Dr. Warren had once compared Julia to a salad into which the cook had upset the vinegar cruet. The sound of her thin, hard voice set Arthur's teeth on edge, and the simile suddenly popped up in his memory. “There's no use in this kind of talk,” he said. “You need not be afraid of any unpleasantness; everyone will understand that you are all quite innocent. I suppose, gentlemen, you want to search my things. I have nothing to hide.” While the gendarmes ransacked the room, reading his letters, examining his college papers, and turning out drawers and boxes, he sat waiting on the edge of the bed, a little flushed with excitement, but in no way distressed. The search did not disquiet him. He had always burned letters which could possibly compromise anyone, and beyond a few manuscript verses, half revolutionary, half mystical, and two or three numbers of Young Italy, the gendarmes found nothing to repay them for their trouble. Julia, after a long resistance, yielded to the entreaties of her brother-in-law and went back to bed, sweeping past Arthur with magnificent disdain, James meekly following. When they had left the room, Thomas, who all this while had been tramping up and down, trying to look indifferent, approached the officer and asked permission to speak to the prisoner. Receiving a nod in answer, he went up to Arthur and muttered in a rather husky voice: “I say; this is an infernally awkward business. I'm very sorry about it.” Arthur looked up with a face as serene as a summer morning. “You have always been good to me,” he said. “There's nothing to be sorry about. I shall be safe enough.” “Look here, Arthur!” Thomas gave his moustache a hard pull and plunged head first into the awkward question. “Is--all this anything to do with--money? Because, if it is, I----” “With money! Why, no! What could it have to do----” “Then it's some political tomfoolery? I thought so. Well, don't you get down in the mouth--and never mind all the stuff Julia talks. It's only her spiteful tongue; and if you want help,--cash, or anything,--let me know, will you?” Arthur held out his hand in silence, and Thomas left the room with a carefully made-up expression of unconcern that rendered his face more stolid than ever. The gendarmes, meanwhile, had finished their search, and the officer in charge requested Arthur to put on his outdoor clothes. He obeyed at once and turned to leave the room; then stopped with sudden hesitation. It seemed hard to take leave of his mother's oratory in the presence of these officials. “Have you any objection to leaving the room for a moment?” he asked. “You see that I cannot escape and that there is nothing to conceal.” “I am sorry, but it is forbidden to leave a prisoner alone.” “Very well, it doesn't matter.” He went into the alcove, and, kneeling down, kissed the feet and pedestal of the crucifix, whispering softly: “Lord, keep me faithful unto death.”