And Mr. Roquevillard, whose face had been glowing with excitement, grew serene again with the hope of passing safely through the test, and concluded in two words: “Now we are armed, and victory is certain.” The president’s eyes, pale blue and dim with age, were lifted sadly. “My friend, haven’t you forgotten the difficulty I spoke of at the beginning of our interview?” It was the old agony coming back again. “What difficulty?” Mr. Battard at once assumed the first place again, never having willingly given it up. “There you are. Our fine plan, and I have not a single doubt of its success, collapses on account of your son’s obstinacy.” “My son’s obstinacy?” “Exactly. We have just explained to him in prison our plan to save him. Do you know what he said to us?” “I’m afraid I can guess.” “He said he formally objected to having Mrs. Frasne’s name mentioned in his defence, and that if it is, he will assume all the blame himself at once.” “I was afraid of it,” muttered Mr. Roquevillard beneath his breath. “I tried in vain to make him see the absurdity of this chivalry, to explain that he was not accusing anybody, since Mrs. Frasne was not punishable under the law. I told him that what his mistress had done could even be explained by her inexperience of business, her erroneous interpretation of her marriage contract. It was all useless. I ran against an invincible obstinacy.” “Did he give you any reasons?” “Just one--his honour.” “Honour is one reason.” “No, it’s only a sentiment. In courts of justice we must not take the point of view of honour, but of the law.” The president, who did not approve this theory, presented the question in another form. “It’s Mrs. Frasne’s honour especially that he takes into account. To save his own honour he must establish the fact that he has neither stolen a sum of money nor profited by the theft of some one else. He can prove the first by argument from Mrs. Frasne’s marriage contract, and the second by an affidavit from the International Bank of Milan, where Mrs. Frasne’s funds were deposited. But he objects categorically to this line of proof.” “Did you speak of it to him yourself?” “I did, and I told him that he was running a great danger to go before a jury thus unarmed.” “What did he say to you?” “That he would not let Mrs. Frasne be accused of anything whatsoever, and that he forbade his defender even to utter her name. We found him immovable. ‘Well, then,’ Mr. Battard objected to him, ‘how do you wish us to defend you?’ ‘How can any one think me guilty?’ he replied proudly. ‘Let them consider where I come from, and who I am. That ought to be enough.’”