bled the woman.

"I want to know, first, who you are. I want your name and address."

"Certainly; I am--er--Madam Marius, and I live at--er--6 Avenue Martignon."

"Ah! May I have one of your cards?"

"I--er--I'm afraid I have no card here," evaded the other, pretending to
search in a gold bag. Her face was very pale.

The girl made no reply, but walked quickly to a turn of the gallery.

"Valentine," she called.

"Yes," answered a voice.

"Ah, you are there. I may need you in a minute."

"_Bien!_"

Then, returning, she said quietly: "Valentine is a friend of mine. She
sells postal cards up here. Unless you tell me the truth, I shall ask her
to go down and call the sacristan. Now then, _who are you?_"

"Don't ask who I am," pleaded the lady.

"I ask what I want to know."

"Anything but that!"

"Then you are _not_ Madam Marius?"

"No."

"You lied to me?"

"Yes."

"Valentine!" called Alice, and promptly a girl of about sixteen,
bare-headed, appeared at the end of the gallery. "Go down and ask Papa
Bonneton to come here at once. Say it's important. Hurry!"

With an understanding nod Valentine disappeared inside the tower and the
quick clatter of her wooden shoes echoed up from below.

"But--what will you tell him?" gasped the lady.

"I shall tell him you were concerned in that crime last night. I don't know
what it was, I haven't read the papers, but he has."

"Do you want to ruin me?" cried the woman; then, with a supplicating
gesture: "Spare me this shame; I will give you money, a large sum. See
here!" and, opening her gold bag, she drew out some folded notes. "I'll
give you a thousand francs--five thousand. Don't turn away! I'll give you
more--my jewels, my pearls, my rings. Look at them." She held out her
hands, flashing with precious stones.

Suddenly she felt the girl's eyes on her in utter scorn. "You are not even
intelligent," Alice flung back; "you were a fool to come here; now you are
stupid enough to think you can buy my silence. _Mon Dieu_, what a base
soul!"

"Forgive me, I don't know what I am saying," begged the other. "Don't be
angry. Listen; you say I was a fool to come here, but it isn't true. I
realized my danger, I knew what I was risking, and yet I came, because I
_had_ to come. I felt I could trust you. I came in my desperation because
there was no other person in Paris I dared go to."

"Is that true?" asked the girl, more gently.

"Indeed it is," implored the lady, her