“I like being a barrister,” thought Fandor, as he entered Saint-Lazare. “For the last hour I have felt a different person, much more serious, more sure of myself, not to say more eloquent!... I must be eloquent, since I have succeeded in persuading my friend, Maître Dubard, to get himself appointed officially as Mademoiselle Dollon’s counsel; then to obtain a permit of communication, and to hand this same permit over to me, so that his identification papers, safely tucked away in my portfolio, make of me the most indisputable of Maîtres Dubard!”

Fandor might well congratulate himself! By means of this ruse – his own idea – he was enabled to see Elizabeth, not in the prison parlour, but in a special cell, and without a witness. As Fandor crossed the threshold of the sordid building, he rehearsed to himself:

“I am Maître Dubard, visiting his client, in order to prepare her defence!”

He easily accomplished the necessary formalities, and, at last, he saw himself being conducted by a morose warder to a little parlour, scantily furnished with a table and a few stools.

“Please be seated, maître,” said the surly fellow. “I’ll fetch your client along.”

Fandor put down his portfolio, but remained standing, anxious, all aquiver at the thought that he was about to see his dear Elizabeth appear between two warders, just like a common prisoner!

In a moment she will be here, he thought.

But she must on no account recognise him on entering! By an exclamation she might betray his identity and complicate things! Therefore Fandor feigned to be absorbed in a newspaper which he unfolded and raised, so as to hide his face from the approaching pair. The door opened.“Come now! Go in!” growled the warder. “Maître, when you wish to leave, you have only to ring.” The door fell to, heavily, behind the warder.

Fandor made a sharp movement. He stood revealed.

He hurried up to Elizabeth.

“Oh, tell me how you are, Mademoiselle Elizabeth!” he cried.But the girl was struck dumb: she grew suddenly pale, and made no reply.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Will you not give me your hand even? You do not understand why I am here? I had to see you, speak to you without a witness ... that’s why I have passed myself off as an advocate!”

The startled girl was regaining her self-control.

Fandor was gazing at her with openly admiring eyes.

“Poor Elizabeth! How I have made you suffer!” The poor girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“Why have you betrayed me?” she demanded in a voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Oh, how could you get me arrested? You, who well know I am not guilty?”

“You really believe I have betrayed you? You actually credited me with that?”

These two young people, meeting in a prison parlour under such tragic circumstances, were hurt and even angry with each other.

Elizabeth Dollon went on: