The Honorable made a sign to the constable to stay Cuiller. "These bills," Chrysler said, holding out the bank notes which were found in the purse of Spoon, "are marked with the initials of Francois Le Brun's name. I am ready to charge the prisoner with having committed a larceny of money from Francois Le Brun on his journey from Montreal. I sustain it by these initials at the corners of bills just found on the prisoner's person. I am informed--" "I object, your Honor," fairly shouted Libergent--"I object to any hearsay." "What can you swear to of your own knowledge?" asked l'Honorable of Chrysler, gently. "To seeing these marks--" "Which might be anything!" snapped Libergent. "To hearing--" "No hearsay, sir!" "To having a conviction--" "Upon no grounds whatever!--Your Honor, I press my just application for an immediate discharge." "I cannot see that there is yet evidence enough," l'Honorable said courteously. "There are two charges, but both of them seem founded on vague suspicions which I cannot consider sufficient to detain the prisoner." Libergent triumphantly glanced from Spoon to the audience. At that moment, however, the man at his side rose up:--Ross de Bleury! "If what Monsieur says is true," he exclaimed to the Honorable, throwing out his clenched hand,--"if these letters are found upon those notes, then I understand it. I can prove that this infernal, greasy, treacherous devil,--be he friend or traitor, or whatever he chooses to be, to the Bleu party or myself,--committed that despicable larceny and has wronged that poor young man. I was on the steamboat. I saw it. I saw him do it to his friend. Talking to the purser, I saw the act, but could not believe it a reality. On the parole of all my ancestors, I would never go back on a common thief, I would keep faith inviolate with a parricide, I have a secret sympathy with every brigand, but I have no place out of _l'enfer_ itself for a traitor, _Dieu merci_." "Swear the informant," said the Magistrate. The picture at this instant of the frightened face of Spoon who collapsed into a seat by the Bar, of the excitement of the crowd, which had been gradually brought to a climax, the disgust of Libergent, relief of Chrysler, satisfaction of the little Bonhomme and his wife, the cynical roll of Zotique's eyes round the room, and serene, judicial face of the Honorable on the bench above, would have made the reputation of the greatest painter in Paris. After all, Spoon was remanded for trial, and in due time, the Queen's Bench Court condemned him to the fullest penalty of the law for his murderous assault and larceny. Francois meanwhile recovered, and was taken, pale and weak, but indescribably happy, in a carriage one morning beside Josephte to church, where the young Cure made her his faithful bride. As for Benoit, "_il est tout en campagne_," they said. In less expressive terms, "his mind was hopelessly wandering." * * * * *