mured Derville, partially confronting her.

'Yes; if only for the sake of the orphan daughter of the Monsieur de
la Tour who first helped you on in life, and for whom you not long
since professed regard.'

Derville seemed to recover his firmness at these words: 'No,' he said;
'not even for your sake, Marie, will I consent to the escape of such a
daring criminal from justice.'

'If that be your final resolve, monsieur,' continued Marie, with
kindling, impressive earnestness, 'it becomes necessary that, at
whatever sacrifice, the true criminal--whom assuredly Hector Bertrand
is not--should be denounced.'

Various exclamations of surprise and interest greeted these words, and
the agitation of Derville was again plainly visible.

'You have been surprised, messieurs,' she went on, 'at Hector's
refusal to afford any explanation as to how he became possessed of the
purloined note. You will presently comprehend the generous motive of
that silence. Monsieur Derville has said, that he left the note safe
in his desk at half-past seven last evening. Hector, it is recognised,
did not enter the house till nearly an hour afterwards; and now,
Jeanne Favart will inform you _who_ it was that called on her in the
interim, and remained in the room where the desk was placed for
upwards of a quarter of an hour, and part of that time alone.'

As the young girl spoke, Derville's dilated gaze rested with
fascinated intensity upon her excited countenance, and he hardly
seemed to breathe.

'It was you, mademoiselle,' said Jeanne, 'who called on me, and
remained as you describe.'

A fierce exclamation partially escaped Derville, forcibly suppressed
as Marie resumed: 'Yes; and now, messieurs, hear me solemnly declare,
that as truly as the note was stolen, _I_, not Hector, was the thief.'

''Tis false!' shrieked Derville, surprised out of all self-possession;
'a lie! It was not then the note was taken; not till--not till'----

'Not till when, Monsieur Derville?' said the excited girl, stepping
close to the shrinking, guilty man, and still holding him with her
flashing, triumphant eyes, as she placed her hand upon his shoulder;
'not till _when_ was the note taken from the desk, monsieur?'

He did not, could not reply, and presently sank, utterly subdued,
nerveless, panic-stricken, into a chair, with his white face buried in
his hands.

'This is indeed a painful affair,' said M. Blaise, after an expectant
silence of some minutes, 'if it