“Ah, Monsieur Thief,” rumbled Judge Bertouf with a scowl, “you are jaunty now. Will you be so jaunty a year from to-day when you are released from prison? I rather think not. Next case.” Papa Chibou’s heart pumped with difficulty. A year for an orange--and he had stolen a man! His eyes roved round the room and he saw two guards carrying in something which they stood before the judges. It was Napoleon. A guard tapped Papa Chibou on the shoulder. “You’re next,” he said. “But my lawyer, Monsieur Dufayel----” began Papa Chibou. “You’re in hard luck,” said the guard, “for here he comes.” Papa Chibou in a daze found himself in the prisoner’s dock. He saw coming toward him a pale young man. Papa Chibou recognized him at once. It was the slender, erect young man of the museum. He was not very erect now; he was listless. He did not recognize Papa Chibou; he barely glanced at him. “You stole something,” said the young lawyer, and his voice was toneless. “The stolen goods were found in your room. I think we might better plead guilty and get it over with.” “Yes, monsieur,” said Papa Chibou, for he had let go all his hold on hope. “But attend a moment. I have something--a message for you.” Papa Chibou fumbled through his pockets and at last found the card of the American girl with the bright dark eyes. He handed it to Georges Dufayel. “She left it with me to give to you,” said Papa Chibou. “I was chief watchman at the Musée Pratoucy, you know. She came there night after night, to wait for you.” The young man gripped the sides of the card with both hands; his face, his eyes, everything about him seemed suddenly charged with new life. “Ten thousand million devils!” he cried. “And I doubted her! I owe you much, monsieur. I owe you everything.” He wrung Papa Chibou’s hand. Judge Bertouf gave an impatient judicial grunt. “We are ready to hear your case, Advocate Dufayel,” said the judge, “if you have one.” The court attendants sniggered. “A little moment, monsieur the judge,” said the lawyer. He turned to Papa Chibou. “Quick,” he shot out, “tell me about the crime you are charged with. What did you steal?” “Him,” replied Papa Chibou, pointing. “That dummy of Napoleon?” Papa Chibou nodded. “But why?” Papa Chibou shrugged his shoulders. “Monsieur could not understand.” “But you must tell me!” said the lawyer urgently. “I must make a plea for you. These savages will be severe enough, in any event; but I may be able to do something. Quick; why did you steal this Napoleon?” “I was his friend,” said Papa Chibou. “The museum failed. They were going to sell Napoleon for junk, Monsieur Dufayel. He was my friend. I could not desert him.” The eyes of the young advocate had caught fire; they were lit with a flash. He brought his fist down on the table. “Enough!” he cried. Then he rose in his place and addressed the court. His voice was low, vibrant and passionate; the judges, in spite of themselves, leaned forward to listen to him.