had done him a service, and that made towards
friendship on both sides. He was an officer and a gentleman, and so
he showed his hand. Then he wanted information and perhaps much more,
though what that would be he could not yet tell.

M. Barre had smoked cigarettes freely during Shorland's narrative. At
the end he said with peculiar emphasis: "Your friend's wife was surely a
Frenchwoman?"

"Yes."

"Was her name Laroche?"

"Yes, that was it. Do you think that Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle--!"

"That Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle Rouget are one? Yes. But that Lucile
Laroche was the wife of your friend? Well, that is another matter. But
we shall see soon. Listen. A scoundrel, Henri Durien, was sent out
here for killing an American at cards. The jury called it murder, but
recommended him to mercy, and he escaped the guillotine. He had the
sympathy of the women, the Press did not deal hardly with him, and the
Public Prosecutor did not seem to push the case as he might have done.
But that was no matter to us. The woman, Gabrielle Rouget, followed him
here, where he is a prisoner for life. He is engaged in road-making with
other prisoners. She keeps the Cafe Voisin. Now here is the point which
concerns your story. Once, when Gabrielle was permitted to see Henri,
they quarrelled. I was acting as governor of the prison at the time, saw
the meeting and heard the quarrel. No one else was near. Henri accused
her of being intimate with a young officer of the post. I am sure there
was no truth in it, for Gabrielle does not have followers of that kind.
But Henri had got the idea from some source; perhaps by the convicts'
'Underground Railway,' which has connection even with the Hotel du
Gouverneur. Through it the prisoners know all that is going on, and
more. In response to Henri's accusation Gabrielle replied: 'As I live,
Henri, it is a lie.' He sardonically rejoined: 'But you do not live.
You are dead, dead I tell you. You were found drowned and carried to the
Morgue and properly identified--not by me, curse you, Lucile Laroche.
And then you were properly buried, and not by me either, nor at my cost,
curse you again. You are dead, I tell you!' She looked at him as she
looked at you the other day, dazed and spectre-like, and said: 'Henri, I
gave up my life once to a husband to please my brother.

"He was a villain, my brother. I gave it up a second time to please you,
and because I loved you. I left behind me name, fortune, Paris