Arrived at the Conciergerie, she was taken into a large, well-lighted room. Presently she heard the ring of fetters. Olivier Brusson was brought in; but as soon as she saw him she fell down fainting. When she recovered, he was gone. She demanded with impetuosity to be taken to her carriage; she would not remain another moment in that place of crime and wickedness. Alas! at the first glance she recognised in Olivier Brusson the young man who had thrown the letter into her carriage on the Pont Neuf, and who had brought her the casket with the jewels. Now all doubt was gone, La Regnie's terrible suspicions completely justified. Olivier belonged to the atrocious band, and had, doubtless, murdered his master! And Madelon! Never before so bitterly deceived by her kind feelings, Mademoiselle Scuderi, under this deadly attack upon her by the power of the evil one here below--in whose very existence she had not believed--doubted if there was such a thing as truth. She gave admittance to the fearful suspicion that Madelon, too, was forsworn, and might have a hand in the bloody deed. And as it is the nature of the human mind that, when an idea has dawned upon it, it eagerly seeks, and finds, colours in which to paint that idea more and more vividly, she, as she weighed and considered all the circumstances of the crime along with Madelon's behaviour, found a very great deal to nourish suspicion. Many things which had hitherto been considered proofs of innocence and purity, now became evidences of studied hypocrisy and deep, corrupt wickedness. Those heartrending cries of sorrow, and the bitter tears, might well have been pressed from her by the deadly dread of her lover's bleeding--nay, of her own falling into the executioner's hands. With a resolve at once to cast away the serpent she had been cherishing, Mademoiselle Scuderi alighted from her carriage. Madelon threw herself at her feet. Her heavenly eyes--(no Angel of God's has them more truthful)--raised to her, her hands pressed to her heaving breast, she wept, imploring help and consolation. Mademoiselle Scuderi, controlling herself with difficulty, giving to the tone of her voice as much calmness and gravity as she could, said, "Go! go!--be thankful that the murderer awaits the just punishment of his crime. May the Holy Virgin grant that blood-guiltiness does not weigh heavily on your own head also." With a bitter cry of "Alas! then all is over!" Madelon fell fainting to the ground. Mademoiselle Scuderi left her to the care of La Martinière, and went to another room. Much distressed, and at variance with all earthly things, she longed to depart from a world filled with diabolical treachery and falsehood. She complained of the destiny which had granted her so many years in which to strengthen her belief in truth and virtue, only to shatter in her old days the beautiful fancies which had illumined her path.