"Finally, M. le Juge," said the police officer, shaking his head, "I have thought and thought about the discovery, our discovery--that of Dr. Bourion. It is subject to errors, our discovery. It would have led us to put in prison--Jacques Dantin, and Jacques Dantin was not guilty." "Oh, yes! M. Bernardet," said the Magistrate, who seemed thoughtful, his heavy chin resting on his hand. "It ought to make us modest. It is the fate of all human discoveries. To err--to err, is human!" "It is not the less true," responded Bernardet, "that all which has passed opens to us the astonishing horizon of the unknown"---- "The unknowable!" murmured the Magistrate. "A physician who sometimes asks me to his experiments invited me to his house the other evening and I saw--yes saw, or what one calls seeing, in a mirror placed before me, by the light of the X-rays--greenish rays which traversed the body--yes, Monsieur, I saw my heart beat, and my lungs perform their functions, and I am fat, and a thin person could better see himself living and breathing. Is it not fantastic, Monsieur Ginory? Would not a man have been shut up as a lunatic thirty years ago who would have pretended that he had discovered that? We shall see--we shall see many others!" "And will it add to the happiness of man? and will it diminish grief, wickedness and crime?" The Magistrate spoke as if to himself, thoughtfully, sadly. Something Bernardet said brought a smile to his lips. "This is, Monsieur le Juge, a fine ending of the chapter for the second part of your work, 'The Duty of a Magistrate Toward Scientific Discoveries.' And if the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences does not add"---- M. Ginory suddenly turned red and interrupted Bernardet with a word and a gesture. "Monsieur Bernardet!" "I can only repeat, Monsieur, what public opinion thinks and says," said Bernardet, bowing low. "There was an illusion to this affair written up. An amiable fellow--that Paul Rodier." "Ah! Monsieur Bernardet, Monsieur Bernardet!" laughingly said the Magistrate, "you have a weakness for reporters. Do you want me to tell you something? You will finish by becoming a journalist." "And you will certainly finish in the habit of a member of the Academy, Monsieur Ginory," said the little Bernardet, with his air of a mocking abbé. CHAPTER XVIII. VERY often, after his release from prison, Jacques Dantin went to the corner of the cemetery at Montmartre, where his friend lay. And he always carried flowers. It had become to him, since the terrible strain of his detention, a necessity, a habit. The dead are living! They wait, they understand, they listen!