glass from his pocket and pointed out as he
would have explained an enigmatical design, the lineaments, moving his
finger over the contour of the face which his nail outlined, that human
face which he had seen and studied in his little room in the passage of
the Elysee des Beaux-Arts. He made him see--after some moments of minute
examination--he made him see that face. "It is true--there is an image
there," exclaimed M. Ginory. He added: "Is it plain enough for me to see
it so that I can from it imagine a living being? I see the form, divined
it at first, saw it clearly defined afterward. At first it seemed very
vague, but I find it sufficiently well defined so that I can see each
feature, but without any special character. Oh!" continued M. Ginory,
excitedly, rubbing his plump little hands, "if it was only possible, if
it was only possible! What a marvel!"

"It is possible, Monsieur le Juge! have faith," Bernardet replied.
"I swear to you that it is possible." This enthusiasm gained over
the Examining Magistrate. Bernardet had found a fellow-sympathizer
in his fantastic ideas. M. Ginory was now--if only to try the
experiment--resolved to direct the investigation on this plan. He was
anxious to first show the proofs to those who would be apt to recognize
in them a person whom they might have once seen in the flesh. "To
Moniche first and then to his wife," said Bernardet.

"Who is Moniche?"

"The concierge in the Boulevard de Clichy."

Ordered to come to the court, M. and Mme. Moniche were overjoyed. They
were summoned to appear before the Judges. They had become important
personages. Perhaps their pictures would be published in the papers.
They dressed themselves as for a fete. Mme. Moniche in her Sunday best
strove to do honor to M. Rovere. She said to Moniche in all sincerity:
"Our duty is to avenge him."

While sitting on a bench in one of the long, cold corridors, the porter
and his wife saw pass before them prisoners led by their jailers; some
looked menacing, while others had a cringing air and seemed to try to
escape notice. These two persons felt that they were playing roles as
important as those in a melodrama at the Ambigu. The time seemed long
to them, and M. Ginory did not call them as soon as they wished that he
would. They thought of their home, which, while they were detained
there, would be invaded by the curious, the gossips and reporters.

"How slow these Judges are," growled Moniche.

When he