table. He gazed, with a wild look, at the strange
man who had narrated the story of his crime as faithfully as if he had
been an invisible witness to it. Overcome and powerless, Victor bowed
his head. He felt that it was useless to struggle against this marvelous
man. So he said:

"How much will you give me, if I give you the pearl?"

"Nothing."

"Oh! you are joking! Or do you mean that I should give you an article
worth thousands and hundreds of thousands and get nothing in return?"

"You will get your life. Is that nothing?"

The unfortunate man shuddered. Then Grimaudan added, in a milder tone:

"Come, Danegre, that pearl has no value in your hands. It is quite
impossible for you to sell it; so what is the use of your keeping it?"

"There are pawnbrokers.... and, some day, I will be able to get something
for it."

"But that day may be too late."

"Why?"

"Because by that time you may be in the hands of the police, and,
with the evidence that I can furnish--the knife, the key, the
thumb-mark--what will become of you?"

Victor rested his head on his hands and reflected. He felt that he was
lost, irremediably lost, and, at the same time, a sense of weariness and
depression overcame him. He murmured, faintly:

"When must I give it to you?"

"To-night---within an hour."

"If I refuse?"

"If you refuse, I shall post this letter to the Procureur of the
Republic; in which letter Mademoiselle de Sincleves denounces you as the
assassin."

Danegre poured out two glasses of wine which he drank in rapid
succession, then, rising, said:

"Pay the bill, and let us go. I have had enough of the cursed affair."

Night had fallen. The two men walked down the rue Lepic and followed
the exterior boulevards in the direction of the Place de l'Etoile.
They pursued their way in silence; Victor had a stooping carriage and a
dejected face. When they reached the Parc Monceau, he said:

"We are near the house."

"Parbleu! You only left the house once, before your arrest, and that was
to go to the tobacco-shop."

"Here it is," said Danegre, in a dull voice.

They passed along the garden wall of the countess' house, and crossed a
street on a corner of which stood the tobacco-shop. A few steps further
on, Danegre stopped; his limbs shook beneath him, and he sank to a
bench.

"Well! what now?" demanded his companion.

"It is there."

"Where? Come, now, no nonsense!"

"There--in front of us."

"Where?"

"Betwee