“After all,” he corrected himself, “what does it matter?  I’ll put the things on,” and, with his old impassive air, he went to the table and, aided by the guard, quickly donned the boots and garments of the wood carver.  He even smiled contemptuously as he did so.

“What a man!  What a man!” thought Coquenil, watching him admiringly.

“There!” said the prisoner when the thing was done.

But the judge shook his head.  “You’ve forgotten the beard and the wig.  Suppose you help make up his face,” he said to the detective.

M. Paul fell to work zealously at this task and, using an elaborate collection of paints, powders, and brushes that were in the bag, he presently had accomplished a startling change in the unresisting prisoner—­he had literally transformed him into the wood carver.

“If you’re not Groener now,” said Coquenil, surveying his work with a satisfied smile, “I’ll swear you’re his twin brother.  It’s the best disguise I ever saw, I’ll take my hat off to you on that.”

“Extraordinary!” murmured the judge.  “Groener, do you still deny that this disguise belongs to you?”

[Illustration:  “’It’s the best disguise I ever saw, I’ll take my hat off to you on that.’”]

“I do.”

“You’ve never worn it before?”

“Never.”

“And you’re not Adolf Groener?”

“Certainly not.”

“You haven’t a young cousin known as Alice Groener?”

“No.”

During these questions the door had opened silently at a sign from the magistrate, and Alice herself had entered the room.

“Turn around!” ordered the judge sharply, and as the accused obeyed he came suddenly face to face with the girl.

At the sight of him Alice started in surprise and fear and cried out:  “Oh,
Cousin Adolf!”

But the prisoner remained impassive.

“Did you expect to see this man here?” the magistrate asked her.

“Oh, no,” she shivered.

“No one had told you you might see him?”

“No one.”

The judge turned to Coquenil.  “You did not prepare her for this meeting in any way?”

“No,” said M. Paul.

“What is your name?” said Hauteville to the girl.

“Alice Groener,” she answered simply.

“And this man’s name?”

“Adolf Groener.”

“You are sure?”

“Of course, he is my cousin.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Why I—­I’ve always known him.”

Quick as a flash the prisoner pulled off his wig and false beard.

“Am I your cousin now?” he asked.

“Oh!” cried the girl, staring in amazement.

“Look at me!  Am I your cousin?” he demanded.

“I—­I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Am I talking to you with your cousin’s voice?  Pay attention—­tell me—­am I?”

Alice shook her head in perplexity.  “It’s not my cousin’s voice,” she admitted.