went away. That is all, and that is the only time-except when I saw Pauline in conversation with a man. He might have been a gentleman, but his clothes were not the clothes of one; neither were they the clothes of a peasant. They were conversing at a little distance from the house. I did not hear what they said, not a word, and half an hour afterwards Pauline came home. There was a look on her face such as I had never observed-a look of triumph and doubt. But she made no remark to me, nor I to her."
"Where was Madeline at this time?"
"In the house."
"Did you see this man again?"
"A second time, two evenings after. A third time, within the same week. He and Pauline spoke together very earnestly, and when anyone approached them always moved out of hearing. During the second week he came to the house, and inquired for Pauline. She ran downstairs and accompanied him into the open road. This occurred to my knowledge five or six times, until Pauline said to me, 'To-morrow I am going on a journey. Before long I may be able to reward you well for the kindness you have shown us.' The following day she left, and I have not seen her since."
"Did she say how long she would be likely to be away?"
"I understood not longer than three weeks."
"That time has passed, and still she does not appear. Since she left, have you seen the man who was so frequently with her?"
"No."
"He has not been to the house to make inquiries?"
"No."
"Is it not possible that he may have been Pauline's lover?"
"There was nothing of the lover in his manner towards her."
"There was, however, some secret between them?"
"Evidently."
"And Madeline-was she acquainted with it?"
"It is impossible to say."
"You have no reason to suppose, when Pauline went away, that she had no intention of returning?"
"I am positive she intended to return."
"And with good news, for she promised to reward you for your kindness?"
"Yes, she did so."
"Is it not probable that she, also, may have met with foul play?"
"It is probable; but Heaven alone knows!"
CHAPTER XVI
THE CONCLUSION OF THE PROSECUTION
It length the case for the prosecution was concluded, with an expression of regret on the part of counsel at the absence of Pauline, who might have been able to supply additional evidence, if any were needed, of the guilt of the prisoner.
"Every effort has been made," said counsel, "to trace and produce this woman, but when she parted from the murdered girl no person knew whither she was directing her steps; even the Widow Joseph, the one living person besides the mysterious male visitor who was in frequent consultation with her, can furnish us with no clue. The victim of this foul and horrible crime could most likely have told us, but her lips are sealed by the murderer's hand, the murderous wretch who stands before you.
"It has been suggested that Pauline has met with foul play. It may be so; otherwise, it is humanly impossible to divine the cause that could keep her from this trial.
"Neither have we been able to trace the man who was in her confidence, and between whom and herself a secret of a strange nature existed.
"In my own mind I do not doubt that this secret related to Madeline, but whether it did do so or not cannot affect the issue of this trial; neither can the absence of Pauline and her mysterious friend affect it. The proofs of the cruel, ruthless murder are complete and irrefragable, and nothing is wanting, not a link, in the chain of evidence to enable you to return a verdict which will deprive of the opportunity of committing further crime a wretch as infamous as ever walked the earth. He declares his innocence; if the value of that declaration is to be gauged by the tissue of falsehoods he has uttered, by his shameless effrontery and denials, by his revolting revelations of the degradation of his nature, he stands self-convicted.
"But it needs not that; had he not spoken, the issue would be the same; for painful and shocking as is the spectacle, you have but to glance at him to assure yourself of his guilt. If that is not sufficient to move you unhesitatingly to your duty, cast him from your thoughts and weigh only the evidence of truth which has been laid unfolded to you.
"As I speak, a picture of that terrible night, in the darkness of which the fearful deed was committed, rises before me.
"I see the river's bank in a mist of shadows; I see two forms moving onward, one a monster in human shape, the other that of a child who had never wronged a fellow creature, a child whose spirit was joyous and whose amiable disposition won every heart.
"It is not with her willing consent that this monster is in her company. He has followed her stealthily until he finds an opportunity to be alone with her, at a time when she is least likely to have friends near her; and in a place where she is entirely at his mercy. He forces his attentions upon her; she repulses him. She turns towards her home; he thrusts her roughly back. Enraged at her obstinacy, he threatens to kill her; his threats are heard by persons returning home along the river's bank, and, until the sound of their footsteps has died away and they are out of hearing, he keeps his victim silent by force.
"Being alone with her once more, he renews his infamous suit. She still repulses him, and then commences a struggle
