one day, during the second week in march, m. denizet, the examining-magistrate, had again summoned certain important witnesses in the grandmorin case, to his chambers at the rouen law courts.
for the last three weeks, this case had been causing enormous sensation. it had set rouen upside down; it had impassioned paris; and the opposition newspapers, in their violent campaign against the empire, had just grasped it as a weapon. the forthcoming general elections, which occupied the public mind in preference to all other political events, added keen excitement to the struggle. in the chamber there had been some very stormy sittings; one at which the validity of the powers of two members attached to the emperor's household, had been bitterly disputed; and another that had given rise to a most determined attack on the financial administration of the prefect of the seine, coupled with a demand for the election of a municipal council.
the grandmorin case, coming at an appropriate moment, served to keep up the agitation. the most extraordinary stories were abroad. every morning, the newspapers were full of assumptions injurious for the government. on the one hand, the public were given to understand that the victim—a familiar figure at the tuileries, formerly on the bench, commander of the legion of honour, immensely rich—was addicted to the most frightful debauchery; on the[pg 96] other, the inquiry into the case, having so far proved fruitless, they began to accuse the police and legal authorities, of winking at the affair, and joked about the legendary assassin who could not be found. if there was a good deal of truth in these attacks, they were all the harder to bear.
m. denizet was fully alive to his heavy responsibility. he, also, became impassioned with the case, and the more so as he was ambitious, and had been burning to have a matter of this importance in his hands, so as to bring into evidence the high qualities of perspicacity and energy with which he credited himself.
the son of a large normandy cattle-breeder, he had studied law at caen, but had entered the judicial department of the government rather late in life; and, his peasant origin, aggravated by his father's bankruptcy, had made his promotion slow. substitute at bernay, dieppe, and havre, it had taken him ten years to become imperial procurator at pont-audemer; then, sent to rouen as substitute, he had been acting as examining-magistrate for eighteen months, and was over fifty years of age.
without any fortune, a prey to requirements that could not be satisfied out of his meagre salary, he lived in this ill-remunerated dependence of the magistracy, only frankly accepted by men of mediocre capacity, and where the intelligent are eaten up with envy, whilst on the look-out for an opportunity to sell themselves.
m. denizet was a man of the most lively intelligence, with a very penetrating mind. he was even honest, and fond of his profession, intoxicated with his great power which, in his justice-room, made him absolute master of the liberty of others. it was his interests alone that kept his zeal within bounds. he had such a burning desire to be decorated and transferred to paris, that, after having at the commencement of the inquiry, allowed himself to be carried away by his love of truth, he now proceeded with extreme prudence,[pg 97] perceiving pitfalls on all sides, which might swallow up his future.
it must be pointed out that m. denizet had been warned; for, from the outset of his inquiry, a friend had advised him to look in at the ministry of justice in paris. he did so, and had a long chat with the secretary, m. camy-lamotte, a very important personage, possessing considerable power over the gentlemen comprising this branch of the civil service. it was, moreover, his duty to prepare the list of promotions, and he was in constant communication with the tuileries. he was a handsome man, who had started on his career as substitute, like his visitor; but through his connections and his wife, he had been elected deputy, and made grand officer of the legion of honour.
the case had come quite naturally into his hands. the imperial procurator at rouen, disturbed at this shady drama wherein a former judge figured as victim, had taken the precaution to communicate with the minister, who had passed the matter on to the secretary. and here came a coincidence: m. camy-lamotte happened to be a schoolfellow of president grandmorin. younger by a few years, he had been on such terms of intimacy with him that he knew him thoroughly, even to his vices. and so, he spoke of his friend's tragic death with profound affliction, and talked to m. denizet of nothing but his warm desire to secure the guilty party. but he did not disguise the fact that they were very much annoyed at the tuileries, about the stir the business had occasioned, which was quite out of proportion to its importance, and he had taken the liberty to recommend great tact.
in fact, the magistrate had understood that he would do well not to be in a hurry, and to avoid running any risk unless previously approved. he had even returned to rouen with the certainty that the secretary, on his part, had sent out detectives, wishing to inquire into the case himself. they[pg 98] wanted to learn the truth, so as to be better able to hide it, if necessary.
nevertheless, time passed, and m. denizet, notwithstanding his efforts to be patient, became irritated at the jokes of the press. then the policeman reappeared, sniffing the scent, like a good hound. he was carried away by the necessity of finding the real track, for the glory of being the first to discover it, and reserving his freedom to abandon it if he received orders to do so. and, whilst awaiting a letter, a piece of advice, a simple sign from the ministry which failed to reach him, he had actively resumed his inquiry.
not one of the two or three arrests that had been made, could be maintained. but, suddenly, the opening of the will of president grandmorin aroused in m. denizet a suspicion, which he felt had flashed through his mind at the first—the possible guilt of the roubauds. this will, full of strange legacies, contained one by which séverine inherited the house situated at the place called la croix-de-maufras. from that moment, the motive of the crime, sought in vain until then, became evident—the roubauds, aware of the legacy, had murdered their benefactor to gain possession of the property at once. this idea haunted him the more, as m. camy-lamotte had spoken in a peculiar way of madame roubaud, whom he had known formerly at the home of the president when she was a young girl. only, how unlikely! how impossible, materially and morally! since searching in this direction, he had at every step, encountered facts that upset his conception of a classically conducted judicial inquiry. nothing became clear; the great central light, the original cause which would illuminate everything, was wanting.
another clue existed which m. denizet had not lost sight of, the one suggested by roubaud himself—that of the man who might have got into the coupé, thanks to the crush, at the moment the train was leaving. this was the[pg 99] famous legendary murderer who could not be found, and in reference to whom the opposition newspapers were making such silly fun. at the outset, every effort had been made to trace this man. at rouen, where he had entered the train, at barentin, where he had left it; but the result had lacked precision. some witnesses even denied that it could have been possible for the reserved coupé to be taken by assault, others gave the most contradictory information. and this clue seemed unlikely to lead to anything, when the magistrate, in questioning the signalman, misard, came involuntarily upon the dramatic adventure of cabuche and louisette, the young girl who, victimised by the president, had repaired to the abode of her sweetheart to die.
this information burst on him like a thunderbolt, and at once he formulated the indictment in his head. it was all there—the threats of death made by the quarryman against his victim, the deplorable antecedents of the man, an alibi, clumsily advanced, impossible to prove. in secrecy, on the previous night, in a moment of energetic inspiration, he had caused cabuche to be carried off from the little house he occupied on the border of the wood, a sort of out-of-the-way cavern, where those who arrested the man, found a pair of blood-stained trousers. and, whilst offering resistance to the conviction gaining on him, whilst determined not to abandon the presumption against the roubauds, he exulted at the idea that he alone had been smart enough to discover the veritable assassin. it was in view of making this a certainty that, on this specific day, he had summoned to his chambers several witnesses who had already been heard immediately after the crime.
the quarters of the examining-magistrate were near the rue jeanne d'arc, in the old dilapidated building, dabbed against the side of the ancient palace of the dukes of normandy, now transformed into the law courts, which it dishonoured. this large, sad-looking room on the ground[pg 100] floor was so dark, that in winter it became necessary to light a lamp at three o'clock in the afternoon. hung with old, discoloured green paper, its only furniture were two armchairs, four chairs, the writing-table of the magistrate, the small table of the registrar; and, on the frigid-looking mantelpiece, two bronze cups, flanking a black marble timepiece. behind the writing-table was a door leading to a second room, where the magistrate sometimes concealed persons whom he wished to have at hand; while the entrance door opened direct on a broad corridor supplied with benches, where witnesses waited.
the roubauds were there at half-past one, although the subp?nas had only been made returnable for two o'clock. they came from havre, and had taken time to lunch at a little restaurant in the grande rue. both attired in black, he in a frock coat, she in a silk gown, like a lady, maintained the rather wearisome and painful gravity of a couple who had lost a relative. she sat on a bench motionless, without uttering a word, whilst he, remaining on his feet, his hands behind his back, strode slowly to and fro before her. but at each turn their eyes met, and their concealed anxiety then passed like a shadow over their mute countenances.
although the croix-de-maufras legacy had given them great joy, it had revived their fears; for the family of the president, particularly his daughter, indignant at the number of strange donations which amounted to half the entire fortune, spoke of contesting the will; and madame de lachesnaye, influenced by her husband, showed herself particularly harsh for her old friend séverine, whom she loaded with the gravest suspicions. on the other hand, the idea that there existed a proof, which roubaud at first had not thought of, haunted him with constant dread: the letter which he had compelled his wife to write, so as to cause grandmorin to leave, would be found, unless the latter had destroyed it, and the writing recognised. fortunately, time passed and nothing happened;[pg 101] the letter must have been torn up. nevertheless, every fresh summons to the presence of the examining-magistrate, gave them a cold perspiration in their correct attitude of heirs and witnesses.
two o'clock struck. jacques in his turn appeared. he came from paris. roubaud at once advanced, with his hand extended in a very expansive manner.
"ah! so they've brought you here as well. what a nuisance this sad business is. it seems to have no end!"
jacques, perceiving séverine, still seated, motionless, had stopped short. for the past three weeks, every two days, at each of his journeys to havre, the assistant station-master had shown him great affability. on one occasion even, he had to accept an invitation to lunch; and seated beside the young woman, he felt himself agitated with his old shivers, and quite upset. could it be possible that he would want to slay this one also? his heart throbbed, his hands burnt at the mere sight of the white muslin at her neck, bordering the rounded bodice of her gown. and he determined, henceforth, to keep away from her.
"and what do they say about the case at paris?" resumed roubaud. "nothing new, eh? look here, they know nothing; they'll never know anything. come and say how do you do to my wife."
he dragged him forward, so that jacques approached and bowed to séverine, who, looking a little confused, smiled with her air of a timid child. he did his best to chat about commonplace matters, with the eyes of the husband and wife fixed on him, as if they sought to read even beyond his own thoughts, in the vague reflections to which he hesitated to lend his mind. why was he so cold? why did he seem to do his best to avoid them? was his memory returning? could it be for the purpose of confronting them with him, that they had been sent for again? they sought to bring over this single witness, whom they feared, to their side, to[pg 102] attach him to them by such firm bonds of fraternity that he would not have the courage to speak against them.
it was the assistant station-master, tortured by uncertainty, who brought up the case again.
"so you have no idea as to why they have summoned us? perhaps there is something new?"
jacques gave a shrug of indifference.
"a rumour was abroad just now at the station, when i arrived, that there had been an arrest," said he.
the roubauds were astounded, becoming quite agitated and perplexed. what! an arrest? no one had breathed a word to them on the subject! an arrest that had been already made, or an arrest about to take place? they bombarded him with questions, but he knew nothing further.
at that moment, a sound of footsteps, in the corridor, attracted the attention of séverine.
"here come berthe and her husband," she murmured.
the lachesnayes passed very stiffly before the roubauds. the young woman did not even give her former comrade a look. an usher at once showed them into the room of the examining-magistrate.
"oh! dear me! we must have patience," said roubaud. "we shall be here for at least two hours. sit you down."
he had just placed himself on the left of séverine, and, with a motion of the hand, invited jacques to take a seat near her, on the other side. the driver remained standing a moment longer. then, as she looked at him in her gentle, timid manner, he sank down on the bench. she appeared very frail between the two men. he felt she possessed a submissive, tender character, and the slight warmth emanating from this woman, slowly torpified him from tip to toe.
in m. denizet's room the interrogatories were about to commence. the inquiry had already supplied matter for an enormous volume of papers, enclosed in blue wrappers. every effort had been made to follow the victim from the[pg 103] time he left paris. m. vandorpe, the station-master, had given evidence as to the departure of the 6.30 express. how the coach no. 293 had been added on at the last moment; how he had exchanged a few words with roubaud, who had got into his compartment a little before the arrival of president grandmorin; finally, how the latter had taken possession of his coupé, where he was certainly alone.
then, the guard, henri dauvergne, questioned as to what had occurred at rouen during the ten minutes the train waited, was unable to give any positive information. he had seen the roubauds talking in front of the coupé, and he felt sure they had returned to their compartment, the door of which had been shut by an inspector; but his recollection was vague, owing to the confusion caused by the crowd, and the obscurity in the station. as to giving an opinion whether a man, the famous murderer who could not be found, would have been able to jump into the coupé as the train started, he thought such a thing very unlikely, whilst admitting it was possible; for, to his own knowledge, something similar had already occurred twice.
other members of the company's staff at rouen, on being examined on the same points, instead of throwing light on the matter, only entangled it by their contradictory answers. nevertheless, one thing proved was the shake of the hand given by roubaud from inside his compartment to the station-master at barentin, who had got on the step. this station-master, m. bessière, had formally acknowledged the incident as exact, and had added that his colleague was alone with his wife, who was half lying down, and appeared to be tranquilly sleeping.
moreover, the authorities had gone so far as to search for the passengers who had quitted paris in the same compartment as the roubauds. the stout lady and gentleman who arrived late, almost at the last minute, middle-class people from petit-couronne, had stated that having immediately[pg 104] dozed off to sleep, they were unable to say anything; and, as to the woman in black, who remained silent in her corner, she had melted away like a shadow. it had been absolutely impossible to trace her.
then, there were other witnesses, the small fry who had served to identify the passengers who left the train that night at barentin, the theory being that the murderer must have got out there. the tickets had been counted, and they had succeeded in recognising all the travellers except one, and he precisely was a great big fellow, with his head wrapped up in a blue handkerchief. some said he wore a coat, and others a short smock. about this man alone, who had disappeared, vanished like a dream, there existed three hundred and ten documents, forming a confused medley, in which the evidence of one person was contradicted by that of another.
and the record was further complicated by the written evidence of the legal authorities: the account drawn up by the registrar, whom the imperial procurator and the examining-magistrate had taken to the scene of the crime, comprising quite a bulky description of the spot, on the metal way, where the victim was lying; the position of the body, the attire, the things found in the pockets establishing his identity; then, the report of the doctor, also conducted there, a document in which the wound in the throat was described at length in scientific terms; the only wound, a frightful gash, made with a sharp instrument, probably a knife.
and there were other reports and documents about the removal of the body to the hospital at rouen, the length of time it had remained there before being delivered to the family. but in this mass of papers appeared but one or two important points. first of all, nothing had been found in the pockets, neither the watch, nor a small pocket-book, which should have contained ten banknotes of a thousand francs each, a sum due to the sister of president grandmorin, madame bonnehon, and which she was expecting.
[pg 105]
it therefore would have seemed that the motive of the crime was robbery, had not a ring, set with a large brilliant, remained on the finger of the victim. this circumstance gave rise to quite a series of conjectures. unfortunately the numbers of the banknotes were missing; but the watch was known. it was a very heavy, keyless watch, with the monogram of the president on the back, and the number, 2516, of the manufacturer, inside. finally, the weapon, the knife the murderer had used, had occasioned diligent search along the line, among the bushes in the vicinity, where he might have thrown it; but with no result. the murderer must have concealed the knife in the same place as the watch and banknotes. nothing had been found but the travelling-rug of the victim, which had been picked up at a hundred yards or so from barentin station, where it had been abandoned as a dangerous article; and it figured among other objects that might assist to convict the culprit.
when the lachesnayes entered, m. denizet, erect before his writing-table, was perusing the examination of one of the first witnesses, which his registrar had just routed out from among the other papers. he was a short and rather robust man, clean-shaven, and already turning grey. his full cheeks, square chin, and big nose, had a sort of pallid immobility, which was increased by the heavy eyelids half closing his great light eyes. but all the sagacity, all the adroitness he believed he possessed, was centred in his mouth—one of those mouths of an actor that express the feelings of the owner off the stage. this mouth was extremely active, and at moments, when he became very sharp, the lips grew thin. it was his sharpness that frequently led him astray. he was too perspicacious, too cunning with simple, honest truth. according to the ideal he had formed of his position, the man occupying it should be an anatomist in morals, endowed with second sight, extremely witty; and, indeed, he was by no means a fool.
[pg 106]
he at once showed himself amiable towards madame de lachesnaye, for he was still a magistrate full of urbanity, frequenting society in rouen and its neighbourhood.
"pray be seated, madam," said he.
and he offered a chair to the young woman, a sickly blonde, disagreeable in manner, and ugly in her mourning. but he was simply polite, and even a trifle arrogant, in look, towards m. de lachesnaye, who was also fair, with a delicate skin; for this little man—judge at the court of appeal from the age of thirty-six; decorated, thanks to the influence of his father-in-law, and to the services his father, also on the bench, had formerly rendered on the high commissions, at the time of the coup d'etat—represented in his eyes, the judicial functionary by favour, by wealth, the man of moderate gifts who had installed himself, certain of making rapid progress through his relatives and fortune; whereas he, poor, deprived of protective influence, found himself ever reduced to make way for others. and so he was not sorry to make this gentleman feel all his power in this room—the absolute power that he possessed over the liberty of everyone, to such a point that, by one word, he could transform a witness into an accused, and immediately have him arrested if it pleased him to do so.
"madam," he continued, "you will pardon me, if i am again obliged to torture you with this painful business. i know that you wish, as ardently as we do, to see the matter cleared up, and the culprit expiate his crime."
by a sign he attracted the attention of the registrar, a big, bilious-looking fellow with a bony face, and the examination commenced.
but m. de lachesnaye—who, seeing he was not asked to sit down, had taken a seat of his own accord—at the first questions addressed to his wife, did his best to put himself in her place. he proceeded to complain bitterly of the will of his father-in-law. who had ever heard of such[pg 107] a thing? so many, and such important legacies, that they absorbed almost half the fortune, which amounted to 3,700,000 frcs.—about ￡148,000! and legacies to persons who for the most part they did not know, to women of all classes! among them figured even a little violet-seller, who sat in a doorway in the rue du rocher. it was unacceptable, and he was only waiting for the inquiry into the crime to be completed, to see if he could not upset this immoral will.
whilst he complained in this manner, between his set teeth, showing what a stupid he was, an obstinate provincial, up to his neck in avarice, m. denizet watched him with his great light eyes half closed, and his artful lips assumed an expression of jealous disdain for this nonentity, who was not satisfied with two millions, and whom, no doubt, he would one day, see in the supreme purple of a president, thanks to all this money.
"i think, sir," said he at last, "that you would do wrong. the will could only be attacked if the total amount of the legacies exceeded half the fortune, and such is not the case."
then, turning to his registrar, he remarked:
"i say, laurent, you are not writing down all this, i hope."
with the suspicion of a smile, the latter set his mind at ease, like a man who knew his business.
"but, anyhow," resumed m. de lachesnaye more bitterly, "no one imagines, i suppose, that i am going to leave la croix-de-maufras to those roubauds. a present like that to the daughter of a domestic! and why? for what reason? besides, if it is proved that they were connected with the crime——"
m. denizet returned to the murder.
"do you really think so?" he inquired.
"well, if they knew what was in the will, their interest in the death of our poor father is manifest. observe,[pg 108] moreover, that they were the last to speak to him. all this looks very suspicious."
the magistrate, out of patience, disturbed in his new hypothesis, turned to berthe.
"and you, madam? do you think your old comrade capable of such a crime?"
before answering, she looked at her husband. during their few months of married life, they had communicated to one another their ill-humour and want of feeling, which, moreover, had increased. they were becoming vitiated together. it was he who had set her on to séverine; and, to such a point, that to get back the house, she would have had her old playmate arrested on the spot.
"well, sir," she ended by saying, "the person you speak about, displayed very bad tendencies as a child."
"what were they? do you accuse her of having acted improperly at doinville?"
"oh! no, sir; my father would not have allowed her to remain."
in this sentence the prudery of the respectable middle-class lady, flared up in virtuous indignation.
"only," she continued, "when one notices a disposition to be giddy, to be wild—briefly, many things that i should not have thought possible, appear to me positive at the present time."
m. denizet again showed signs of impatience. he was no longer following up this clue, and whoever continued to do so, became his adversary, and seemed to him to be putting the certainty of his intelligence in doubt.
"but come!" he exclaimed; "one must yield to reason. people like the roubauds would not kill such a man as your father, in order to inherit sooner; or, at least, there would be indications of them being in a hurry. i should find traces of this eagerness to possess and enjoy, elsewhere. no; the motive is insufficient. it is necessary to find another,[pg 109] and there is nothing. you bring nothing yourselves. then establish the facts. do you not perceive material impossibilities? no one saw the roubauds get into the coupé. one of the staff even thinks he can affirm that they returned to their compartment; and, as they were certainly there at barentin, it would be necessary to admit of a double journey between their carriage and that of the president, who was separated from them by three coaches, during the few minutes it required to cover the distance, and while the train was going at full speed. does that seem likely? i have questioned drivers and guards. all replied that long habit, alone, could give sufficient coolness and energy. in any case, the woman could not have been there. the husband must have run the risk without her, and to do what? to kill a protector who had just extricated him from serious embarrassment? no; decidedly no! the presumption is inadmissible. we must look elsewhere. ah! supposing a man, who got into the train at rouen, and left it at the next station, had recently uttered threats of death against the victim——"
in his enthusiasm, he was coming to his new theory. he was on the point of saying too much about it, when the door was set ajar to make way for the head of the usher; but, before the latter could utter a word, a gloved hand sent the door wide open, and a fair lady, attired in very elegant mourning, entered the room. she was still handsome at more than fifty years of age, but displayed the opulent and expansive beauty of a goddess grown old.
"it is i, my dear magistrate. i am behind time, and you must excuse me. the roads are very bad; the three leagues from doinville to rouen are as good as six to-day."
m. denizet had risen gallantly from his seat.
"i trust your health has been good, madam, since sunday last?" said he.
"very good. and you, my dear magistrate, have got[pg 110] over the fright my coachman gave you? the man told me the carriage got almost upset as he drove you back, before he had gone a couple of miles from the chateau."
"oh! merely a jolt. i had forgotten all about it. but pray be seated, and, as i just now said to madame de lachesnaye, pardon me for awakening your grief with this frightful business."
"well, as it has to be done——how do you do, berthe? how do you do, lachesnaye?"
it was madame bonnehon, the sister of the victim. she had kissed her niece, and pressed the hand of the husband. the widow, since the age of thirty, of a manufacturer who had left her a large fortune, and already wealthy in her own right, having inherited the estate at doinville in the division of property between herself and her brother, she had led a most pleasant existence, full of flirtations. but she was so correct, and so frank in appearance, that she had remained arbiter in rouennais society.
at times, and by taste, she had flirted with members of the bench. she had been receiving the judicial world, at the chateau, for the last five-and-twenty years—all that swarm of functionaries at the law courts whom her carriages brought from rouen and carried back in one continual round of festivities. at present, she had not calmed down; she was credited with displaying maternal tenderness for a young substitute, son of a judge at the court of appeal, m. chaumette. whilst working for the advancement of the son, she showered invitations and acts of kindness on the father. she had, moreover, preserved an admirer of the old days, also a judge, and a bachelor, m. desbazeilles, the literary glory of the rouen court of appeal, whose cleverly turned sonnets were on every tongue. for years he had a room at doinville. now, although more than sixty, he still went to dinner there, as an old comrade, whose rheumatism only permitted him the recollection of his past gallantry. she[pg 111] thus maintained her regal state by her good grace, in spite of threatening old age, and no one thought of wresting it from her. not before the previous winter had she felt a rival, a madame leboucq, the wife of another judge, whose house began to be much frequented by members of the bench. this circumstance gave a tinge of melancholy to her habitually gay life.
"then, madam, if you will permit me," resumed m. denizet, "i'll just ask you a few questions."
the examination of the lachesnayes was at an end, but he did not send them away. his cold, mournful apartment was taking the aspect of a fashionable drawing-room. the phlegmatic registrar again prepared to write.
"one witness spoke of a telegram your brother is supposed to have received, summoning him at once to doinville. we have found no trace of this wire. did you happen to write to him, madam?"
madame bonnehon, quite at ease, gave her answer as if engaged in a friendly chat.
"i did not write to my brother," said she, "i was expecting him. i knew he would be coming, but no date was fixed. he usually came suddenly, and generally by a night train. as he lodged in a pavilion apart, in the park, opening on a deserted lane, we never even heard him arrive. he engaged a trap at barentin, and only put in an appearance the following day, sometimes very late, like a neighbour in residence for a long time, who looked in on a visit. if i expected him on this occasion, it was because he had to bring me a sum of 10,000 frcs., the balance of an account we had together. he certainly had the 10,000 frcs. on him. and that is why i have always been of opinion that whoever killed him, simply did so for the purpose of robbing him."
the magistrate allowed a short silence to follow; then, looking her in the face, he inquired:
[pg 112]
"what do you think of madame roubaud and her husband?"
madame bonnehon, making a rapid gesture of protestation, exclaimed:
"ah! no! my dear monsieur denizet, you must not allow yourself to be led astray again, in regard to those worthy people. séverine was a good little girl, very gentle, very docile even, and, moreover, delightfully pretty, which was no disadvantage. it is my opinion, as you seem anxious for me to repeat what i have already said, that she and her husband are incapable of a bad action."
he nodded in approbation. he triumphed. and he cast a glance towards madame de lachesnaye. the latter, piqued, took upon herself to intervene.
"i think you are very easy for them, aunt!" she exclaimed.
"let be, berthe," answered the latter; "we shall never agree on this subject. she was gay, fond of mirth; and quite right too. i am well aware of what you and your husband think. but really, the question of interest must have turned your heads, for you to be so astounded at this legacy of la croix-de-maufras from your father to poor séverine. he brought her up, he gave her a marriage portion, and it was only natural he should mention her in his will. did he not look upon her as his own daughter? come! ah! my dear, money counts for very little in the matter of happiness!"
she, indeed, having always been very rich, was absolutely disinterested. moreover, with the refinement of a beautiful woman who was very much admired, she affected to think beauty and love the only things worth living for.
"it was roubaud who spoke of the telegram," remarked m. de lachesnaye drily. "if there was no telegram, the president could not have told him he had received one. why did roubaud lie?"
"but," exclaimed m. denizet with feeling, "the president may have invented this story of the telegram, himself, to[pg 113] explain his sudden departure to the roubauds! according to their own evidence, he was only to leave the next day; and, as he was in the same train as they were, he had to give some explanation, if he did not wish to tell them the real reason, which we all ignore, for that matter. this is without importance; it leads to naught."
another silence ensued. when the magistrate continued, he displayed much calm and precaution.
"i am now, madam," said he, "about to approach a particularly delicate matter, and i must beg you to excuse the nature of my questions. no one respects the memory of your brother more than myself. there were certain reports, were there not? it was pretended he had irregular connections."
madame bonnehon was smiling again with boundless toleration.
"oh! my dear sir, consider his age! my brother became a widower early. i never considered i had the right to interfere with what he thought fit to do. he therefore lived as he chose, without my meddling with his existence in any way. what i do know is that he maintained his rank, and that to the end, he mixed in the best society."
berthe, choking at the idea that they should talk of her father's left-handed connections in her presence, had cast down her eyes; whilst her husband, as uneasy as herself, had moved to the window, turning his back on the company.
"excuse me if i persist," said m. denizet; "but was there not some story about a young housemaid you had in your service?"
"oh! yes, louisette. but, my dear sir, she was a depraved little creature who, at fourteen, was on terms of intimacy with an ex-convict. an attempt was made to cause a set out against my brother, in connection with her death. it was infamous. i'll tell you the whole story."
[pg 114]
no doubt she spoke in good faith. although she knew all about the president's habits, and had not been surprised at his tragic death, she felt the necessity of defending the high position of the family. moreover, in regard to this unfortunate business about louisette, if she thought him quite capable of having made advances to the young girl, she was also convinced of her precocious depravity.
"picture to yourself a tiny thing, oh! so small, so delicate, blonde and rosy as a little angel, and gentle as well—the gentleness of a saint, to whom one would have given the sacrament without confession. well, before she was fourteen, she became the sweetheart of a sort of brute, a quarryman, named cabuche, who had just done five years' imprisonment for killing a man in a wine-shop. this fellow lived like a savage on the fringe of bécourt forest, where his father, who had died of grief, had left him a hut made of trunks of trees and earth. there he obstinately worked a part of the abandoned quarries, that formerly, i believe, supplied half the stone with which rouen is built. and it was in this lair that the girl went to join her ruffian, of whom everyone in the district were so afraid that he lived absolutely alone, like a leper. frequently they were met together, roving through the woods, holding one another by the hand; she so dainty, he huge and bestial—briefly, a depravity one would hardly have believed possible. naturally, i only heard of all this later. i had taken louisette into my service almost out of charity, to do a good action. her family, those misards, whom i knew to be poor, were very careful to conceal from me that they had soundly flogged the child, without being able to prevent her running off to her cabuche, as soon as a door stood open.
"my brother had no servants of his own at doinville. louisette and another woman did the housework in the detached pavilion which he occupied. one morning, when she had gone there alone, she disappeared. to my mind,[pg 115] she had premeditated her flight long before. perhaps her lover awaited her, and carried her off. but the horrifying part of the business was that five days later, came the report of the death of louisette, along with details of a rape, attempted by my brother, under such monstrous circumstances that the child, out of her mind, had gone to cabuche, where she had died of brain fever. what had happened? so many different versions were put about that it is difficult to say. for my part, i believe that louisette, who really died of pernicious fever, for this was established by a doctor, had been guilty of some imprudence, such as sleeping out in the open air, or wandering like a vagabond among the marshes. you, my dear sir, you cannot, yourself, conceive my brother torturing this mite of a girl. it is odious, impossible."
m. denizet had listened to this version of the business without either approving or disapproving. and madame bonnehon experienced some slight embarrassment in coming to an end. but, making up her mind, she added:
"of course, i do not mean to say that my brother did not joke with her. he liked young people. he was very gay, notwithstanding his rigid exterior. briefly, let us say he kissed her."
at this word, the lachesnayes protested in virtuous indignation.
"oh! aunt, aunt!"
but she shrugged her shoulders. why should she tell the magistrate falsehoods?
"he kissed her, tickled her, perhaps. there is no crime in that. and what makes me admit this, is that the invention does not come from the quarryman. louisette must be the falsehood-teller, the vicious creature who exaggerated things, in order to get her lover to keep her with him, perhaps. so that the latter, a brute, as i have told you, ended in good faith by imagining that we had killed his sweetheart. in[pg 116] fact he was mad with rage, and repeated in all the drinking-places that if the president fell into his hands, he would bleed him like a pig."
the magistrate, who had been silent up to then, interrupted her sharply.
"he said that? are there any witnesses to prove it?"
"oh! my dear sir, you will be able to find as many as you please. in conclusion, it was a very sad business, and caused us a great deal of annoyance. fortunately, the position of my brother placed him beyond suspicion."
madame bonnehon had just discovered the new clue that m. denizet was following, and this made her rather anxious. she preferred not to venture further, by questioning him in her turn. he had risen, and said he would not take any further advantage of the civility of the family in their painful position. by his orders, the registrar read over the examinations of the witnesses, before they signed them. they were perfectly correct, so thoroughly purged of all unnecessary and entangling words that madame bonnehon, with her pen in her hand, cast a glance of benevolent surprise at this pallid, bony laurent, whom she had not yet looked at.
then, as the magistrate accompanied her, along with her niece and nephew-in-law, to the door, she pressed his hands with the remark:
"i shall soon see you again, i hope. you know you are always welcome at doinville. and, thanks for coming; you are one of my last faithful ones."
her smile became quite melancholy. but her niece, who had walked out stiffly the first, had only made a slight inclination of her head to the magistrate.
when they were gone m. denizet breathed for a moment. he remained on his feet, thinking. to his mind the matter was becoming clear. grandmorin, whose reputation was well known, had certainly acted improperly. this made the inquiry a delicate matter. he determined to be more[pg 117] prudent than ever, until the communication he was expecting from the ministry reached him. but none the less, he triumphed; anyhow he held the culprit.
when he had resumed his seat at the writing-table, he rang up the usher.
"bring me the driver jacques lantier," said he.
the roubauds were still waiting on the bench in the corridor, with fixed countenances, as if their protracted patience had set them dozing; but their faces were occasionally disturbed by a nervous twitch, and the voice of the usher, calling jacques, seemed to make them slightly shudder, as they roused themselves. they followed the driver with expanded eyes, watching him disappear in the room of the magistrate. then they fell into their former attitude—paler, and silent.
for the last three weeks, jacques had been pursued by the uncomfortable feeling that all this business might end by turning against him. this was unreasonable, for there was naught he could reproach himself with, not even with keeping silent. and yet he entered the room of the examining-magistrate with that little creeping sensation of a guilty person, who fears his crime may be discovered, and he defended himself against the questions that were put to him; he was cautious in his answers, lest he might say too much. he, also, might have killed; was this not visible in his eyes? nothing was so repugnant to him as these summonses to the justice-room. he experienced a sort of anger at receiving them, saying he was anxious to be no longer tormented by matters that did not concern him.
but, on this occasion, m. denizet only dwelt upon the subject of the description of the murderer. jacques, being the single witness who had caught sight of him, could alone supply precise information. but he did not depart from what he had said at his first examination. he repeated that the scene of the murder had been a vision which had barely[pg 118] lasted a second, a picture that came and went so rapidly that it had remained as if without form, in the abstract, in his recollection. it was merely one man slaughtering another, and nothing more. for half an hour, the judge pestered him with patient persistence, questioning him in every imaginable sense. was he a big or a small man? had he a beard? did he wear his hair long or short? what were his clothes like? to what class of people did he appear to belong? and jacques, who was uneasy, only gave vague replies.
"look here," abruptly inquired m. denizet, staring him full in the eyes, "if he were shown to you, would you recognise him?"
he blinked slightly, seized with anguish under the influence of that piercing gaze, searching in his very brain. his conscience spoke aloud:
"know him? yes, perhaps."
but, immediately, his strange fear of unconscious complicity plunged him into his evasive system again, and he continued:
"but no; i don't think so. i should never dare say positively. just reflect! a speed of sixty miles an hour!"
with a gesture of discouragement, the magistrate was about to send him into the adjoining room to keep him at his disposal, when, changing his mind, he said:
"remain here. sit down."
and, ringing for the usher, he told him to introduce m. and madame roubaud.
as soon as they were at the doorway and saw jacques, their eyes lost their brilliancy in a feeling of vacillating anxiety. had he spoken? was he detained so as to be confronted with them? all their self-assurance vanished at the knowledge that he was there, and it was in a rather low voice that they began to give their answers. but the magistrate had simply turned to their first examination. they merely had to repeat[pg 119] the same sentences, almost identical, whilst m. denizet listened with bowed head, without even looking at them. all at once, he turned to séverine.
"madam," said he, "you told the commissary of police at the railway station, whose report i have here, that you had the idea, that a man got into the coupé at rouen, as the train began to move."
she was thunderstruck. why did he recall that? was it a snare? was he about to compare one answer with another, and so make her contradict herself? and, with a glance, she consulted her husband who prudently intervened.
"i do not think my wife was quite so positive, sir," he remarked.
"excuse me," replied the magistrate, "you suggested the thing was possible, and madam said, 'that is certainly what happened.' now, madam, i want to know whether you had any particular reasons for speaking as you did?"
she was now completely upset, convinced that if she did not take care, he would, from one answer to another, bring her to a confession. howbeit, she could not remain silent.
"oh! no, sir!" she exclaimed; "no reason. i merely said that by way of argument, because, in fact, it is difficult to explain the matter in any other way."
"then you did not see the man. you can tell us nothing about him?"
"no, no, sir, nothing!"
m. denizet seemed to abandon this point in the inquiry. but he at once returned to it with roubaud.
"and you? how is it that you did not see the man, if he really got into the coupé, for, according to your own deposition, you were talking to the victim when they whistled to send the train off?"
this persistence had the effect of terrifying the assistant station-master, in his anxiety to decide what course he ought to take—whether he should set aside his invention about the[pg 120] other man, or obstinately cling to it. if they had proofs against himself, the theory concerning the unknown murderer could hardly be maintained, and might even aggravate his own case. he gained time, until he could understand what was going on, answering in detail with confused explanations.
"it is really unfortunate," resumed m. denizet, "that your recollection is not more distinct, for you might help us to put an end to suspicions that have spread to several persons."
this seemed such a direct thrust at roubaud that he felt an irresistible desire to establish his own innocence. imagining himself discovered, he immediately made up his mind.
"this point is so thoroughly a matter of conscience," said he, "that one hesitates, you understand; nothing is more natural. supposing i were to confess to you that i really believe i saw the man——"
the magistrate gave a gesture of triumph, thinking this commencement of frankness due to his own ability. he had frequently remarked that he knew, by experience, what strange difficulty some witnesses found in divulging what they knew, and he flattered himself he could make this class of people unburden themselves, in spite of all.
"go on. how was he? short, tall, about your own height?"
"oh! no, no, much taller. at least, that was my sensation, for it was a simple sensation, an individual i am almost sure i brushed against, as i ran back to my own carriage."
"wait a moment," said m. denizet.
and, turning to jacques, he inquired:
"the man you caught sight of, with the knife in his hand, was he taller than monsieur roubaud?"
the driver, who was impatient, for he began to be afraid he would not catch the five o'clock train, raised his eyes and examined roubaud. and, it seemed to him, that he had never looked at him before. he was astonished[pg 121] to find him short, powerful, with a peculiar profile he had seen elsewhere, perhaps in a dream.
"no," he murmured, "not taller; about the same height."
but the assistant station master vehemently protested.
"oh! much taller! at least a head."
jacques fixed his eyes, wide open, upon him. and under the influence of this look, wherein he read increasing surprise, roubaud became agitated, as if to change his own appearance; while his wife also followed the dull effort of memory expressed by the face of the young man. clearly the latter was astonished. first of all, at certain analogies between roubaud and the murderer. then he abruptly became positive that roubaud was the assassin, as had been reported. he now seemed troubled at this discovery, and stood there with gaping countenance, unable to decide what to do. if he spoke, the couple were lost. the eyes of roubaud had met his. they penetrated one another to their innermost thoughts. there came a silence.
"then you do not agree?" resumed m. denizet, addressing jacques. "if, in your sight, he appeared shorter, it was no doubt because he was bent in the struggle with his victim."
he also looked at the two men. it had not occurred to him to make use of this confrontation; but, by professional instinct, he felt, at this moment, that truth was flitting away. his confidence was even shaken in the cabuche clue. could it be possible that the lachesnayes were right? could it be possible that the guilty parties, contrary to all appearance, were this upright employé, and his gentle young wife?
"did the man wear all his beard, like you?" he inquired of roubaud.
the latter had the strength to answer in a steady voice:
"all his beard? no, no! i think he had no beard at all."
jacques understood that the same question was about to be put to him. what should he say? he could have sworn the man had a full beard. after all, he was not interested[pg 122] in these people, why not tell the truth? but as he took his eyes off the husband, he met those of the wife, and in her look he read such ardent supplication, such an absolute gift of all her being, that he felt quite overcome. his old shiver came on him. did he love her? was she the one he could love, as one loves for love's sake, without a monstrous desire for destruction? and, at this moment, by singular counter-action in his trouble, it seemed to him that his memory had become obscured. he no longer saw the murderer in roubaud. the vision was again vague; he doubted, and to such an extent that he mortally regretted having spoken.
m. denizet put the question:
"had the man a full beard like monsieur roubaud?"
and he replied in good faith:
"sir, in truth, i cannot say. once more, it was too rapid: i know nothing. i will affirm nothing."
but m. denizet proved tenacious, for he wished to clear up the suspicion cast on the assistant station-master. he plied both roubaud and the driver with questions, and ended by getting a complete description of the murderer from the former: tall, robust, no beard, attired in a blouse—quite the reverse of his own appearance in every particular. but the driver only answered in evasive monosyllables, which imparted strength to the statements of the other. and the magistrate returned to the conviction he had formed at first. he was on the right track. the portrait the witness drew of the assassin was so exact that each new feature added to the certainty. it was the crushing testimony of this unjustly suspected couple, that would lay the head of the culprit low.
"step in there," said he to the roubauds and jacques, showing them into the adjoining room, when they had signed their examinations. "wait till i call you."
he immediately gave orders for the prisoner to be brought in, and he was so delighted, that he went to the length of remarking to his registrar:
[pg 123]
"laurent, we've got him."
but the door had opened, two gendarmes had appeared bringing in a great, big fellow between twenty-five and thirty. at a sign from the magistrate, they withdrew, and cabuche, bewildered, remained alone in the centre of the apartment, bristling like a wild beast at bay. he was a sturdy, thick-necked fellow, with enormous fists, and fair, with a very white skin. he had hardly any hair on his face, barely a golden down, curly and silken. the massive features, the low forehead, indicated the violent character of a being of limited brains, but a sort of desire to be tenderly submissive was shown in the broad mouth and square nose, as in those of a good dog.
seized brutally in his den in the early morning, torn from his forest, exasperated at accusations which he did not understand, he had already, with his wild look and rent blouse, all the suspicious air of a prisoner in the dock—that air of a cunning bandit which the jail gives to the most honest man. night was drawing in, the room was dark, and he had slunk into the shadow, when the usher brought a big lamp, having a globe without a shade, whose bright light lit up his countenance. then he remained uncovered, and motionless.
m. denizet at once fixed his great, heavy-lidded eyes on him. and he did not speak. this was the dumb engagement, the preliminary trial of his power, before entering on the warfare of the savage, the warfare of stratagem, of snares, of moral torture. this man was the culprit, everything became lawful against him. he had now no other right than that of confessing his crime.
the cross-examination commenced very slowly.
"do you know of what crime you are accused?"
cabuche, in a voice thick with impotent anger, grumbled:
"no one has told me, but i can easily guess. there has been enough talk about it!"
[pg 124]
"you knew monsieur grandmorin?"
"yes, yes; i knew him, only too well!"
"a girl named louisette, your sweetheart, went as housemaid to madame bonnehon?"
the quarryman flew into a frightful rage. in his anger, he was ready to shed blood.
"those who say that," he exclaimed with an oath, "are liars! louisette was not my sweetheart."
the magistrate watched him lose his temper with curiosity. and giving a turn to the examination, remarked:
"you are very violent. you were sentenced to five years' imprisonment for killing a man in a quarrel?"
cabuche hung his head. that sentence was his shame. he murmured:
"he struck first. i only did four years; they let me off one."
"so," resumed m. denizet, "you pretend that the girl louisette was not your sweetheart?"
again cabuche clenched his fists. then in a low, broken voice, he replied:
"you must know that when i came back from there, she was a child, under fourteen. at that time everyone fled from me. they would have stoned me; and she, in the forest, where i was always meeting her, approached me, and talked; she was so nice—oh! so nice! it was like that we became friends; we walked about holding each other by the hand. it was so pleasant—so pleasant in those days. of course she was growing, and i thought of her. i can't say the contrary. i was like a madman i loved her so. she was very fond of me, too, and in the end what you mean would have happened, but they separated her from me by placing her at doinville with this lady. then, one night, on coming from the quarry, i found her before my door, half out of her mind, so dreadfully upset that she was burning with fever. she had not dared return to her parents; she[pg 125] had come to die at my place. ah! the pig! i ought to have run and bled him at once!"
the magistrate pinched his artful lips, astonished at the sincere tone of the man. decidedly he would have to play a close game, he had to deal with a stronger hand than he had thought.
"yes," said he, "i know all about the frightful story that you and this girl invented. only, observe that the whole life of monsieur grandmorin places him above your accusations."
agitated, his eyes round with astonishment, his hands trembling, the quarryman stammered:
"what? what did we invent? it's the others who lie, and we are accused of doing so!"
"indeed!" observed the examining-magistrate. "do not try to act the innocent. i have already questioned misard, the man who married the mother of your sweetheart. i will confront him with you if it be necessary; you will see what he thinks of your tale, and be careful of your answers. we have witnesses, we know all. you had much better tell the truth."
these were his usual tactics of intimidation, even when he knew nothing, and had no witnesses.
"now, do you deny having shouted out in public, everywhere, that you would bleed monsieur grandmorin?" inquired m. denizet.
"ah! as to that, yes, i did say it. and i said it from the bottom of my heart; for my hand was jolly well itching to do it!" answered cabuche.
m. denizet stopped short in surprise, having expected to meet with a system of complete denial. what! the accused owned up to the threats? what stratagem did that conceal? fearing he might have been too hasty, he collected himself a moment, then, staring cabuche full in the face, he abruptly put this question to him:
[pg 126]
"what were you doing on the night of the 14th to the 15th of february?"
"i went to bed at dark, about six o'clock," replied the quarryman. "i was rather unwell, and my cousin louis did me the service to take a load of stones to doinville."
"yes, your cousin was seen, with the cart, passing over the line at the level crossing," remarked the magistrate; "but on being questioned, he could only make one reply, namely, that you left him about noon, and he did not see you again. prove to me that you were in bed at six o'clock."
"look here, that's stupid," protested cabuche. "i cannot prove that. i live all alone in a house at the edge of the forest. i was there, i say so, and nothing more."
then m. denizet decided on playing his trump card of assertion, which was calculated to impose on the party. his face, by a tension of will, became rigid, whilst his mouth performed the scene.
"i am going to tell you what you did on the night of february 14th," said he. "at three o'clock in the afternoon, you took the train for rouen, at barentin, with what object the inquiry has not revealed. you had the intention of returning by the paris train, which stops at rouen at 9.3; and while on the platform, amid the crowd, you caught sight of monsieur grandmorin in his coupé. observe that i am willing to admit there was no laying in wait for the victim, that the idea of the crime only occurred to you when you saw him. you entered the coupé, thanks to the crush, and waited until you were in the malaunay tunnel. but you miscalculated the time, for the train was issuing from the tunnel when you dealt the blow. and you threw out the corpse, and you left the train at barentin, after having got rid of the travelling-rug as well. that is what you did."
he watched for the slightest ripple on the rosy face of cabuche, and was irritated when the latter, who had been very attentive at first, ended by bursting into a hearty laugh.
[pg 127]
"what's that you're relating?" he exclaimed. "if i'd struck the blow i'd say so."
then he quietly added:
"i did not do it, but i ought to have done it. yes, i'm sorry i didn't."
and that was all m. denizet could get out of him. in vain did he repeat his questions, returning ten times to the same points by different tactics. no; always no! it was not he. he shrugged his shoulders, saying the idea was stupid. on arresting him they had searched the hovel, without discovering either weapon, banknotes, or watch. but they had laid hands on a pair of trousers, soiled with a few drops of blood—an overwhelming proof.
again he began to laugh. that was another pretty yarn! a rabbit, caught in a noose, had bled down his leg! and it was the magistrate who, in his unswerving conviction of the guilt of the prisoner, was losing ground by the display of too much professional astuteness, by complicating matters, by deposing simple truth. this man of small brains, incapable of holding his own in an effort of cunning, of invincible strength when he said no, always no, almost drove him crazy; for he was positive of the culpability of the man, and each fresh denial made him the more indignant at what he looked upon as obstinate perseverance in savagery and lies. he would force him into contradicting himself.
"so you deny it?" he said.
"of course i do, because it was not me," said cabuche. "had it been, ah! i should be only too proud, i should say it was me."
m. denizet abruptly rose, and opened the door of the small adjoining room. when he had summoned jacques, he inquired:
"do you recognise this man?"
"i know him," answered the driver, surprised. "i've seen him formerly at the misards."
[pg 128]
"no, no," said the magistrate. "do you recognise him as the man in the coupé, the murderer?"
at once, jacques became circumspect. as a matter of fact, he did not recognise the man. the other seemed to him shorter, darker. he was about to say so, when it struck him that even this might be going too far. and he continued evasively.
"i don't know, i can't say; i assure you, sir, that i cannot say."
m. denizet, without waiting, called the roubauds in their turn, and put the same question to them.
"do you recognise this man?"
cabuche continued smiling. he was not surprised. he nodded to séverine, whom he had known as a young girl when she resided at la croix-de-maufras. but she and her husband had felt a pang, on perceiving him there. they understood. this was the man taken into custody, of whom jacques had spoken, the prisoner who had caused this fresh examination. and roubaud was astounded, terrified at the resemblance of this fellow to the imaginary murderer, whose description he had invented, the reverse of his own. it was pure chance, but it so troubled him that he hesitated to reply.
"come, do you recognise him?" repeated the magistrate.
"sir," answered roubaud, "i can only say again that it was a simple sensation, an individual who brushed against me. of course this man is tall, like the other, and he is fair, and has no beard."
"anyhow, do you recognise him?" asked m. denizet again.
"i cannot say positively. but there is a resemblance, a good deal of resemblance, certainly."
this time cabuche began to swear. he had had enough of these yarns. as he was not the culprit, he wanted to be off. and the blood flying to his head, he struck the table with his fists. he became so terrible that the gendarmes,[pg 129] who were called in, led him away. but in presence of this violence, of this leap of the beast who dashes forward when attacked, m. denizet triumphed. his conviction was now firmly established, and he allowed this to be seen.
"did you notice his eyes?" he inquired. "it's by the eyes that i tell them. ah! his measure is full. we've got him!"
the roubauds, remaining motionless, exchanged glances. what now? it was all over. as justice had the culprit in its grip, they were saved. they felt a trifle bewildered, their consciences were pricked at the part events had just compelled them to play. but overwhelmed with joy, they made short work of their scruples, and they smiled at jacques. considerably relieved, eager for the open air, they were waiting for the magistrate to dismiss all three of them, when the usher brought him a letter.
in a moment m. denizet, oblivious of the three witnesses, was at his writing-table, perusing the communication. it was the letter from the ministry containing the indications he should have had the patience to await before resuming the inquiry. what he read must have lessened his feeling of triumph, for his countenance, little by little, became frigid, and resumed its sad immobility. at a certain moment he raised his head, to cast a glance sideways at the roubauds, as if one of the phrases reminded him of them. the latter, bereft of their brief joy, once more became a prey to uneasiness, feeling themselves caught again.
why had he looked at them? had the three lines of writing—that clumsy note which haunted them—been found in paris? séverine was well acquainted with m. camy-lamotte, having frequently seen him at the house of the president, and she was aware that he had been entrusted with the duty of sorting his papers. roubaud was tortured by the keenest regret that the idea had not occurred to him to dispatch his wife to paris, where she might have paid useful[pg 130] visits, and at the least made sure of the support of the secretary to the ministry, in case the company, annoyed at the nasty rumours in circulation, should think of dismissing him. thenceforth, neither of them took their eyes off the magistrate, and their anxiety increased as they noticed him become gloomy, visibly disconcerted at this letter which upset all his good day's work.
at last, m. denizet left the letter, and for a moment remained absorbed, his eyes wide open, resting on the roubauds and jacques. then, submitting to the inevitable, speaking aloud to himself, he exclaimed:
"well, we shall see! we shall have to return to all this! you can withdraw."
but as the three were going out, he could not resist the desire to learn more, to throw light on the grave point which destroyed his new theory, although he was recommended to do nothing further, without previously coming to an understanding with the authorities.
"no; you remain here a minute," said he, addressing the driver. "i've another question to put to you."
the roubauds stopped in the corridor. they were free, and yet they could not go. something detained them there: the anguish to learn what was passing in the magistrate's room, the physical impossibility to depart before ascertaining from jacques, what the other question was that had been put to him. they turned and turned, they beat time with their worn out legs; and they found themselves again side by side, on the bench where they had already waited for hours. there they sat, downcast and silent.
when the driver reappeared, roubaud rose with effort.
"we were waiting for you," said he. "we'll go to the station together. well?"
but jacques turned his head aside, in embarrassment, as if wishing to avoid the eyes of séverine which were fixed on him.
"he's all at sea, floundering about," he ended by saying.[pg 131] "look here, he is now asking me whether there were not two who did the deed. and, as at havre, i spoke of a black mass weighing on the old chap's legs. he questioned me on the point; he seems to fancy it was only the rug. then he sent for it, and i had to express an opinion. well, now, yes, when i come to think, perhaps it was the rug."
the roubauds shuddered. they were on their track; one word from this man might ruin them. he certainly knew, and he would end by talking. and all three, the woman between the two men, left the law courts in silence. in the street the assistant station-master observed: "by the way, comrade, my wife will be obliged to go to paris, for a day, on business. it would be very good of you, if you would look after her, should she be in need of someone."
