It is a crushing burden to bear.”

“Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden that M. d’Aigleroche afterwards married his victim’s widow? For that, sir, is the crux of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was M. d’Aigleroche penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wife rich? Or were they both in love with each other and did M. d’Aigleroche plan with her to kill his first wife and the husband of his second wife? These are problems to which I do not know the answer. They have no interest for the moment; but the police, with all the means at their disposal, would have no great difficulty in elucidating them.”

M. d’Aigleroche staggered and had to steady himself against the back of a chair. Livid in the face, he spluttered:

“Are you going to inform the police?”

“No, no,” said Rénine. “To begin with, there is the statute of limitations. Then there are twenty years of remorse and dread, a memory which will pursue the criminal to his dying hour, accompanied no doubt by domestic discord, hatred, a daily hell … and, in the end, the necessity of returning to the tower and removing the traces of the two murders, the frightful punishment of climbing that tower, of touching those skeletons, of undressing them and burying them. That will be enough. We will not ask for more. We will not give it to the public to batten on and create a scandal, which would recoil upon M. d’Aigleroche’s niece. No, let us leave this disgraceful business alone.”

The count resumed his seat at the table, with his hands clutching his forehead, and asked:

“Then why …?”

“Why do I interfere?” said Rénine. “What you mean is that I must have had some object in speaking. That is so. There must indeed be a penalty, however slight, and our interview must lead to some practical result. But have no fear: M. d’Aigleroche will be let off lightly.”

The contest was ended. The count felt that he had only a small formality to fulfill, a sacrifice to accept; and, recovering some of his self-assurance, he said, in an almost sarcastic tone:

“What’s your price?”

Rénine burst out laughing:

“Splendid! You see the position. Only, you make a mistake in drawing me into the business. I’m working for the glory of the thing.”

“In that case?”

“You will be called upon at most to make restitution.”

“Restitution?”

Rénine leant over the table and said:

“In one of those drawers is a deed awaiting your signature. It is a draft agreement between you and your niece, Hortense Daniel, relating to her private fortune, which fortune was squandered and for which you are responsible. Sign the deed.”

M. d’Aigleroche gave a start:

“Do you know the amount?”

“I don’t wish to know it.”

“And if I refuse? …”

“I shall ask to see the Comtesse d’Aigleroche.”

Without further hesitation, the count opened a drawer, produced a document on stamped paper and quickly signed it:

“Here you are,” he said, “and I hope …”

“You hope, as I do, that you and I may never have any future dealings? I’m convinced of it. I shall leave this evening; your niece, no doubt, tomorrow. Good-bye.”

In the drawing room, which was still empty, while the guests at the house were dressing for dinner, Rénine handed the deed to Hortense. She seemed dazed by all that she had heard; and the thing that bewildered her even more than the relentless light shed upon her uncle’s past was the miraculous insight and amazing lucidity displayed by this man: the man who for some hours had controlled events and conjured up before her eyes the actual scenes of a tragedy which no one had beheld.

“Are you satisfied with me?” he asked.

She gave him both her hands:

“You have saved me from Rossigny. You have given me back my freedom and my independence.