ave never seen a
better performance--have you, monsieur?" he added to M. Fille.

"But once," was the pointed and deliberate reply. "Ah, when was that?"
asked Judge Carcasson, interested.

"The year monsieur le juge was ill, and Judge Blaquiere took your place.
It was in Vilray at the Court House here."

"Ah--ah, and who was the phenomenon--the perfect liar?" asked the Judge
with the eagerness of the expert.

"His name was Sebastian Dolores," meditatively replied M. Fille. "It was
even a finer performance than that of to-day."

The Judge gave a little grunt of surprise. "Twice, eh?" he asked. "Yet
this was good enough to break any record," he added. He fastened the
young widow's eyes. "Madame, you are young, and you have an eye of
intelligence. Be sure of this: you can protect yourself against almost
anyone except a liar--eh, madame?" he added to Mere Langlois. "I am sure
your experience of life and your good sense--"

"My good sense would make me think purgatory was hell if I saw him"--she
nodded savagely at Dolores as she said it, for she had seen that last
effort of his to take the fingers of Palass Poucette's widow--"if I saw
him there, m'sieu' le juge."

"We'll have you yet--we'll have you yet, Dolores," said the Judge, as
the Spaniard prepared to move on. But, as Dolores went, he again caught
the eyes of the young widow.

This made him suddenly bold. "'Thou shalt not bear false witness against
thy neighbour,'--that is the commandment, is it not, m'sieu' le juge?
You are doing against me what I didn't do in Court to-day. I saved a man
from your malice."

The crook of the Judge's cane caught the Spaniard's arm, and held him
gently.

"You're possessed of a devil, Dolores," he said, "and I hope I'll never
have to administer justice in your case. I might be more man than judge.
But you will come to no good end. You will certainly--"

He got no further, for the attention of all was suddenly arrested by a
wagon driving furiously round the corner of the Court House. It was a
red wagon. In it was Jean Jacques Barbille.

His face was white and set; his head was thrust forward, as though
looking at something far ahead of him; the pony stallions he was driving
were white with sweat, and he had an air of tragic helplessness and
panic.

Suddenly a child ran across the roadway in front of the ponies, and the
wild cry of the mother roused Jean Jacques out of his agonized trance.
He sprang to his feet, wrenching th