Maitre Barraud had, by little and little, built up a theory for his
defence which, thanks to his keen observation and brilliant intuition,
was not far from the truth. He was satisfied that the young baron had
repaid the money, and that M. de Cadanet, though he punished him with
silence, had no intention of making the matter public. What the
advocate thought probable was, however, that by one of those unlucky
forgetfulnesses to which all men are liable, the old count had never
destroyed the letter of confession, and that Charles Lemaire had found
it among his other papers after his death. He believed that it was
highly probable M. de Cadanet had given some hint beforehand which was
sufficient to enable a sharp and unscrupulous man to put two and two
together, and arrive at his accusation. The world with whom he dined
was of no more use to him than the wet towel might have been. Mme. de
Pontharmin, it is true, said: "Do not disappoint us. I do not know
whether he is guilty, but I shall break my heart if you do not prove him
innocent,"--but this was a command and not a suggestion, which would
have been a hundred times more valuable. When the time arrived for his
speech he wore so confident an air that the Procureur rubbed his hands.
"We are safe," he said. "Barraud is hopeless."
One thing was certain--he had never taken more pains. Eloquence and
masterly appeals to sentiment held the court breathless. Lemaire dug
his nails into his palms and turned livid as he heard his own life
presented in the most ignoble colours, his gambling, his follies, and
side by side with them the mask he wore before M. de Cadanet. He was
scourged with scorn as Maitre Barraud's magnificent voice described
him--not content with winning M. de Beaudrillart's money, also
calumniating his victim to the old man who, bound to the Poissy family
by ties of gratitude to the father, might have come to the rescue of the
son had his mind not been poisoned against him. Lemaire, listening,
felt that his cause was lost, but Maitre Miron's face wore its most
contented air.
It was an unusually long speech, going into very minute details. He
insisted upon the absolute probability of the young man's story, and the
readiness with which he had admitted the points which told against
himself. He touched pathetically on the life at Poissy--the happy
family life, mother and sisters, child, and wife--the heroic wife who
was present, suffering the pangs of suspense, and refusing to desert her
husband. At another time Nathalie would have crimsoned under the
curious looks turned in her direction by those who knew where she eat;
but now she was absolutely unconscious of them, her eyes being fixed
upon Leon, and her one thought to meet his with hopefulness. He entered
fully into the particulars of Leon's interview with M. de Cadanet. What
could be more probable than the description given by the accused; what
more tantalising than to have the means of extrication from his
difficulties dangled before his eyes, and to hear that though they might
have been his, they were now to go to the man who had slandered him? He
was not defending the action of the prisoner in the street, but he left
it to the jury to say whether the sudden temptation was not almost
irresistible! And what could have been more straightforward than his
action immediately afterwards? They had heard his letter, avowing
everything, placing himself at the disposal of M. de Cadanet. Surely,
if ever the count thought of taking action, he would have taken it then.
Was it probable that a man--a man, especially, who was under so great
obligations to the De Beaudrillart family as M. de Cadanet--would have
nursed such a terrible, such a savage revenge, as to keep silence for
years in order that the bolt might fall when it was least expected, and
when his own death might have relieved them from the last vestige of
uneasiness? Supposing, even, that the debt had remained unpaid, he
refused to think so meanly of human nature.
Charles Lemaire moistened his dry lips, the Procureur's face expressed
nothing but contented indifference.
After a momentary pause, Maitre Barraud proceeded. But, he said, what
made it actually impossible was that the debt had been wholly repaid,
first by an instalment of five hundred francs, a small sum certainly,
but one which in the then condition of the estate, represented the most
honourable economies, and, directly his marriage gave him the means of
discharging it in full, by the entire sum of principal and interest. M.
Bourget, the father-in-law of M. de Beaudrillart, had proved that at
the time of the marriage, he, being desirous to clear off all debts on
the estate, was told by M. de Beaudrillart that the sum of two hundred
thousand francs was necessary for this object, and agreed to its being
thus used. What suggestion, even, had been offered by the prosecution
as to any other destination for this large sum? Had they brought
forward a single creditor who could account for so much as a part of it?
The explanation given by the accused was perfectly simple and
straightforward. He had redeemed the promise in his letter and had
despatched it at once to M. de Cadanet, who, owing to a natural
indignation at what, no doubt, had been a forced loan, took no notice of
the repayment and left M. de Beaudrillart to draw his own conclusions.
Here he paused for an instant again, and glanced at the spot where sat
Charles Lemaire, from whose face he drew what small encouragement he
felt. To his astonishment it was empty. Maitre Miron, however, had not
moved, so that it did not seem as if he were connected with the
disappearance. Maitre Barraud went on, his voice more slow and
impressive as he reached the point of M. de Cadanet's last illness, his
mind busily engaged in revolving why Lemaire had gone. He spoke of the
influence which, by his own showing, Lemaire must have exercised upon
the old count, who saw no one except the prosecutor and his wife. Only
connected with him by marriage, he said, he had become his chief heir,
his executor, apparently the receiver of his secrets. You were asked to
believe that this dying old man, grasping revenge with palsied hands,
had put into his possession an instrument powerful enough to ruin a
noble family, and bidden him use it. Was it likely? The heart of every
man and woman in that building he believed would cry out against such a
shameful possibility. What really happened it was not difficult to
conceive--
At this point a piece of paper with a few lines scrawled upon it was
handed up to the counsel. He read it mechanically without pausing in
his speech, and the only thing the closest observer could have noticed
was a slight change of manner. His voice became slower, almost
drawling, and it might have been thought that at this moment he had
yielded to the hopelessness of the case, and given up his efforts. The
change surprised the listeners, and one person was affected by it, for
all the Procureur's keen attention revived, his eyelids contracting, and
his mouth tightening. Maitre Barraud went so languidly on that
Nathalie, for a moment, covered her eyes with her hand in despair. He
touched upon the old man's death-bed, but with an entire absence of
emotion. He could imagine, he said, that M. Lemaire would receive
instructions for the future, perhaps be called upon to destroy certain
documents, which M. de Cadanet never intended should survive him.
"And in this softened moment," he proceeded, "the first thing to be put
out of the way would be Monsieur de Beaudrillart's frank confession.
You ask me what really happened. I am now in a position to tell you.
The document was given to Monsieur Lemaire to destroy on the spot. For
it he substituted another paper, kept back this, and allowed Monsieur de
Cadanet to die in the belief that Monsieur de Beaudrillart's safety was
assured."
With one of those sudden changes of tone which he knew how to use so
effectively, he allowed his last sentences to ring out like a trumpet.
The next moment the Procureur was on his feet, protesting against such a
charge being made; the crowd, stirred to its depths, broke into an
inarticulate murmur, promptly hushed; Nathalie, the tears raining down
her cheeks, kissed her hand impulsively to her husband; Maitre Barraud,
remarking quietly that an important though late witness had arrived who
would prove what was said, merely appealed to the Court to hear her, and
sat down without troubling himself to carry his speech any further;
presently, and before the agitation had subsided, and after a
consultation with the judges, it was seen that a plain woman, dressed in
black, her eyes fixed on the ground, was in the witness-box, and a
whisper went round the court that this was M. Lemaire's wife.
Her answers were at first mechanical, and throughout scarcely audible.
As she was sworn, those who were near saw a tremor pass over her, and
compassion made the judge cease to request her to speak more plainly, as
soon as he discovered that to do so was beyond her powers. Maitre
Barraud, in place of his junior, examined her himself, and very briefly.
After the necessary particulars as to who she was, he went direct to M.
de Cadanet's last illness, and inquired whether the name of De
Beaudrillart had been mentioned to her by him.
She replied that it had, more than once.
In what manner?
He gave her the impression of having a yearning towards them;
particularly, here her voice shook, towards the boy.
Did she suggest his sending for them?
Yes.
He refused?
Yes.
Did he speak of the prisoner? She looked uncomprehending, and he added,
"Of Monsieur de Beaudrillart?"
"He said he had behaved very ill."
"And you tried to soften your uncle?"
"I thought he was very desolate, and that it was a pity some one should
not come."
"Did your husband approve of this attempt of yours?"
She hesitated, and then said that her husband feared it might excite M.
de Cadanet.
"Do you remember the 12th of August, 188-?"
"Yes."
"Give an account of what happened."
She lifted her face, and looked imploringly round the court. Meeting
only the gaze of countless eyes riveted upon hers, she looked on the
floor again quickly, locking her hands together. Her voice trembled so
exceedingly that the writers taking down the evidence could scarcely
hear, and more than once she stopped altogether, and Maitre Barraud had
to ask a question or two to induce her to go on. But the gist of the
evidence was to the effect that M. de Cadanet was very ill, and she
watched anxiously for an opportunity to send for a priest. He was
desirous to speak alone to her husband; she hoped when that interview
was over to succeed in persuading him.
"Where were you during the interview?"
"In the anteroom. It was necessary that some one should be at hand in
case of need."
"Were you needed?"
"Not actually--I heard my husband's voice raised once as if in alarm."
"Not anger?"
"Oh, no, no! I ran to the door and found I was not wanted."
"Was all as usual?"
"A candle was lighted."
"Did you go away!"
"Not instantly. I wish now I had!" she cried, involuntarily.
"Repeat what you heard," said the judge, gently, "and saw."
"Something was burnt. I had half closed the door, and could not hear
what my husband said, but Monsieur de Cadanet--"
"Yes?"
"He said: `You will remember that Monsieur de Beaudrillart has paid
everything, and that I have nothing against him.'"
The words died away. The silence in the court had become profound.
Poor Mme. Lemaire buried her face in her hands.
"Have you," said the judge at last, "ever mentioned what you overheard
to your husband!"
"No. I was afraid it would vex him."
"But when you heard that he was bringing this trial!"
"I never heard it. I live very much out of the world--too much,
perhaps."
"And what induced you to come forward to-day!"
"Madame de Beaudrillart came and implored me. They have a child who
would have been disgraced. I--am more fortunate," she murmured.
Maitre Barraud had meanwhile been examining the letter written by Leon,
of which one corner had been torn off--no doubt where the old man's
attempt to burn it had left a blackened edge. He had relapsed into his
most tranquil and uninterested air, and sat down.
The Procureur attempted to cross-examine Mme. Lemaire, but it was
useless. He asked how it was that she could hear so clearly the words
of a dying and feeble old man, when by her own account the door was half
closed, and she had failed to catch her husband's words.
She replied simply that she could not tell.
Was it not possible that she had been mistaken.
"I heard what I have repeated."
"And you have come here to give evidence against your husband without so
much as telling him what you were going to do!"
"I--I tried--I sent--" She looked wildly round, and, before any one
could reach her, dropped unconscious on the floor.