Monsieur Fuselier had returned to his writing table.
Jérôme Fandor seemed to have recovered his composure, an ironic smile curved his lips beneath his small moustache, whilst his hand sought that of Elizabeth: it was the only way he could, at the moment, express the sympathy he had never ceased to feel for her.
Monsieur Fuselier filled in a printed paper and pressed an electric bell.
Two municipal guards appeared.
Monsieur Fuselier rose and signing to the soldiers to wait, he faced Elizabeth Dollon.
"Mademoiselle, have you any objections to make to the statements of Monsieur Jérôme Fandor? Will you say whether or no you received a visit from your brother?"
Elizabeth, tortured by intense emotion, her throat contracted, strove in vain to pronounce a word; at last, by a supreme effort, she murmured in a strangled voice:
"Oh! Why, you are all mad here!"
As she gave no direct reply to his question, Monsieur Fuselier, after a pause, announced in a grave voice:
"Mademoiselle! Until I have more ample information, I am under the cruel necessity of ordering your arrest!... Guards, arrest the accused!" cried the magistrate sternly.