This gentleman's name?
Is it de Berault or de Barthe ?' 'I am M.de Berault,' I said, brusquely, answering for myself.
'Of Paris ?' 'Yes, Monsieur, of Paris.' 'You are not, then, the gentleman who has been honouring my poor house with his presence ?' 'Oh, yes!' the Lieutenant struck in, grinning.

'He is that gentleman, too.' 'But I thought--I understood that that was M.de Barthe!' 'I am M.de Barthe, also,' I retorted impatiently.

'What of that, Monsieur?
It was my mother's name.

I took it when I came down here.' 'To--er--to arrest me, may I ask ?' 'Yes,' I said, doggedly; 'to arrest you.

What of that ?' 'Nothing,' he replied slowly and with a steady look at me--a look I could not meet.