great would be his remorse, if he had added to his already great weight of sorrow and trouble! And who could prove that he was not sincere? 

The voice of this son, of whom he had always been so proud, had aroused all his paternal affection, so violently repressed. Ah, were he guilty, and guilty of a worse crime, still he was his son, his only son! 

His countenance lost its severity, and his eyes filled with tears. 

He had resolved to leave, as he had entered, stern and angry: he had not the cruel courage. His heart was breaking. He opened his arms, and pressed Prosper to his heart. 

"Oh, my son!" he murmured. "God grant you have spoken the truth!" 

Prosper was triumphant: he had almost convinced his father of his innocence. But he had not time to rejoice over this victory. 

The cell-door again opened, and the jailer's gruff voice once more called out: 

"It is time for you to appear before the court." 

He instantly obeyed the order. 

But his step was no longer unsteady, as a few days previous: a complete change had taken place within him. He walked with a firm step, head erect, and the fire of resolution in his eye. 

He knew the way now, and he walked a little ahead of the constable who escorted him. 

As he was passing through the room full of policemen, he met the man with gold spectacles, who had watched him so intently the day he was searched. 

"Courage, M. Prosper Bertomy," he said: "if you are innocent, there are those who will help you." 

Prosper started with surprise, and was about to reply, when the man disappeared. 

"Who is that gentleman?" he asked of the policeman. 

"Is it possible that you don't know him?" replied the policeman with surprise. "Why, it is M. Lecoq, of the police service." 

"You say his name is Lecoq?" 

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