"Yes, yes, mademoiselle, he has vindicated himself, I even ..." Monsieur Fuselier stopped short, intensely pained, not knowing how to tell Elizabeth Dollon the terrible news.
At once she cried: "Ah, monsieur, you hesitate! You have learned something fresh? You are on the track of the assassins?"
"It is certain ... your brother is not guilty!"
The poor girl's countenance suddenly brightened. She had passed a horrible night after her return to Paris, and the receipt of the wire from Police Headquarters.
"What a nightmare!" she cried. "But the telegram said he was injured—nothing serious, is it?... Where is he now? Can I see him?"
"Mademoiselle," said the magistrate, "your brother has had a terrible shock!... It would be better!... I fear that!..."
Suddenly Elizabeth Dollon cried:
"Oh, monsieur, how you said that! How can seeing me do him harm?"
As Monsieur Fuselier did not reply, she burst into tears:
"You are hiding something from me! The papers said this morning that he also was a victim! Swear to me that he is not?"