‘Not at all unlikely,’ he replied, carelessly. She looked vacantly round the cell, and caught sight of Pierre shrinking back into the shadow. ‘Why did you bring your accomplice with you?’ she said, looking at Gaston. M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘Really, my dear Bebe,’ he said, lazily, ‘I don’t know why you should call him my accomplice, as I have committed no crime.’ ‘Have you not?’ she said, rising to her feet, and bending towards him, ‘think again.’ Vandeloup shook his head, with a smile. ‘No, I do not think I have,’ he answered, glancing keenly at her; ‘I suppose you want me to be as black as yourself?’ ‘You coward!’ she said, in a rage, turning on him, ‘how dare you taunt me in this manner? it is not enough that you have ruined me, and imperilled my life, without jeering at me thus, you coward?’ ‘Bah!’ retorted Vandeloup, cynically, brushing some dust off his coat, ‘this is not the point; you insinuate that I committed a crime, perhaps you will tell me what kind of a crime?’ ‘Murder,’ she replied, in a whisper. ‘Oh, indeed,’ sneered Gaston, coolly, though his lips twitched a little, ‘the same style of crime as your own? and whose murder am I guilty of, pray?’ ‘Randolph Villiers.’ Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who can prove it?’ he asked, contemptuously. ‘I can!’ ‘You,’ with a sneer, ‘a murderess?’ ‘Who can prove I am a murderess?’ she cried, wildly. ‘I can,’ he answered, with an ugly look; ‘and I will if you don’t keep a quiet tongue.’ ‘I will keep quiet no longer,’ boldly rising and facing Vandeloup, with her hands clenched at her sides; ‘I have tried to shield you faithfully through all your wickedness, but now that you accuse me of committing a crime, which accusation you know is false, I accuse you, Gaston Vandeloup, and your accomplice, yonder,’ wheeling round and pointing to Pierre, who shrank away, ‘of murdering Randolph Villiers, at the Black Hill, Ballarat, for the sake of a nugget of gold he carried.’ Vandeloup looked at her disdainfully. ‘You are mad,’ he said, in a cold voice; ‘this is the raving of a lunatic; there is no proof of what you say; it was proved conclusively that myself and Pierre were asleep at our hotel while M. Villiers was with Jarper at two o’clock in the morning.’ ‘I know that was proved,’ she retorted, ‘and by some jugglery on your part; but, nevertheless, I saw you and him,’ pointing again to Pierre, ‘murder Villiers.’ ‘You saw it,’ echoed Vandeloup, with a disbelieving smile; ‘tell me how?’