“What happened next?”

“The prisoner told him he must consider himself a prisoner on the charge of stealing a watch.  He laughed aloud and walked away.”

The landlady of the house, the policeman and the count all gave the same evidence.  It seemed very clear against him.

“What have you to say?” asked, the magistrate of the prisoner.

He raised his luminous gray eyes.

“Not one word,” he replied, in a clear, refined voice.

“What is your name?  I see you have refused to give any.”

For the first time the prisoner’s face flushed crimson, and the count smiled malignantly.

“My name is—­John Smith,” he replied, and again the count smiled.

“Your address?”

He gave some number and street which every one knew to be false.

“Your occupation?” asked the magistrate again.

“I have none—­that is, no settled occupation,” he replied.

“Have you no lawyer to defend you?” asked Mr. Kent.

“I require none,” said the prisoner; “I have no defense.  All that Count Jules St. Croix says is true; he found me in his room with the open casket in my hand.”

“You had gone there for the purpose of robbery?”

“I have not a word to answer.”

“You can surely give some account of your presence there?”

The prisoner smiled again.

“I refuse to do so,” he replied, with great firmness, yet courtesy of manner.

“Then I must commit you for trial,” said the magistrate.  “Have you no witnesses to bring forward in your own defense now, as to character—­no referees?” he continued.

“None,” was the quiet reply.

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Kent; “to see one who is so evidently a gentleman and a man of education in such a position.”

But there was no shame in the handsome face; none in the proud eyes.  He raised his head with haughty grace and made no reply.

“I can take bail,” said Mr, Kent, but the prisoner said, “I have none to offer.”

Then was the good magistrate puzzled.  He had no resource but to commit the young man to take his trial at the Sessions.  Yet looking at the clear, aristocratic face, and the firm, proud lips, he could have sworn that the prisoner was perfectly innocent of the theft.

He read pride, honesty, loyalty and chivalry in the face, yet there was nothing left for him to do but to commit him.

He looked very grave as he did so, and then John Smith was taken away by the policeman.  As he left the dock he turned to his accuser, the Count St. Croix, who stood there with a dark frown on his face; he looked at him for one moment, then waved his hand, as one who had won a great victory.

“I have conquered,” he said, and the count’s sallow face grew pale with rage,

“Curse you,” he said, between his teeth, “I should like to stand with my foot on your neck.”