"In that case," rejoined Crewe, "I think you had better speak to me frankly and freely, and if I can I will help you." "You are perhaps right," she replied. "I will tell you everything, provided you give me your word of honour that you will not inform the police of what I will tell you." "If you bind me to that promise I do not see how I can help you in the direction you indicate," said Crewe, after a moment's thought. "If the police are asked to abandon their inquiries about Mrs. Holymead, they will naturally wish to know the reason." "You are quite right," said Gabrielle. "I did not think of that. But if I tell you everything, and you have to tell the police agents so as to help Madame, will you promise that the police agents do not come and arrest _me_?" "Provided you have not committed murder or been in any way accessory to it, I think I can promise you that," rejoined Crewe. "Monsieur, I do not understand you, but I can almost divine your meaning. Your promise is what you call a guarded one. Nevertheless, I like your face, and I will trust you." Gabrielle relapsed into silence for some moments, looking at Crewe earnestly. "Monsieur," she said at length, "it is a terrible story I have to relate, and it is difficult for me to tell a stranger what I know. Nevertheless, I will begin. I knew the great judge well." "You knew Sir Horace Fewbanks?" exclaimed Crewe. "He was--my lover, monsieur." She brought the last two words out defiantly, with a quick glance at Crewe to see how he took the avowal. She seemed to find something reassuring in his answering glance, and she continued, in more even tones: "I had often seen him at the house of Madame Holymead when I came to London to visit her. I admired Sir Horace when I saw him--often he used to call and dine, for he was the friend of Monsieur Holymead. But Madame told me that the great judge was what in England you call a lover of the ladies--that he was dangerous--so I must be careful of him. I used to look at him when he called, and thought he was handsome in the English way, and sometimes he looked at me when he was unobserved, and smiled at me. But Madame did not like me looking at him; she said I was foolish; she warned me to be careful." Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders expressively. "Of what use was Madame's warning? It did but make me wish to know more of this great lover of my sex. He saw that, and made the opportunity, and made love to me. He was so ardent, so fervid a lover that I was conquered. "After we had been lovers I told him my secret--that I was married. Pierre Simon, my husband, was a bad man, and so I left him. But Madame must not know that I was married, for that is my secret. It does not do to tell everything--besides, it would have distressed her.