“Has he had communication with anybody?” asked Monsieur de Granville.

“With all the prisoners, for he has been out in the yard since about half-past seven.  And he has seen the condemned man, who would seem to have talked to him.”

A speech of Camusot’s, which recurred to his mind like a flash of light, showed Monsieur de Granville all the advantage that might be taken of a confession of intimacy between Jacques Collin and Theodore Calvi to obtain the letters.  The public prosecutor, glad to have an excuse for postponing the execution, beckoned Monsieur Gault to his side.

“I intend,” said he, “to put off the execution till to-morrow; but let no one in the prison suspect it.  Absolute silence!  Let the executioner seem to be superintending the preparations.

“Send the Spanish priest here under a strong guard; the Spanish Embassy claims his person!  Gendarmes can bring up the self-styled Carlos by your back stairs so that he may see no one.  Instruct the men each to hold him by one arm, and never let him go till they reach this door.

“Are you sure, Monsieur Gault, that this dangerous foreigner has spoken to no one but the prisoners!”

“Ah! just as he came out of the condemned cell a lady came to see him——­”

The two magistrates exchanged looks, and such looks!

“What lady was that!” asked Camusot.

“One of his penitents—­a Marquise,” replied Gault.

“Worse and worse!” said Monsieur de Granville, looking at Camusot.

“She gave all the gendarmes and warders a sick headache,” said Monsieur Gault, much puzzled.

“Nothing can be a matter of indifference in your business,” said the public prosecutor.  “The Conciergerie has not such tremendous walls for nothing.  How did this lady get in?”

“With a regular permit, monsieur,” replied the governor.  “The lady, beautifully dressed, in a fine carriage with a footman and a chasseur, came to see her confessor before going to the funeral of the poor young man whose body you had had removed.”

“Bring me the order for admission,” said Monsieur de Granville.

“It was given on the recommendation of the Comte de Serizy.”

“What was the woman like?” asked the public prosecutor.

“She seemed to be a lady.”

“Did you see her face?”

“She wore a black veil.”

“What did they say to each other?”

“Well—­a pious person, with a prayer-book in her hand—­what could she say?  She asked the Abbe’s blessing and went on her knees.”

“Did they talk together a long time?”

“Not five minutes; but we none of us understood what they said; they spoke Spanish no doubt.”

“Tell us everything, monsieur,” the public prosecutor insisted.  “I repeat, the very smallest detail is to us of the first importance.  Let this be a caution to you.”

“She was crying, monsieur.”