"Yes!" said Judas, complacently, "it is that the dear angel was married to my friend Melstane. Conceive then, messieurs, why she killed him with the poison. He had the right to take her to the poorness. She was afraid because of my speech, and as no hope of help beheld she, this foolish one goes to the extremes and kills the man who holds her. Eh, messieurs, when this I see, I know I do hold the angel in my power. Then clever Monsieur Fanks arrives and tells me of the death. He speaks of the pills, and as in a moment behold I that Mees Mar-rson has poisoned the husband she feared. I admire; eh, truly, it was a great thing for a woman thus to behave. Then to myself I spoke. 'Jules Guinaud, with this you hold, it is for you to be the husband of the widow Melstane.'" "For Heaven's sake don't call her that name," said Roger, with a shudder. "Wherefore not, monsieur? She was of a certainty the widow Melstane, and her husband she killed. I go then to Monsieur Mar-rson; I show the certificate of marriage; I tell of the death. To him I speak: 'If I marry not your daughter I betray all to the law.' He shudders with the fear and says: 'You will be my son-in-law.' Then comes Mees Judith, who knows of my love; but her I quickly crush. Eh, it was very well; but she played the traitor to me, so to her I also was cruel. I tell this dear Monsieur Fanks that she is the criminal, and show him the handkerchief of her which was let to fall by the dear angel. We go to the house of Monsieur Mar-rson, and then the angel is distraught; she is mad and tells all. Behold, messieurs, my story is at an end, and nothing can I say more. I played for a large thing. I have lost. It is cruel, but who can fight the angry gods? Everything I have failed in. All are innocent but the angel, and she is dead. But I have held her in my arms. Yes, though the flames did burn, she was to me for a moment, so I am satisfied. Behold, then, all is at an end, and Jules Guinaud to you, messieurs, says 'Adieu.'" Monsieur Judas resumed his seat in a conscious manner, as if he expected a round of applause for his very dramatic delivery of his villainous narrative. If he did expect praise he was disappointed, for a chorus of execration burst from the four men who had listened so patiently to this infamous history. "You scoundrel!" "Fiend!" "Wretch!" "Blackguard!" Judas was not at all dismayed, but shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Eh, messieurs les Tartuffes, I make you the compliments. If you had been as me, acted the same you would have, I think. But all I have told, and now will the dear Spolger tell us of the pills which he gave to the angel?" "I did not give her pills, you wicked wretch," said Spolger, vehemently. "I was as much in the dark as you about the cause of Melstane's death. The whole affair has been a great blow to me. I do not know when my nerves will recover." "Will you tell us your story, Mr. Spolger?" said Fanks, politely.