is a grave fault you have committed there, Captain Hastings. It is altogether most irregular. You should not have permitted yourself this folly.”
“I know,” I said meekly. “Nothing that you can say could be too severe. M. le juge.”
“You did not invite this lady to come here?”
“Certainly not. I met her quite by accident. She is an English girl who happens to be staying in Mertinville, though I was not aware of that until my unexpected meeting with her.”
“Well, well,” said the magistrate, softening. “It was most irregular, but the lady is without doubt young and beautiful, n’est-ce pas? What it is to be young! O jeunesse, jeunesse!” And he sighed sentimentally.
But the commissary, less romantic, and more practical, took up the tale: “But did not you reclose and lock the door when you departed?”
“That’s just it,” I said slowly. “That’s what I blame myself for so terribly. My friend was upset at the sight. She nearly fainted. I got her some brandy and water and afterward insisted on accompanying her back to town. In the excitement, I forgot to relock the door. I only did so when I got back to the villa.”
“Then for twenty minutes at least—” said the commissary slowly. He stopped.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Twenty minutes,” mused the commissary.
“It is deplorable,” said M. Hautet, his sternness of manner returning. “Without precedent.”
Suddenly another voice spoke.
“You find it deplorable, M. le juge?” asked Giraud.
“Certainly I do.”
“Eh bien! I find it admirable," said the other imperturbably.
This unexpected ally quite bewildered me.
“Admirable, M. Giraud?” asked the magistrate, studying him cautiously out of the corner of his eye.
“Precisely.”
“And why?”
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