urtesy, a strange idea came to her--she
knew not how. "Might I be allowed to see this unfortunate Olivier
Brusson?" she inquired, turning round sharply. He scrutinised her
face with thoughtful looks, and then his face distorted itself
into the repulsive smile which was characteristic of him. "Doubtless,
Mademoiselle," he said, "your idea is that, trusting your own
feelings--the inward voice--more than that which happened before our
eyes, you would like to examine into Olivier's guilt or innocence for
yourself. If you do not fear that gloomy abode of crime--if it
is not hateful to you to see those types of depravity in all their
gradations--the doors of the Conciergerie shall be opened to you in two
hours time. Olivier, whose fate excites your sympathy, shall be brought
to you."

In truth, Mademoiselle Scuderi could not bring herself to believe in
Olivier's guilt. Everything spoke against him. Indeed, no judge in the
world would have thought otherwise than La Regnie, in the face of what
had happened. But the picture of domestic happiness which Madelon had
placed before her eyes in such vivid colours, outweighed and outshone
all suspicion, so that she preferred to adopt the hypothesis of some
inscrutable mystery rather than believe what her whole nature revolted
against.

She thought she would hear Olivier's narrative of the events of that
night of mystery, and in this manner, possibly, penetrate further into
a secret which the judges, perhaps, did not see into, because they
thought it unworthy of investigation.

Arrived at the Conciergerie, she was taken into a large, well-lighted
room. Presently she heard the ring of fetters. Olivier Brusson was
brought in; but as soon as she saw him she fell down fainting. When she
recovered, he was gone. She demanded with impetuosity to be taken to
her carriage; she would not remain another moment in that place of
crime and wickedness. Alas! at the first glance she recognised in
Olivier Brusson the young man who had thrown the letter into her
carriage on the Pont Neuf, and who had brought her the casket with the
jewels. Now all doubt was gone, La Regnie's terrible suspicions
completely justified. Olivier belonged to the atrocious band, and had,
doubtless, murdered his master! And Madelon! Never before so bitterly
deceived by her kind feelings, Mademoiselle Scuderi, under this deadly
attack upon her by the power of the evil one here below--in whose very
existence she had not believ