"You must come with me. I have a warrant for your arrest." And he showed the paper.
But Alice staggered forward. "Why do you arrest him? What has he done?"
The man from headquarters answered, shrugging his shoulders: "I don't know what he's done, he's charged with murder."
"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my house!"
"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of Kittredge on either side.
"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am innocent."
"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame as he realized that he was a prisoner.
"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came straight from her soul:
"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you have done, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused you this afternoon. But you need me now, you're in trouble now, and, Lloyd, if—if you want me still, I'm yours, all yours."
"O God!" murmured Kittredge, and even the hardened policeman choked a little. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but—" He could say no more except with a last longing look: "Good-by."