a detective;
do you know Banin--young man, tall, blonde, squints, broken tooth upper
jaw, hat back on his head, much talk, hails from Rheims?'

"'Ah,' said Delette, 'I have not seen him, but I know him too well.'

"The detective pointed with his thumb over his left shoulder. 'He is in
jail. He is good for twenty years. I did it myself. My name is
so-and-so. Good job. Procurator said you were interested--some woman in
the case, parishioner of yours, eh?'

"'My niece,' gasped the Cure.

"'O ho! does you credit; pretty girl, curly-head, good manners. Well,
she's off. Good trick, too. She was the decoy. Banin stood in the shadow
with club. She brought gentleman into alley, friend did work. That's
Banin's story. Perhaps a lie. You have a brother in Algiers? Thought so.
Girl went out there once? So I was told. Probably there now. African
officers say not; but they're a sleepy lot. If I was a criminal, I'd go
to Algiers. Good biding.' The detective went. Delette stood where he was
in silence. I went to him, and helped carry him up-stairs. We put him in
his bed. He died there."

Brother Albert stopped. He had told the story, dialogue and all, like a
machine. We did not doubt its correctness. The memory of Albert had
passed into a proverb years before.

Brother Albert raised his eyes again, and added, as if he had not
paused, "He was ashamed to hold his head up. He might well be."

A strange, excited voice rose from the other end of the room. I looked
and saw that it was Edouard who spoke. He had half arisen from his chair
and scowled at Albert, throwing out his words with the tremulous haste
of a young man first addressing an audience:

"Why should he be ashamed? Was he not a good man? Was the blame of his
bad niece's acts his? From the story, she was well used and had no
excuse. It is he who is to be pitied, not blamed!"

The Brother Director smiled benignly at the young enthusiast. "Brother
Edouard is right," he said. "Poor Martin was to be compassioned. None
the less, my heart is touched for the girl. In Banin's trial it appeared
that he maltreated her, and forced her to do what she did by blows. They
were really married. Her neighbors gave Renee a name for gentleness and
a good heart. Poor thing!"

"And she never was found?" asked Abonus, eagerly. He spoke very rarely.
He looked now at me as he spoke, and there was a strange, ungodly
glitter in his eyes which made me shudder involuntarily.

"Never," replied the