Fandor crossed the threshold
of the sordid building, he said to himself:

"I am Maitre Dubard, visiting his client, in order to prepare her
defence!"

He easily accomplished the necessary formalities, and, at last, he saw
himself being conducted by a morose warder to a little parlour, scantily
furnished with a table and a few stools.

"Please be seated, maitre," said the surly fellow. "I'll fetch your
client along!"

Fandor put down his portfolio, but remained standing, anxious, all
aquiver at the thought that he was about to see his dear Elizabeth
appear between two warders, just like a common prisoner!

"In a moment she will be here," thought he.... But she must on no
account recognise him on entering! By an exclamation she might betray
his identity and complicate things! Therefore, Fandor feigned to be
absorbed in a newspaper he unfolded and raised, so as to hide his face
from the approaching pair. The door opened.

"Come now! Go in!..." growled the warder. "Maitre, when you wish to
leave, you have only to ring."

The door fell to, heavily, behind the warder.

Fandor made a sharp movement. He stood revealed. He hurried up to
Elizabeth.

"Oh, tell me how you are, Mademoiselle Elizabeth!" he cried.

But the girl was struck dumb: she grew suddenly pale, and made no reply.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Will you not give me your hand even? You do not
understand why I am here? I had to see you, speak to you without a
witness ... that's why I have passed myself off as an advocate!"

The startled girl was regaining her self-control. Fandor was gazing at
her with frankly admiring eyes.

"Poor Elizabeth! How I have made you suffer!"

The poor girl's eyes filled with tears.

"Why have you betrayed me?" she demanded in a voice trembling with
restrained emotion. "Oh, how could you get me arrested? You, who well
know I am not guilty?"

"You really believe I have betrayed you? You actually credited me with
that?"

These two young people, meeting in a prison parlour under such tragic
circumstances, were hurt and even angry with each other.

Elizabeth Dollon went on:

"Why did you not tell me that you had found on that piece of soap traces
of my brother's finger-marks? Why did you accuse me of having received a
visit from him, when you yourself had proved that he was dead?"

Fandor took Elizabeth's two little hands in his and pressed them long
and tenderly.

"My dear Elizabeth, when I engineered this theatrical