"What does this mean?" she said, contemptuously. "My son, Mr. Carruthers, charged with stealing a watch? What does it mean, Mr. Forster?"
"Lady Carruthers," said the lawyer, "it is true. I was in court when your son, under the name of John Smith, pleaded guilty to the charge of getting in the room belonging to Count Jules St. Croix, and I, myself, heard him sentenced to six months' imprisonment."
She sat for some minutes, silent, mute and motionless. Then in a low voice she asked: "Is he mad?"
"That was my first thought. It is some weeks since I had seen him, and yesterday morning a note was brought to my office, from a gentleman in court, telling me your son was in the dock. I hastened there and found it true. You may imagine how quickly I followed him and implored of him to tell me the mystery, for mystery I feel sure there is. Instead of looking ashamed of himself and miserable, he had a light in his face that puzzled me. I blamed him, told him the consequences—how his life would be useless to him after this, but he only smiled; my words made no impression on him; he evidently derived comfort and support from some source known to himself and no others."
"And is it possible?" asked Lady Carruthers, with ghastly face; "does he lie in prison now?"
"He does indeed, and there he must remain until the six months are ended."