"Try pathos," suggested his father. "Try to work on the sympathies of the judge and jury."
"That's what I'm going to do," smiled Raymond. "I've been practising tears in my voice for the last three days, but I'm not going to have an easy time of it. It's rather hard to find excuses for a woman when you don't know why the crime was committed." And he shook his head dubiously.
"On the contrary, that gives you every chance," declared his father. "See here! Your client won't speak and so she can't contradict. This gives you a fine opportunity to invent a host of reasons. Make the jury respect her silence! Throw a veil of mystery over the whole crime and give your imagination play. Say that she is the victim of heredity—say anything you can think of that will work on the jury's feelings and you have a good chance to win."
Raymond listened with eager attention.
"I had something of that in mind," he said, "but I'll work it up stronger than I intended. I didn't——"
He was interrupted by a cheery shout from the house-door and both turned quickly to see M. Noel hurrying across the garden. The elder men greeted each other with hearty affection.
"And how is the young disciple of St. Yves?" asked Noel.
"St. Yves?" questioned Raymond with a puzzled smile as he shook hands.
"Why, certainly! St. Yves of Brittany! Don't you know——? How does the Latin go, Louis?"
M. the President threw up his hands and laughed.