'What is the matter?—why are you agitated?' demanded the commissaire, regarding her fixedly.
'It is nothing,' said poor Julia, much distressed by his stern and scrutinising look.
'Nothing? I fear it is something! Alas! I begin to lose hope.'
'Hope of what?' asked Julia wonderingly.
'Of your innocence!' replied the commissaire sternly.
'Mon Dieu! What do you mean?'
'Ah, restez tranquille, pauvre demoiselle; nous verrons toute-suite.' And with a shrug, he continued his investigation of the contents of the reticule-basket. It contained a great variety of little knick-knacks, which, with much patience, the commissaire turned out and examined, one by one. At length he came to a little parcel, the paper-envelope of which appeared to be part of an old letter, and was thickly covered with writing. It was one of Victor's letters. Julia blushed again.
'What have we here?' demanded the constable.
'I forget what there is inside,' said Julia. 'I hardly knew it was there.'
'Let us see.'