“You don’t know his wife?”

“Perhaps I do if you say so.”

“But, my good woman, I don’t say so.  Do you know his wife, or do you not know his wife?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” said Mr. Staunton impatiently.  “Do you mean that you have no acquaintance with the wife of the prisoner?”

“I might.”

“What do you mean by might?”

“Aw now,” remonstrated Mrs. Fitzpatrick, “sure, ye wouldn’t be askin’ a poor woman like me the manin’ av a word like that.”

“Now, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, let us get done with this fooling.  Tell me whether you know the prisoner’s wife or not.”

“Indade, an’ the sooner yer done the better I’d like it.”

“Well, then, tell me.  You either know the prisoner’s wife or you don’t know her?”

“That’s as may be,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

“Then tell me,” thundered Staunton, losing all patience, “do you know this woman or not?” pointing to Paulina.

“That woman is it?” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.  “An’ why didn’t ye save yer breath an’ His ’Anner’s time, not to shpake av me own that has to work fer me daily bread, by askin’ me long ago if I know this woman?”

“Well, do you know her?”

“I do.”

“Then why did you not say so before when I asked you?” said the exasperated lawyer.

“I did,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick calmly.

“Did you not say that you did not know the wife of the prisoner?”

“I did not,” said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

By this time the whole audience, including the judge, were indulging themselves in a wide open smile.

“Well, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” at length said the lawyer, “I must be decidedly stupid, for I fail to understand you.”

“Indade, I’ll not be contradictin’ ye, fer it’s yersilf ought to know best about that,” replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick pleasantly.

A roar of laughter filled the court room.

“Silence in the court!  We must have order,” said the judge, recovering his gravity with such celerity as he could.  “Go on, Mr. Staunton.”

“Well, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, I understand that you know this woman, Paulina Koval.”

“It’s mesilf that’s plazed to hear it.”

“And I suppose you know that she is the prisoner’s wife?”

“An’ why wud ye be afther supposin’ such a thing?”

“Well! well!  Do you know it?”

“Do I know what?”

“Do you know that this woman, Paulina Koval, is the wife of the prisoner?”

“She might be.”

“Oh, come now, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, we are not splitting hairs.  You know perfectly well that this woman is the prisoner’s wife.”

“Indade, an’ it’s the cliver man ye are to know what I know better than I know mesilf.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Staunton impatiently, “will you say that you do not consider this woman the prisoner’s wife?”

“I will not,” replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick emphatically, “any more than I won’t say she’s yer own.”