"Queen Victoria."
Here, suddenly, at the view of England's peaceful sovereign, Groener seemed thrown into frightful agitation, not Groener as he sat on the chair, cold and self-contained, but Groener as revealed by the unsuspected dial. Up and down in mad excitement leaped the red column with many little breaks and quiverings at the bottom of the beats and with tremendous up-shootings as if the frightened heart were trying to burst the tube with its spurting red jet.
The doctor put his mouth close to Coquenil's ear and whispered: "It's the shock showing now, the shock that he held back after the body."
Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel your heart beating fast, my friend?"
"No," murmured the prisoner, "my—my heart is beating as usual."
"You will certainly recognize the next picture," pursued the judge. "It shows a woman and a little girl! There! Do you know these faces, Groener?"
As he spoke there appeared the fake photograph that Coquenil had found in Brussels, Alice at the age of twelve with the smooth young widow.
The prisoner shook his head. "I don't know them—I never saw them."
"Groener," warned the magistrate, "there is no use keeping up this denial, you have betrayed yourself already."
"No," cried the prisoner with a supreme rally of his will power, "I have betrayed nothing—nothing," and, once more, while the doctor marveled, his pulse steadied and strengthened and grew normal.