"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. "But I loved him well, and he loved me--oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but--well, M'sieur, the truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him all--yes, all, M'sieur--that my heart was his, but that my duty was to her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur--he understood--we wept together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him--I hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,--and he went away!" She took a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: "M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image of St. Jacques d'Acquin." "Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank you." "Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away--I swear it!" "I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave you." "Hanh? You--M'sieur says?" "The lottery-tickets--" "Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there--" "Then where are they?" "Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche went off--" [Illustration: "You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"] "What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon. "He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to console him, M'sieur--to give him something--I gave him the tickets." "You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!" "Just to console him--yes, M'sieur." The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the floor. THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson