"But, in the name of all the Saints," cried Mademoiselle Scuderi,
"considering all the circumstances which I have told you at such
length, can you think of any _motive_ for this diabolical deed?"

"Hm!" answered La Regnie. "Cardillac was anything but a poor man. He
had valuable jewels in his possession." "But all he had would go to the
daughter! You forget that Olivier was to be Cardillac's son-in-law."
"Perhaps he was compelled to share with others," said La Regnie, "or to
do the deed wholly for them!" "Share!--murder for others!" cried
Mademoiselle Scuderi, in utter amaze.

"You must learn, Mademoiselle," continued La Regnie, "that Olivier's
blood would have been flowing on the Place de Greve before this time,
but that his crime is connected with that deeply-hidden mystery which
has so long brooded over Paris. It is clear that Olivier belongs to
that formidable band which, setting at defiance every attempt at
observation or discovery, carries on its nefarious practices with
perfect immunity. Through him everything will, must be discovered.
Cardillac's wound is precisely the same as all those of the persons who
have been robbed and murdered in the streets and houses; and most
conclusive of all, since Olivier's arrest, the robberies and murders
have ceased; the streets are as safe by night as by day. Proof enough
that Olivier was most probably the chief of the band. As yet he will
not confess; but there are means of making him speak against his will."

"And Madelon!" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, "that truthful, innocent
creature."

"Ah!" cried La Regnie, with one of his venomous smiles, "who answers to
me that _she_ is not in the plot, too? She does not care so very much
about her father. Her tears are all for the murderer boy."

"What?" cried Mademoiselle Scuderi, "not for her father?--that
girl--impossible!" "Oh!" continued La Regnie, "remember the
Brinvilliers! You must pardon me, if by-and-by I have to carry off
your _protegee_, and put her in the Conciergerie."

Mademoiselle Scuderi shuddered at this grizly notion. It seemed to her
that no truth or virtue could endure before this terrible man; as if he
spied out murder and bloodguilt in the deepest and most hidden thoughts
of people's hearts. She rose. "Be human!" was all that in her state of
anxiety and oppression she was able, with difficulty, to say. As she
was just going to descend the stairs, to which the President had
attended her with ceremonious co