She shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. Godfrey d’Etigues bent closer to her and in a lower voice he said: “And Beaumagnan?” She raised limpid eyes to his face: “Beaumagnan?” “Yes--the third of our friends you murdered. And only a little while ago.... A few weeks.... He died poisoned.... You did not know him?” CHAPTER III. A TRIBUNAL OF THE INQUISITION What was the meaning of this accusation? Ralph looked at Beaumagnan. He had risen, without raising himself to his full height, and sheltering himself behind his friends drew nearer and nearer to Josephine Balsamo. With her eyes fixed intently on the Baron, she paid no attention to him. Then Ralph understood why Beaumagnan had hidden himself and the formidable trap they were laying for the young woman. If she had really tried to poison Beaumagnan, if she really believed him dead, with what a fear she would be stricken when he stepped forward in person to face her, living, ready to accuse her! If, on the other hand, she remained untroubled and Beaumagnan appeared to her as great a stranger as the others, what a proof of her innocence! Ralph found himself extraordinarily anxious. Indeed so keenly did he desire her to succeed in foiling the plotters that he tried to find some method of conveying a warning to her. But the Baron d’Etigues did not loose his prey; and he continued with scarcely a pause: “Then you don’t remember this crime either, do you?” For the first time displaying a touch of impatience, she frowned at him; but she said nothing. “Perhaps you never even knew Beaumagnan?” said the Baron, bending towards her like an examining magistrate watching for a clumsy sentence. “Come, speak up! You never knew him?” She did not speak up; she did not speak at all. The effect of his obstinate insistence must have been to awaken her distrust, for a shadow of anxiety dimmed her smile. Like a hunted beast, she scented an ambush; and her eyes searched the shadows. She studied Godfrey d’Etigues, then turned towards de la Vaulpalier and de Bennetot, then to the other side where Beaumagnan was standing. On the instant there was a gesture of dismay, the start of one who sees a phantom; and her eyes closed. She stretched out her hands to thrust away the terrible vision which menaced her and they heard her mutter: “Beaumagnan! Beaumagnan!” Was it the avowal? Was she going to weaken and confess her crime? Beaumagnan waited. With all the force of his being, so to speak, visible, with clenched fists, with the veins on his forehead swollen, with his stern face convulsed by a superhuman effort of will, he demanded that access of feebleness in which all resistance crumbles.