know not, for she always had a private key with
her. The rest you know.

"Hence, dear friend, you will understand my
reluctance to have my boxes searched; and my
evasive answers as to the money and jewels
found in them.

"Had I told the truth, should I have been
believed? No! And how could I say
anything that would dishonour the good name of
one who has been more than a mother to me?
Besides, I did not know even the name of her
secret lover, and I had never seen him. No;
it is better as it is. l am ready to die. My secret
to all save you, shall die with me. That you
believe in my innocence is the only comfort I
have left me.

                        "Your unhappy friend,
                                               "ERNESTINE."

"Thank God!" murmured the young man,
pressing the paper to his lips. " Henceforth, I
will devote my life to prove your innocence to
the world. God grant it may not yet be too
late!"

Late though it was, Bernard at once repaired
to the prefect's house, and after some difficulty
procured admission. The prefect fortunately
happened to be an old friend of Bernard's father,
and it was because of this that the young man
was admitted at so late an hour.

"But, my good friend," said the old man,
after patiently listening to all he had to say,
"believe me, it is a useless task; there is no
doubt that the young woman is guilty either as
principal or as accomplice. Still, as you so
earnestly wish it, you shall be permitted to
search the apartments of the murdered lady.
And now good night," he added with a smile,
"and let me hear the result of your
investigations."

Early the next morning, Bernard, accompanied
by a gendarme, repaired to the baroness's house.
Everything lay exactly as it had been left on
the fatal morning; for the house had been and
was still in the custody of the police. Not a
drawer, nor a cupboard escaped Bernard's
notice. There was no violence visible on the
windows, as if forcible admission had been
gained from the outside. Nothing, in fact,
presented itself which gave the slightest clue to
the mystery.

The search had now occupied several hours,
and Bernard felt that it was useless to remain
there any longer. With a sad and heavy heart,
therefore, he proceeded to leave the apartment.
But in passing out into the entrée, which was
quite dark, his foot struck against something,
which, on taking up, he found to be a hat.
Thinking it belonged to the baron, he was about
to hang it up with the others on the peg from
which he supposed it to have fallen.

"That hat, monsieur, if you please; I do not
remember to have seen it before. It is strange,"
remarked the gendarme, as he compared the hat
in question with the others that hung up in the
entrée; " it is larger, and of a different shape to
them!"

"Let me have it, my good friend; I will show
it to the prisoner. If it should chance to belong
to this secret lover of the murdered lady!"
thought Bernard to himself, as he hurriedly
drove to the prison.

Ernestine was anxiously expecting to see her
friend, for he had promised to visit her that day
again; and she wished to learn from his own
lips whether he still believed in her innocence.

"Do you know this hat, Ernestine?" said
Bernard, on entering the cell.

"That hat—good Heavens!—it is the very hat
which the baron had on the night he left Paris,"
said Ernestine, in an excited manner.

"Impossible!—we compared it with the other
hats—and this is much larger. I believe it
belonged to the baroness's lover—-"

"No—no—a thousand times no—it is the
baron's—he bought it the very day he left. It
was too large for him, and he asked me to put
some wadding under the lining for him—see—
if it be not there!"

"But, Ernestine, it must be fancy on your
part—this hat never belonged to the baron!
But—stay—you are right," added Bernard, as,
on turning up the lining, the wadding fell out,
and with it a piece of paper which had been
used to add a little to its thickness. It was a
bill written by the landlord of an hotel at Strasburg,
made out in the baron's name, for a week's
board and lodging. It was dated April 7,—
just fourteen days after his departure from
Paris.

Ernestine and Bernard looked at each other
for a few moments in silence, as strange
thoughts passed through the minds of each.

That it was the baron's hat was now proved
—but how did it come there? Had he returned
to Paris secretly before the murder? Was he
the murderer?

Ernestine turned deadly pale.

"Do you suppose that the baron—" she
gasped.

"Is the murderer?" added Bernard, finishing
the sentence. " Yes! I do. But I will go at
once to the prefect."

For the first time since her condemnation a
faint ray of hope was kindled in Ernestine's
heart. The sight of Bernard, her old friend in
happier days, had indeed excited a wish to live
in her young breast.

"How thankful I am I did not say anything
at the trial. The good God will protect me!"

Bernard now left the prison aud hastened to
the house of the prefect.

"Well! and what did you find?" asked the
old man, smiling sadly at his young friend, who
rushed into the room without waiting to be
announced.

"Be good enough to examine this hat," said
Bernard, as he handed it to him, and recounted
to him the manner in which he had found it,
and what Ernestine had subsequently told him.

"Her husband!—he the murderer! Yes, it
is plain—and we have been accusing an
innocent girl!" ejaculated the prefect, carefully
examining the hat; "but leave me now; I must