him and leaving the visitor standing in the middle of the office, "I
have sent for you as you requested and shall be glad to hear anything
you have to say. Of course any communication which you may see fit to
make to me is voluntary and, in the event for your trial for--er--any
crime with which you may be charged, may be used against you." I had a
certain feeling of embarrassment in making this customary declaration
since the whole idea of this person being a criminal was so incongruous
as to put a heavy strain on one's credulity. However, I recalled that a
certain distinguished Englishman of letters has declared "that there is
no essential incongruity between crime and culture." He acknowledged my
remark with a slight smile of half-amused deprecation and with a
courteous bow took the seat to which I motioned him.

"I wish to thank you," he said in excellent English marked by the
slightest possible suggestion of a foreign accent, "for your exceeding
courtesy in responding so quickly to my request. I am aware," he added,
"that it is unusual for prisoners to seek interviews with the--what
shall I say--_juge d'instruction_, as we call him, but," he added with a
smile, "I think you will find that mine is an unusual affair."

I had already begun to think so, and reaching to the upper drawer on the
left-hand side of my desk, I produced from the box reserved for judges,
prominent members of the bar, borough presidents, commissioners of
departments and distinguished foreigners, a Havana of the variety known
in our purlieus as a "_good_ cigar," and tendered the same to him.

"Ah," he said, "many thanks, _merci, non_, I do not smoke the cigar.
M'sieu' perhaps has a cigarette? M'sieu' will pardon me if I say that
this is the first act of kindness which has been accorded to me since my
incarceration three weeks ago."

Somewhere I found a box of cigarettes, one of which he removed,
gracefully holding it between fingers which I noticed were singularly
white and delicate, and lighting it with the air of a diplomat at an
international conference.

"You can hardly appreciate," he ventured, "the humiliation to which I,
an officer and a gentleman of France, have been subjected."

I lighted the cigar which he had declined and with mingled feelings of
embarrassment, distrust and curiosity inquired if his name was Charles
Julius Francis de Nevers. I wish it were possible to describe the
precise look which flashed across his face as he