There came days, however, when Marc and David, who co-operated in

brotherly fashion, began to lose some of their fine assurance. Bad

rumours reached them. The Congregations were bestirring themselves

frantically. Father Crabot was for ever visiting Beaumont, availing

himself of his society connections to dine with government officials,

members of the judicial and even the university world. As the Jew

prisoner seemed more and more likely to secure release, so, on all

sides, the battle grew fiercer. At last, then, it occurred to David to

endeavour to obtain the support of Baron Nathan, the great banker and

former proprietor of La Désirade, who was staying there as the guest of

his daughter, the Countess de Sanglebœuf, whose marriage portion had

consisted of that royal domain and a sum of ten millions of francs[1]

in hard cash. Thus, one bright afternoon in August, David and Marc, who

also had a slight acquaintance with the Baron, set out on foot for La

Désirade, a very pleasant walk, for the distance from Maillebois was

not much more than a mile.

[Footnote 1: About $1,940,000.]

Count Hector de Sanglebœuf, the last scion of his house, one of the

early members of which had been squire to St. Louis, had found himself

completely ruined when he was only thirty-six years of age. His father

had devoured the greater part of the family fortune and he himself had

consumed the remnants. After holding a commission in the Cuirassiers,

he had resigned it, feeling tired of garrison life; and for a time he

had remained living with a widow, the Marchioness de Boise, who was

ten years his senior, and far too intent on her own comfort to marry

him, for her penury, added to his own, would only have conduced to a

disastrous future. People related that it was this mistress who had

ingeniously arranged the Count's marriage with Baron Nathan's daughter

Lia, a young person of four and twenty, very beautiful and all ablaze

with millions. Nathan had negotiated the transaction with his eyes

open, knowing perfectly well what he gave and what he was to receive

in exchange, adding his daughter to the millions which left his safe

in order that he might have as son-in-law a Count of very old and

authentic nobility, which circumstance would open to him the portals of

a sphere from which he had been hitherto excluded.

He himself had lately acquired the title of Baron, and he was at last

escaping from the ancient 'ghetto,' that universal contumely of which

the haunting thought made him shudder. A dealer in money, he had

filled his cellars with gold, and his one frantic craving nowadays,

like that of the Christian moneymongers, whose appetites were fully

as keen, was to gratify his pride and his instincts of domination, to

be saluted, honoured and worshipped upon all sides, and in particular

to be delivered from the ever-pursuing dread of being kicked and spat

upon like a mere dirty Jew. Thus he quite enjoyed staying with his

son-in-law at La Désirade, deriving no little consideration from the

connections of his daughter the Countess, and remaining in so small

a degree a Jew that, like many other renegades of his class, he had

enrolled himself among the anti-semites, and professed the most fervent

royalism and patriotism. Indeed, the dexterous, smiling Marchioness de

Boise, who had derived from her lover's marriage all the profit she had

anticipated for him and for herself, was often obliged to moderate the

Baron's ardour. That marriage, it should be mentioned, had scarcely

changed the position of the Marchioness and Count Hector. The former,

a beautiful ripening blonde, was doubtless devoid of jealousy in the

strict sense of the word, besides being intelligent enough to combine

such worldly enjoyment as money may procure with the happiness of a

long and peaceful _liaison_. Besides, she knew the beautiful Lia to

be an admirable piece of statuary, an idol full of narrow egotism,

who found it blissful to be installed in a sanctuary, where attendant

worshippers adored but did not unduly tire her. She did not even read,

for reading soon brought her fatigue; she was quite content to remain

seated for hours together in the midst of general attentions, with

never a thought for anybody but herself.

Doubtless she did not long remain ignorant of the real position of the

Marchioness and her husband, but she dismissed the thought of it, not

wishing to be worried, and indeed she was at last unable to dispense

with that caressing friend, who was ever in admiration before her,

and who lavished on her such loving and pleasing expressions as 'my

pussy,' 'my beautiful darling,' 'my dear treasure.' A more touching

friendship was never seen, and the Marchioness soon had her room and

her place at table at La Désirade. Then another idea of genius came

to her. She undertook to convert Lia to the Catholic faith. The young

wife was at first terrified by the idea, for she feared that she might

be overwhelmed with religious exercises and observances. But, directly

Father Crabot was brought into the affair, he, with his worldly

graciousness, made the path quite easy. Yet the Countess was most won

over by the enthusiasm which her father displayed for the Marchioness's

idea. It was as if the Baron hoped that he would cleanse himself of

some of his own horrid Jewry in the water of the young woman's baptism.

When the ceremony took place it quite upset society in Beaumont, and it

was always spoken of as a great triumph of the Church.

As a final achievement, the motherly Marchioness de Boise, who directed

the steps of Hector de Sanglebœuf as if he were her big, dull-witted,

obedient child, had with the help of his wife's fortune caused him

to be elected as one of the deputies of Beaumont, insisting too

that he should join the little parliamentary group of Opportunist

Reactionaries, who gave out that they had 'rallied' to the Republic;

for by this course she hoped to raise him to some high political

position. The amusing part of the affair was that Baron Nathan, who,

scarce freed from the stigma of his Jewish ancestry, had become an

uncompromising Royalist, now found himself a far more fervent partisan

of the monarchy than his son-in-law, and this in spite of the latter's

descent from a squire of St. Louis. The Baron, who had found an

opportunity for personal triumph in the baptism of his daughter--on

which occasion he had chosen her new 'Christian' name, Marie, by which

he always addressed her with a kind of pious affectation--triumphed

also in the election of his son-in-law as deputy, for he felt that he

might be able to make use of him in the political world. But, apart

from questions of interest, he quite enjoyed himself at La Désirade,

which was now full of priests, and where all the talk was about the

various pious works in which the Marchioness de Boise associated her

friend Marie, with whom she became yet more intimate and loving.

David and Marc slackened their steps when, admitted by the lodge-keeper

of La Désirade, they at last found them selves in the grounds. It was a

splendid and enjoyable August day, and the beauty of the great trees,

the infinite placidity of the lawns, the delightful freshness of the

waters filled them with admiration. A king might have dwelt there. At

the end of the enchanting avenues of verdure extending on all sides,

one invariably perceived the château, a sumptuous Renaissance château,

rising like lace-work of pinkish stone against the azure of the sky.

And at the sight of that paradise acquired by Jew wealth, at the

thought of the splendid fortune amassed by Nathan the Jew money-monger,

Marc instinctively recalled the gloomy little shop in the Rue du Trou,

the dismal hovel without air or sunshine, where Lehmann, that other

Jew, had been plying his needle for thirty years, and earning only

enough to provide himself with bread. And, ah! how many other Jews

there were, yet more wretched than he--Jews who starved in filthy dens.

They were the immense majority, and their existence demonstrated all

the idiotic falsity of anti-semitism, that proscription _en masse_ of

a race which was charged with the monopolisation of all wealth, when

it numbered so many poor working-folk, so many victims, crushed down

by the almightiness of money, whether it were Jew, or Catholic, or

Protestant. As soon as ever a French Jew became a great capitalist, he

bought a title of Baron, married his daughter to a Count of ancient

stock, made a pretence of showing himself more royalist than the king,

and ended by becoming the worst of renegades, a fierce anti-semite, who

not only denied, but helped to slaughter, his kith and kin. There was

really no Jew question at all, there was only a Capitalist question--a

question of money heaped up in the hands of a certain number of

gluttons, and thereby poisoning and rotting the world.

As David and Marc reached the château they perceived Baron Nathan,

his daughter, and his son-in-law seated under a large oak tree in

the company of the Marchioness de Boise and a cleric, in whom they

recognised Father Crabot. Doubtless the Rector of the College of

Valmarie had been invited to a quiet family lunch, in neighbourly

fashion--for a distance of less than two miles separated the two

estates; and doubtless, also, some serious question had been discussed

at dessert. Then, to enjoy the fine weather, they had seated themselves

in some garden chairs, under that oak and near a marble basin, into

which ever fell the crystal of a source which an indelicate nymph was

pouring from her urn.

On recognising the visitors, who discreetly halted a short distance

away, the Baron came forward and conducted them to some other seats,

set out on the opposite side of the basin. Short and somewhat

bent, quite bald at fifty, with a yellow face, a fleshy nose, and

black eyes--the eyes of a bird of prey set deeply under projecting

brows--Nathan had assumed for the nonce an expression of grievous

sympathy as if he were receiving folk in deep mourning who had just

lost a relative. It was plain that the visit did not surprise him. He

must have been expecting it.

'Ah! how I pity you, my poor David,' he said. 'I have often thought

of you since that misfortune. You know how highly I esteem your

intelligence, enterprise, and industry. But what an affair, what an

abominable affair your brother Simon has put on your shoulders! He is

compromising you, he is ruining you, my poor David!'

And with an impulse of sincere despair the Baron raised his quivering

hands and added, as if he feared he might see the persecutions of olden

time begin afresh: 'The unhappy man! He is compromising all of us!'

Then David with his quiet bravery began to plead his brother's cause,

expressing his absolute conviction of his innocence, enumerating the

moral and material proofs which in his estimation were irrefutable,

while Nathan curtly jogged his head.

'Yes, yes, it is only natural,' the Baron at last replied, 'you believe

him to be innocent; I myself still wish to do so. Unfortunately it is

not a question of convincing me, you must convince the officers of the

law, and also the exasperated masses who are capable of doing harm to

all of us if he is not condemned.... No, I shall never forgive your

brother for having saddled us with such a dreadful affair.'

Then, on David explaining that he had come to him, knowing his

influence, and relying on his help to make the truth manifest, the

Baron became colder, more and more reserved, and listened in silence.

'You always showed me so much kindness, Monsieur le Baron,' said David,

'and as you used to invite the judicial authorities of Beaumont here,

I thought that you might perhaps be able to give me some information.

For instance, you are acquainted with Monsieur Daix, the Investigating

Magistrate who has the affair in hand, and who, I hope, will soon stay

further proceedings. Perhaps you may have some news on that subject;

besides which, if a decision has not yet been reached, a word from you

might prove valuable----'

'No, no,' Nathan protested, 'I know nothing, I desire to know nothing.

I have no official connections, no influence. Besides, my position

as a co-religionist prevents me from doing anything; I should merely

compromise myself without rendering you any service. But wait a moment,

I will call my son-in-law.'

Marc had remained silent, contenting himself with listening. He had

accompanied David merely to give him the support of his presence as

one of Simon's colleagues. But while he listened he glanced in the

direction of the oak tree, at the ladies sitting there--Countess

Marie, as the beautiful Lia was now called, and the Marchioness de

Boise, between whom Father Crabot was reposing in a rustic armchair,

while Count Hector de Sanglebœuf, who had remained erect, finished

chewing a cigar. The Marchioness, still slim and still pretty under

her fair hair, which she powdered, was expressing great anxiety

respecting a sunbeam which darted on the nape of the Countess's neck;

and although the beautiful Jewess, indolent and superb, declared that

she was in no way inconvenienced, her friend, lavishing on her all the

usual pet names, 'my pussy,' 'my jewel,' and 'my treasure,' at last

compelled her to change places. The Jesuit Crabot, who was evidently

at his ease, smiled at both of them with the air of a very tolerant

father-confessor. And meantime a never-ending flute-like strain came

from the crystalline water which the indelicate nymph was pouring from

her urn into the marble basin.

Sanglebœuf, on being called by his father-in-law, came forward slowly.

With a big body and a full and highly-coloured face, a low forehead

and short-cropped, ruddy, bristling hair, he had eyes of a dim blue, a

small flabby nose, and a large voracious mouth, half-hidden by thick

moustaches. As soon as the Baron had told him of the help which David

solicited, he became quite angry, though he affected a kind of military

plain-speaking.

'What! mix myself up in that affair! Ah, no!' he exclaimed. 'You must

excuse me, monsieur, if I employ my credit as a deputy in clearer and

cleaner affairs. I am quite willing to believe that you personally are

an honourable man. But you will really have a great deal to do if you

wish to defend your brother. Besides, as all those who support you say,

we are the enemy. Why do you apply to us?'

Then, turning his big, blurred, wrathful eyes on Marc, he began to hold

forth against the godless and unpatriotic folk who dared to insult

the army. Too young to have fought in 1870, he had merely served as a

garrison soldier, taking part in no campaign whatever. Nevertheless he

had remained a cuirassier to his very marrow, to cite one of his own

expressions. And he boasted that he had set two emblems at his bedside,

two emblems which summed up his religion--a crucifix and a flag, his

flag--for which, unfortunately for a good many people, he had not died.

'When you have restored the Cross to the schools, monsieur,' he

continued, 'when your schoolmasters decide to make Christians and not

citizens of their pupils, then, and only then, will you have any claim

on us should you ask us to render you a service.'

David, pale and frigid, allowed him to run on without attempting

any interruption. It was only when he had finished that he quietly

rejoined: 'But I have asked you for nothing, monsieur. It was to

Monsieur le Baron that I ventured to apply.'

Nathan, fearing a scene, then intervened, and led David and Marc away,

as if to escort them through a part of the grounds. Father Crabot, on

hearing the Count's loud voice, had for a moment raised his head; then

had returned to his worldly chat with his two dear lady penitents. And

when Sanglebœuf had joined the others again, one could distinctly hear

them laughing at the good lesson which, in their opinion, had just been

administered to a couple of dirty Jews.

'What can you expect? They are all like that,' said Nathan to David and

Marc, lowering his voice, when they were some thirty paces distant.

'I summoned my son-in-law in order that you might see for yourselves

what are the views of the department--I mean of the upper classes, the

deputies, functionaries, and magistrates. And so, how could I be of any

use to you? Nobody would listen to me.'

This hypocritical affectation of good nature, in which one detected a

quiver of the old hereditary racial dread, must have seemed cowardly

even to the Baron himself, for he presently added: 'Besides, they are

right; I am with them; France before everything else, with her glorious

past, and the _ensemble_ of her firm traditions. We cannot hand her

over to the Freemasons and the cosmopolites! And I cannot let you go,

my dear David, without offering you a word of advice. Have nothing to

do with that affair; you would lose everything in it, you would be

wrecked for ever. Your brother will get out of the mess by himself if

he is innocent.'

Those were his last words; he shook hands with them, and quietly walked

back, while they in silence quitted the grounds. But on the high road

they exchanged glances almost of amusement, however much they might be

disappointed, for the scene in which they had participated seemed to

them quite typical, perfect of its kind.

'Death to the Jews!' exclaimed Marc facetiously.

'Ah! the dirty Jews!' David responded in the same jesting way, tinged

with bitterness. 'He advised me to forsake my brother; and for his part

he would not hesitate. He has thrown his brothers over plenty of times

already, and he will do so again. I certainly must not knock for help

at the doors of my famous and powerful co-religionists. They shiver

with fear.'

Several more days now went by, and, however prompt Magistrate Daix

might have been with his investigations, he still delayed his decision.

It was said that he was a prey to increasing perplexity, having a

very keen professional mind, and too much intelligence to have failed

to divine the truth; but, on the other hand, being worried by public

opinion and browbeaten at home by his terrible wife. Madame Daix,

ugly, coquettish, and very pious--indeed, another of Father Crabot's

dearly-loved penitents--was consumed by ambition, tortured by penurious

circumstances, haunted by dreams of life in Paris, finery, and a

social position, as the outcome of some great sensational 'affair.'

Such an 'affair' was within her reach now, and she never ceased

repeating to her husband that it would be idiotic not to profit by the

opportunity; for if he were so simple as to release that dirty Jew

they would end by dying in a garret. Yet Daix struggled, honest still,

but perturbed and no longer hurrying, clinging in fact to a last hope

that something would happen to enable him to reconcile his interests

with his duty. This fresh delay seemed of good augury to Marc, who

was well aware of the magistrate's torments, but who still remained

optimistically convinced that truth possessed an irresistible power, to

which all ended by submitting.

Since the beginning of the affair he often went to Beaumont of a

morning to see his old friend Salvan, the Director of the Training

College. He found him well posted with information, and derived also

a good deal of faith and courage from what he said. Besides, that

college where he had lived three years, full of apostolic enthusiasm,

had remained dear to him. It stood on a lonely little square at the

end of the Rue de la République; and when in those vacation days he

reached the director's quiet private room, which looked into a little

garden, he felt himself in a spot where peace and happy confidence

prevailed. One morning, however, when he called, he found Salvan full

of grief and irritation. At first he had to wait in the ante-chamber,

for the director was engaged with another visitor; but the latter, a

fellow-schoolmaster named Doutrequin--a man with a low stubborn brow,

broad clean-shaven cheeks, and the expression of a magistrate conscious

of the importance of his functions--soon quitted the private room, and

Marc bowed to him as he passed. Then, his turn having come, he was

astonished by the agitation of Salvan, who, raising his arms to the

ceiling, greeted him with the exclamation: 'Well, my friend, you know

the abominable news, don't you?'

Of medium height, unassuming but energetic, with a good round face,

all gaiety and frankness, Salvan, as a rule, turned laughing eyes upon

those to whom he spoke. But now his glance was ablaze with generous

anger.

'What is it?' Marc inquired anxiously.

'Ah, so you do not know yet? Well, my friend, those blackguards have

dared to do it. Last night Daix signed an _ordonnance_ sending Simon

for trial!'

Marc turned pale, but remained silent, while Salvan, pointing to a

number of _Le Petit Beaumontais_ which lay open on his table, added:

'Doutrequin, who just went out, left me that filthy rag which gives the

news, and he confirmed its accuracy, on the authority of one of the

clerks at the Palace of Justice whom he knows.'

Then, taking up the paper, crumpling it, and flinging it into a corner

of the room with a gesture of disgust, Salvan continued: 'Ah! the

filthy rag! If iniquity becomes possible it is because that paper

poisons the poor and lowly with its lies. They are still so ignorant,

so credulous, so ready to believe the stories that flatter their base

passions. And to think that paper first acquired a circulation, first

found its way into all hands, by belonging to no party, by remaining

neutral, by merely printing serial stories, matter-of-fact accounts of

current events, and pleasant articles popularising general knowledge.

By that means, in the course of years, it became the friend, the

oracle, the daily pabulum of the simple-minded and the poor who cannot

think for themselves. But now, abusing its unique position, its immense

connection, it places itself in the pay of the parties of error and

reaction, makes money out of every piece of financial roguery, and

every underhand political plot. It is of secondary importance if

lies and insults come from the fighting journals which are openly

reactionary. They support a faction, they are known, and when one

reads them one is prepared for what they may say. Thus _La Croix de

Beaumont_, the Church party's organ, has started an abominable campaign

against our friend Simon, "the Jew schoolmaster who poisoned and

murdered little children," as it calls him; but all that has scarcely

moved me. When, however, _Le Petit Beaumontais_ publishes the ignoble

and cowardly articles with which you are acquainted, those charges and

slanders picked up in the gutter, it is a crime. To penetrate among the

simple by affecting bluff good nature, and then to mingle arsenic with

every dish, to drive the masses to delirium and to the most monstrous

actions in order to increase one's sales, I know of no greater crime!

And make no mistake, if Daix did not stay further proceedings it was

because public opinion weighed on him, poor wretched man that he is,

afraid to be honest, and afflicted too with a wife who rots everything.

And public opinion, you know, is such as it is made by _Le Petit

Beaumontais_, which is the prime mover in the iniquity, for it sows

imbecility and cruelty in the minds of the multitude, whence now, I

fear, we shall see a detestable harvest rise!'

Salvan sank into his arm-chair in front of his writing-table with an

expression of despairing anguish on his countenance. And silence fell

while Marc walked slowly to and fro, overwhelmed by that recapitulation

of opinions which he himself fully shared. At last, however, he

stopped, saying: 'All the same, we must come to a decision, and what

shall we do? Let us suppose that this iniquitous trial takes place:

Simon cannot be condemned, it would be too monstrous! And, surely, we

shall not remain with our arms folded. When this terrible blow falls on

poor David he will want to act. What do you advise us to do?'

'Ah, my friend!' cried Salvan, 'how willingly I would be the first to

act, if you could give me the means! You readily understand--do you

not?--that in the person of that unfortunate Simon, it is the secular

schoolmaster whom they are pursuing and whom they want to crush. They

regard our dear training school as a nursery of godless, unpatriotic

men, and they are eager to destroy it. For them I am a kind of Satan,

engendering atheist missionaries, to ruin whom has long been their

dream. What a triumph for the Church gang if one of our former pupils

should ascend the scaffold, convicted of an infamous crime! Ah, my dear

college, my poor house, which I should like to see so useful, so great,

so necessary for the destinies of the country, through what a terrible

time will it now have to pass!'

All Salvan's ardent faith in the good work he did was manifest in his

fervid words. Originally a schoolmaster, then an Elementary Inspector,

a militant with a clear mind devoted to knowledge and progress, he had

given himself, on his appointment as Director of the Training College,

to one sole mission--that of preparing efficient schoolmasters ready

to champion experimental science and freed from the bonds of Rome--men

who would at last teach Truth to the people and make it capable of

practising Liberty, Justice, and Peace. Therein lay the whole future of

the nation--the future indeed of all mankind.

'We shall all group ourselves around you,' said Marc, quivering; 'we

will not suffer you to be stopped in your work, the most urgent and

loftiest of all at the present time!'

Salvan smiled sadly. 'Oh, all, my friend! How many are there around me

then? There is yourself, and there was also that unfortunate fellow,

Simon, on whom I greatly relied. Again, there is Mademoiselle Mazeline,

the schoolmistress at your village, Jonville. If we had a few dozen

teachers like her we might expect that the next generation would at

last see women, wives and mothers, delivered from the priests! As for

Férou, wretchedness and revolt are driving him crazy, bitterness of

feeling is poisoning his mind. And after him comes the mere flock of

indifferent, egotistical folk, stagnating in the observance of routine,

and having only one concern, that of flattering their superiors in

order to secure good reports. Then too there are the renegades, those

who have gone over to the enemy, as, for instance, that Mademoiselle

Rouzaire, who alone does the work of ten nuns, and who behaves so

shamefully in the Simon affair. I was forgetting another, Mignot, one

of our best pupils, who is certainly not a bad fellow, but whose mind

requires forming, liable as it is to turn out good or bad, according to

influence.'

Salvan was growing excited, and it was with increased force that

he continued: 'But a case that one may well despair of is that of

Doutrequin, whom you saw leaving me just now. A schoolmaster himself,

he is the son of one; in '70 he was fifteen, and three years later he

entered the college still shuddering at the thought of the invasion,

and dreaming of revenge. At that time considerations of patriotism

influenced the whole of our educational system in France. The country

asked us merely for soldiers; the army was like a temple, a sanctuary,

that army which has remained waiting with arms grounded for thirty

years, and which has devoured thousands upon thousands of millions of

francs! And thus we have been turned into a warrior France instead

of becoming a France of progress, truth, justice, and peace, such as

alone could have helped to save the world. And now one sees so-called

patriotism changing Doutrequin, once a good Republican, a supporter

of Gambetta, and still quite recently an anti-clerical, into an

anti-Semite, even as it will end by changing him into a clerical

altogether. A few minutes ago he favoured me with an extraordinary

speech, an echo of the articles in _Le Petit Beaumontais_. "France

before everything else," said he; it was necessary to drive out the

Jews, to make a fundamental dogma of respect for the army, and to allow

more liberty in education, by which he meant to allow the religious

Congregations full freedom to keep the masses ignorant. He typifies

the bankruptcy of the earlier patriotic Republicans. Yet he is a

worthy man, an excellent teacher, with five assistants under him,

and the best-kept school in Beaumont. Two of his sons are already

assistant-teachers in other schools of the department, and I know that

they share their father's views and even exaggerate them as young

men are wont to do. What will become of us if such sentiments should

continue to animate our elementary masters? Ah! it is high time to

provide others, to send a legion of men of free intelligence to teach

the people truth, which is the one sole source of equity, kindliness,

and happiness!'

He spoke these last words with such fervour that Marc smiled! 'Ah! my

dear master, now I recognise you,' he said. 'You are not going to give

up the battle! You will end by winning it, for you have truth on your

side.'

Salvan gaily admitted that he had previously given way to a fit of

discouragment. The infamous proceedings with which Simon was threatened

had unnerved him. 'Advice?' he repeated, 'you asked me for advice as to

how you should act. Let us see; let us examine the situation together.'

There was Forbes, the Academy Rector,[2] gentle and affable, a very

able man of letters, and a very intelligent man also. But he was deep

in historical studies, covertly disdainful of the present age, and

he acted as a mere go-between for the intercourse of the Minister of

Public Instruction and the university staff. Then, however, came Le

Barazer, the Academy Inspector; and Salvan's hope of future victory was

centred in that sensible and courageous man, who was also a skilful

politician. The experience of Le Barazer, who was now barely fifty

years of age, dated back to the heroic days of the Republic, when the

necessity of secular and compulsory education had imposed itself as

the one sole possible basis of a free and just democracy. A worker for

the good cause from the very outset, Le Barazer had retained all his

hatred of clericalism, convinced that it was absolutely necessary to

drive the priests from the schools, and to free people's minds from

all mendacious superstitions, if one desired that the nation should

be strong, well-instructed, and capable of acting in the plenitude

of its intelligence. But age, the obstacles he had encountered, the

ever tenacious resistance of the Church, had added great prudence and

tactical skill to his Republican zeal.

[Footnote 2: See foot-note, p. 44, _ante_.]

Nobody knew better than he how to utilise the little ground which

he gained each day, and to oppose inertia to the assaults of his

adversaries, when forcible resistance was impossible. He exerted

the power he held as Academy Inspector without ever entering into a

direct contest with anybody, either the Prefect or the Deputies or the

Senators of the department, though, on the other hand, he refused to

yield so long as his views were not adopted.

It was thanks to him that Salvan, although violently attacked by the

clerical faction, was able to continue his work of regeneration,

the renewing of the _personnel_ of the elementary schoolmasters;

and doubtless he alone could in a measure defend Simon against his

subordinate, Inspector Mauraisin. For that handsome gentleman also had

to be reckoned with, and he was likely to prove ferocious, a traitor

to the university cause, and an accomplice of the Congregations, since

he had come to the conclusion that the Church would prove victorious

in the affair, and pay a higher reward than the other side for the

services rendered to it.

'Have you heard of his evidence?' Salvan continued. 'It appears that

he said everything he could against Simon to Daix. To think that the

inspection of our schools is confided to Jesuits of his stamp! It is

the same with that fellow, Depinvilliers, the principal of the Lycée[3]

of Beaumont, who attends Mass at St. Maxence every Sunday with his

wife and his two ugly daughters. Opinions are free, of course; but if

Depinvilliers is free to go to Mass, he ought not to be free to hand

one of our establishments of secondary education over to the Jesuits.

Father Crabot reigns at our Lycée as he reigns at the College of

Valmarie. Ah! the bitter irony of it when one thinks that this secular

Lycée, this Republican Lycée, which I sometimes hear called the rival

of the Jesuit College, is in reality a mere branch of it! Ah! our

Republic does fine work, it places its interests in very trusty and

loyal hands! I can well understand Mauraisin working for the other

side, which is ever active and which pays its supporters well!'

Then, coming to the point, Salvan added: 'I tell you what I will do. I

will see Le Barazer. Do not go to him yourself. It is better that any

application should come from me, whom he supports so bravely. And it

is useless to hustle him, he will act at the moment he thinks fit,

and with such means as are at his disposal. He will certainly keep

Mauraisin quiet, if he can render Simon no more direct service.... But

what I advise you to do is to see Lemarrois, our Mayor and Deputy. You

know him well, do you not? He was a friend of Berthereau, your wife's

father. He may be useful to you.'

[Footnote 3: A government secondary college.]

Marc then took leave, and on reaching the street decided to call on

Lemarrois at once. Eleven o'clock was striking, and he would doubtless

find him at home. Turning, therefore, into the Rue Gambetta, a

thoroughfare running from the Lycée to the Hôtel de Ville, and thus

cutting Beaumont in halves, he made his way to the Avenue des Jaffres,

the famous promenade of the town, which also traversed it, but from

the Préfecture to the Cathedral. In that very avenue, in the midst of

the aristocratic quarter, Lemarrois owned a luxurious house, where his

beautiful wife, a Parisienne, often gave entertainments. Wealthy and

already of repute in his profession, he had brought her from Paris

at the time when he had returned to his native place to practise

there and satisfy his political ambition. While he was yet a medical

student, he had made the acquaintance of Gambetta, with whom intimacy

had followed, for he showed much enthusiasm and firm Republicanism,

and became indeed one of the great man's favourite disciples. Thus he

was regarded at Beaumont as a pillar of the middle-class Republic. And

not only was he the husband of an amiable wife, but, intelligent and

good-hearted, he was personally very popular with the poor, whom he

attended gratuitously. His political advancement had been rapid; first

he had become municipal councillor, then a departmental councillor,

then deputy and mayor. For twelve years now he had been installed in

the latter functions, and was still the uncontested master of the town

and the chief of the departmental parliamentary contingent, though the

latter included some reactionary deputies.

Directly he saw Marc enter his study, a spacious room furnished with

chastened luxury, he went towards him with both hands outstretched, and

an expression of smiling sympathy on his face. Dark, with scarcely a

grey hair, though he was nearly fifty, he had a big head, with quick,

bright eyes, and a profile fit for a medal.

'Ah! my good fellow, I was astonished not to see you, and I can guess

what motive has brought you to-day! What an abominable business,

is it not? That unfortunate Simon is innocent, that is certain from

the frantic way in which he is being charged. I am on your side, you

know--on your side with all my heart!'

Pleased by this reception, cheered at meeting a just man, Marc quickly

explained to him that he came to solicit his influential help. There

was surely something to be done. One could not allow an innocent man to

be tried and perhaps condemned.

But Lemarrois was already raising his arms to heaven. 'Do something,

no doubt, no doubt!' said he. 'Only, what can one do against public

opinion when the whole department is already stirred up? As you must

know, the political situation is becoming more and more difficult. And

the general elections will take place next May--that is, in scarcely

nine months' time! Do you not understand to what extreme prudence we

are reduced? for we must not expose the Republic to the risk of a

check.'

He had seated himself and his face became anxious while, toying with a

large paper-knife, he expressed his fears about the agitated condition

of the department, in which the Socialists were actively bestirring

themselves, and gaining ground. He did not fear the election of any of

them as yet, for none could command a sufficient majority; but if two

Reactionaries, one of whom was Sanglebœuf, the so-called _rallié_, had

been returned at the last elections, it was by reason of a diversion

created by the Socialists. Each time that he pronounced that word

'Socialists' it was with a kind of aggressive bitterness, in which one

could detect the fear and anger of the middle-class Republic, which now

possessed power, in presence of the slow but irresistible use of the

Socialist Republic which wished to possess it.

'So how can I help you, my good fellow?' he continued; 'I am bound hand

and foot, for we have to reckon with public opinion. I don't refer

to myself,--I am certain of re-election,--but I have to think of my

colleagues whom I must not leave wounded on the battlefield. If it were

merely a question of my own seat I would sacrifice it at once so as to

act solely in accordance with my conscience; but the Republic is at

stake and we must not allow it to be defeated.'

Then he complained of the Prefect of the department, that handsome,

well-groomed Hennebise, who sported glasses and arranged his hair so

carefully. He gave no help whatever; for being perpetually afraid of

getting into difficulties with his Minister or the Jesuits, he was

careful to offend neither. He probably had secret leanings towards the

priests and the military set, and it would be necessary to watch him,

while pursuing, however, a course of diplomacy and compromise similar

to his own.

'Briefly,' said Lemarrois, 'you see me in despair, reduced to measure

every step and weigh every word for the next nine months under penalty

of being hissed by the readers of _Le Petit Beaumontais_, to the great

delight of the clerical faction. This Simon affair falls on us at a

most unfavourable moment. If the elections were not so near, I would

march with you at once.'

Then, quite abruptly, he, usually so calm, lost his temper: 'To make

matters worse, Simon not only saddles us with this business at a

difficult moment, but he chooses Delbos as his advocate, Delbos the

Socialist, who is the _bête noire_ of all right-thinking people.

Frankly, that is the climax; Simon must be really desirous of seeing

himself condemned.'

Marc had remained listening, pained at heart, feeling that another of

his illusions was taking flight. Yet he knew Lemarrois to be honest,

and he had seen him give many proofs of firm Republican faith.

'But Delbos is very talented,' the young man answered, 'and if poor

Simon chose him, it was because, like all of us, he considered him to

be the man of the situation. Besides, it is not certain that another

advocate would have accepted the brief. It is a frightful moment;

people are becoming cowards.'

That word must have seemed to Lemarrois like a smack. He made a quick

gesture, but he evinced no anger--indeed, he began to smile. 'You

consider me very cautious, do you not, my young friend?' he said. 'When

you get older you will see that it is not always easy in politics to

behave in accordance with one's own convictions. But why do you not

apply to my colleague Marcilly, your young deputy, the favourite and

the hope of all the young intellectuals of the department? I have

become an old, spent, prudent hack--that's understood. But Marcilly,

whose mind is so free and broad, will certainly place himself at your

head. Go to see him, go to see him.'

Then, having escorted Marc to the landing, he again pressed his hands,

promising that he would help him with all his power, when circumstances

should permit it.

Indeed, thought Marc, why should he not go to Marcilly? The latter

also lived in the Avenue des Jaffres, and it was not yet noon. The

young schoolmaster was entitled to call on him, as he had acted,

very discreetly, as one of his electoral canvassers, being full of

enthusiasm for a candidate who was so sympathetic and possessed of such

high literary culture. Born at Jonville, Marcilly had distinguished

himself as a pupil of the Training College, and had subsequently held

a professorship at the Faculty of Beaumont, which post he had resigned

in order to become a parliamentary candidate. Short, fair, and refined

in appearance, with an amiable and ever-smiling face, he played havoc

with women's hearts, and even won the partiality of men, thanks to

his rare skill in saying the right word to each, and in evincing all

necessary obligingness. To the younger members of the electorate

he endeared himself by his own comparative youth, for he was only

thirty-two, and by the happy and elegant form of his speeches, in which

he displayed much broadness of mind and knowledge of men and things.

It was felt at the time of his election that one would at last have a

really young deputy on whom one might rely. He would renew the science

of politics, infuse into it the blood of the rising generations, and

adorn it with faultless language, all the delightful bloom of sound

literature. Indeed, for three years past Marcilly had been acquiring a

more and more important position in the Chamber. His credit constantly

increased, and, in spite of the fact that he was only two and thirty,

he had already been spoken of for a ministerial portfolio. It was

certain also that if he attended to his constituents' affairs with

untiring complaisance, he pushed on his own still more successfully,

profiting by every circumstance to rise a little higher, but doing so

in such a natural and easy way that nobody had yet regarded him as

a mere _Arriviste_, one of those representatives of hot, impatient

youth, eager for enjoyment and power in every form. His rooms were

furnished and ornamented in a delicate style, and he received Marc

like a comrade. He spoke of Simon, too, immediately, in a voice full

of emotion, saying how deeply he was affected by the poor man's fate.

Of course he did not refuse to help him, he would speak in his favour,

he would see people who might be useful. But whatever might be his

graciousness, he ended by recommending extreme prudence on account of

the proximity of the elections. If his manners were more caressing,

his answer was much the same as Lemarrois'; he was secretly resolved

to do nothing for fear of compromising the Republican party. The two

schools might differ in outward appearance--that of Lemarrois being

older and rougher in its ways; that of Marcilly, younger and more

prodigal of compliments--but both were determined to abandon no shred

of the power they held. And now, for the first time, Marc felt that

Marcilly might be merely an _Arriviste_ in his flower, resolved to

follow his own course and bear his fruit. Nevertheless, on taking

leave, it became necessary to thank him, for with a flow of gentle

words the young deputy repeated that he was at his visitor's disposal

and would assuredly give some help.

Marc was full of fear and anxiety when he returned to Maillebois that

day. Calling on the Lehmanns in the afternoon, he found the family in

desolation. They had so confidently expected that further proceedings

would be abandoned. David, who was present, quite upset by the bad

news, still tried to believe in the possibility of some miracle which

would prevent that iniquitous trial from taking place. But, on the

morrow, things began to move quickly. The Indictment Chamber[4] seemed

to be in a singular hurry, for, the case was set down for hearing at

the earliest assizes, those of October. In presence of the inevitable,

David, with his ardent faith in his brother's innocence, recovered

all his courage, all that strength and firmness of mind which were to

make him a hero. The trial would have to take place; it could not be

avoided; but where was the jury that would dare to convict Simon when

no proofs were forthcoming? The prisoner never varied in his cry of

innocence; and the calmness with which he waited, the confidence in

speedy release which he expressed to his brother at each visit, greatly

fortified the latter. At the Lehmanns' house, as the expectations of

acquittal grew stronger, plans were formed, and Madame Simon talked

of a month's rest which she, her husband, and the children would

afterwards take in Provence, where they had some friends. It was in the

midst of this fresh spell of hopefulness that David one morning asked

Marc to go with him to Beaumont in order that they might discuss the

affair with Delbos, Simon's counsel.

The young advocate resided in the Rue Fontanier, in the popular

trading quarter of the town. The son of a peasant of the environs, he

had studied law in Paris, where for a short time he had frequented

many young men of Socialist views. But hitherto, for lack of one of

those great causes which class a man, he had not bound himself to any

party. In accepting a brief in Simon's case, that case which made his

colleagues of the bar tremble, he had decided his future. He studied

it and became impassioned on finding himself in presence of all the

public powers, all the forces of reaction, which, in order to save the

old rotten framework of society from destruction, were coalescing and

striving to ruin a poor and guiltless man. And the rise of militant

Socialism was at the end of it all, the salvation of the country by the

new force of which the freed masses now disposed.

[Footnote 4: A tribunal discharging the duties of a grand

jury.--_Trans._]

'Well, so there is to be a battle!' Delbos exclaimed gaily, when he

received his visitors in his little study, littered with books and

papers. 'Ah! I cannot tell if we shall conquer, but at all events we

shall do the others some harm.'

Short, dark, and wiry, with eyes of fire and tongue of flame, he

possessed an admirable voice and an extraordinary gift of eloquence, at

once enthusiastic, logical, and precise. David, however, was struck by

his apparent doubt of victory and repeated what he had been saying for

a week past: 'Conquer? Oh! we shall certainly do so. Where can a jury

be found that would dare to convict my brother without proofs?'

Delbos looked at him, and then began to laugh, saying: 'Let us go down

into the street, my poor friend, and the first twelve citizens we get

together will spit in your face and call you a dirty Jew. You don't

read _Le Petit Beaumontais_, and you are ignorant of the beautiful

souls and minds of your contemporaries. But all allusions would be

dangerous and culpable: is that not so, Monsieur Froment?'

Then, as Marc spoke of the disappointment he had experienced when

visiting influential persons, Delbos, wishing to free his client's

brother of his erroneous views, insisted on the subject. No doubt they

had a friend in Salvan, but he was sorely threatened, and, instead

of defending others, needed to be defended himself. Then Le Barazer

would sacrifice something to the fire, suffering Simon to go to his

fate and reserving all his authority and influence for the defence of

secular education. Next Lemarrois, the once incorruptible Republican,

was unknowingly on that path of disquietude which leads straight to

reaction. Then came Marcilly, at the mention of whose name Delbos was

all afire. No trust whatever was to be placed in him, he had always

lied, and to-morrow he would become a renegade and a traitor. Indeed,

one would obtain only fair words from all those folks; nothing in the

way of deeds was to be expected, neither an act of frankness nor one of

courage.

Having thus judged the university men and the politicians, Delbos

passed to the judicial world. He was convinced that Magistrate Daix

had suspected the truth, but had set it on one side, terrified as he

was by the perpetual quarrels which his wife stirred up in order to

prevent him from releasing the dirty Jew. And in acting as he had

done he had surely experienced great perturbation of conscience, for

at bottom he was honest. But, apart from him, one had to fear the

Procureur de la République, the frisky Raoul de La Bissonnière, whose

speech to the jury would certainly prove ferocious. Vain of his petty

_noblesse_, it seemed to La Bissonnière great condescension on his part

to serve the Republic, and he meant to be rewarded for doing so by

rapid advancement, which he hastened as best he could, fawning on both

the Government and the Congregations, zealous too as a patriot and an

anti-semite. As for President Gragnon, in him one would have a jovial

judge, a hard drinker, a keen sportsman, fond of petticoats, addicted

to witticisms, affecting brusqueness, not certainly sceptical, without

soul or faith, and at the mercy of the stronger side. Finally, there

would be the jury, the composition of which it was easy to foresee. One

might expect a few representatives of the manufacturing and trading

classes, some professional men, clerks, and retired officers, and all

would have poisoned minds, all would tremble for their skins, and yield

to the general dementia.

'So, you see,' Delbos concluded bitterly, 'your brother, forsaken by

everybody since he so awkwardly requires help when fear respecting

the result of the elections paralyses even the friends of truth and

justice, will have a fine collection of stupidity, egotism, and

cowardice to judge him.' And, as David preserved dolorous silence, he

added: 'Oh! we shall not allow ourselves to be devoured without raising

an outcry. But I prefer to show you things as they are. And now let us

examine the position with respect to the case itself.'

He could tell what views would be set forth by the prosecution.

Pressure had been brought to bear on the witnesses from all sides.

Quite apart from public opinion in the midst of whose vitiated

atmosphere they lived, they were certainly being worked upon by occult

powers, caught in a skilfully contrived skein of daily exhortations

which dictated to them the statements they were to make. Mademoiselle

Rouzaire now declared peremptorily that she had heard Simon come home

at a quarter to eleven o'clock on the night of the crime. Even Mignot

now fancied that he had heard footsteps and voices about the same hour.

Then influence must have been exercised on Simon's pupils, the Bongard,

Doloir, Savin, and Milhomme children, with the object of extracting

from them statements unfavourable to the prisoner. Little Sébastien

Milhomme, for instance, had now declared, while sobbing distressfully,

that he had never seen his cousin Victor with any copy-slip coming

from the Brothers' school; and apropos of that affair, people spoke

of an unexpected visit that Madame Edouard Milhomme had lately

received from a distant cousin, General Jarousse, who commanded the

division garrisoned at Beaumont. He had never previously confessed his

relationship to the lady stationer, but had suddenly remembered it, and

paid her that friendly call.

Moreover, the prosecution insisted on the failure of all efforts

to find any tramp who might have committed the crime, as had been

originally suspected. It also asserted that it had vainly sought any

witness, guard, or wayfarer, who had seen Simon returning from Beaumont

to Maillebois on foot. On the other hand, it had failed to establish

that he had returned by train, for no railway employé remembered having

seen him; besides which several return tickets had not been given up

on the night of the crime. But it seemed that the evidence of Brother

Fulgence and Father Philibin would be very grave, particularly that of

the latter, who would prove that the copy-slip connected with the crime

had really belonged to Simon's school. And to make things complete, two

handwriting experts of the prosecution, Masters Badoche and Trabut, had

declared that they fully recognised Simon's initials, an E and an S

intertwined, in the faint and virtually illegible paraph on the slip.

Thus one could divine the form which the 'act of accusation' or

indictment would take. It would set forth that Simon lied, and that he

had assuredly returned from Beaumont by train, and must have reached

his home at the very time when Mademoiselle Rouzaire declared that

she had heard him. On the other hand it seemed certain that little

Zéphirin, after returning from the Capuchin Chapel at ten o'clock, had

not gone to bed immediately, but had amused himself by arranging some

religious pictures on his table, in such wise that one might say the

crime had been committed between a quarter to eleven and eleven o'clock.

It was easy to picture the scene. Simon, seeing a light, had entered

his nephew's room, and found him there, about to get into bed.

Arriving from a banquet, heated by wine, he had yielded to a fit of

abominable madness. Moreover, he hated the child, he was infuriated

by the fact that he was a Catholic, and thus it was allowable to hint

at the possibility of ritual crime, at the horrible legend fixed in

the minds of the masses. But, at all events, there certainly had been

abomination; and the maddened criminal, after thrusting the first

thing he had at hand into the victim's mouth in order to stifle his

cries, had lost his head, and, frantic with terror, had strangled the

lad when the improvised gag fell out and the cries began afresh, more

terrible than ever. It was not so easy to explain how it happened that

the number of _Le Petit Beaumontais_ and the copy-slip had been mingled

together. Doubtless the newspaper had been in Simon's pocket, for the

boy would not have had one in his possession. As for the copy-slip,

the prosecution, after hesitating slightly, had adopted the view that

this also must have been in Simon's pocket, for the report of the

handwriting experts identifying the initials showed that it belonged to

him.

The crime accomplished, the rest was easily explained. Simon left the

body on the floor, touched nothing in the room, but contented himself

with opening the window widely in order to make it appear that the

murderer had come from outside. In one respect he had blundered badly,

he had not thought of picking up and destroying the newspaper and the

copy-slip, which had rolled to the foot of the bed. This showed how

great had been his perturbation. And, doubtless, he had not immediately

joined his wife, as she fixed the hour of his return at twenty minutes

to twelve. In all probability he had spent some time seated on the

stairs, trying to recover his calmness. The prosecution did not go so

far as to charge Madame Simon with complicity; nevertheless, it gave

out that she did not tell the truth when she spoke of the smiling

quietude, the gay affection displayed by her husband that night; and

a proof of her disregard for veracity was to be found in the evidence

of Mignot, who was astonished that his principal should have risen so

late the next morning, and who asserted that he had found him pale and

shivering, scarce able to walk, when he went to tell him the dreadful

tidings. Mademoiselle Rouzaire, Brother Fulgence, and Father Philibin

agreed that Simon had almost fainted at the sight of the little body,

although in other respects he showed the most revolting dryness of

heart. And in this again was there not an overwhelming proof of

culpability? The wretched man's guilt could be doubted by none.

Having thus explained the views of the prosecution, Delbos resumed:

'The moral impossibilities are gross; no man of good sense will think

Simon guilty, and, besides, there are several material improbabilities.

But this frightful tale is sufficiently well constructed to seize

hold of the masses and to become one of those legendary fables which

acquire the force of truth. Our weakness proceeds from the fact that,

not knowing the real story, we cannot set it up in opposition to the

legend now being forged. The theory of a night prowler, to which you

seem to cling, can only serve to cast a little doubt into the minds of

the jury; for there are serious objections to it. And so whom can we

accuse, and what shall my system of defence be?'

At this Marc, hitherto very attentive and silent, could not restrain

himself from giving expression to the conviction which had slowly

gathered in his mind: 'But there is no doubt at all for me; the

criminal was one of the Brothers!'

Delbos, well pleased with the answer, and signifying his approval by an

energetic gesture, then exclaimed: 'Quite so. My own conviction is the

same. The more I study the case the more I am led to that conclusion as

being the only one possible.' And as David anxiously shook his head,

he added: 'Yes, I know; it seems to you that your brother's position

would be very dangerous if one of those Ignorantines were accused

without decisive proof. And you are certainly right. Nevertheless, I

have to plead, and the best way to prove your brother's innocence is to

demonstrate who the guilty man must be. Is it not so? You will tell me

that the question becomes one of ascertaining who that man is, and for

that very reason I wish to go into the matter with you thoroughly.'

The discussion continued, and Marc recapitulated the reasons which

made him believe the murderer to be one of the Brothers. First, the

copy-slip had come from this school; that was virtually proved by what

had occurred at the Milhommes. Then there was the initialling of the

slip, and the corner of it which had been torn away, in which clue the

solution of the enigma probably lurked. A decisive moral proof was the

extraordinary zeal the Congregations displayed in denouncing Simon.

They would not have stirred up heaven and earth in this fashion if

they had not found it necessary to save some black sheep; though of

course they also hoped to crush the secular schools and to insure the

triumph of the Church. Moreover, there were features in the crime which

suggested that it could only have been perpetrated by some sly, cruel,

bestial frock-wearer. But unfortunately arguments did not suffice, and

Marc was in despair that his investigations had been thwarted by a

combination of obscurity, confusion, and dread which artful, invisible

hands seemed to increase each day.

'Come,' interrupted Delbos, 'you suspect neither Brother Fulgence nor

Father Philibin, eh?'

'Oh no!' Marc answered, 'I saw them near the body when the crime was

discovered. Brother Fulgence certainly returned to his school on

quitting the Capuchin Chapel on the Thursday evening. Besides, though

he is vain and crazy, I do not think him capable of such a dreadful

deed. As for Father Philibin, he did not quit Valmerie that evening.

Moreover, he also seems to me honest, a worthy man at bottom.'

Silence fell. Then Marc, with a dreamy expression in his eyes, resumed:

'Yet something had certainly happened that morning just as I arrived

at the school. Father Philibin had picked up the newspaper and the

copy-slip, and I now ask myself whether he profited by that brief

opportunity to tear off and do away with that corner of the slip, on

which, perhaps, there may have been some indication.... But But Mignot,

though he hesitated at first, now declares the corner must have been

missing when he first saw the slip.'

'And what about the assistant Brothers, Isidore, Lazarus, and Gorgias?'

asked Delbos.

David, who on his side had prosecuted unremitting inquiries with

admirable zeal, intelligence, and patience, shook his head. 'All three

have _alibis_ which a dozen of their set will establish in court,' he

replied. 'Isidore and Lazarus, it seems, returned to the school from

the Capuchin Chapel with their principal, Brother Fulgence. Brother

Gorgias for his part saw a child home, but he also had returned to the

school by half-past ten, according to all the members of the staff

and various lay witnesses--friends of the Brothers, it is true--who

perceived him going in.'

Again did Marc intervene in his pensive manner, his eyes wandering

afar like those of a man in quest of truth. 'That Brother Gorgias is

not to my liking; I thought of him,' he said. 'The child he escorted

home was Polydor, the nephew of a woman named Pélagie, who is cook to

my wife's relatives. I tried to question the boy, but he is sly, idle,

addicted to falsehoods, and I got nothing out of him except a little

more confusion. All the same, Brother Gorgias haunts me. He is said to

be brutal, sensual, cynical, displaying excessive piety, professing

a stern, uncompromising, exterminating creed. I have been told also

that he formerly had some connection with Father Philibin and even

with Father Crabot.... Brother Gorgias, yes, I certainly thought for a

moment that he might be our man. But then I found I had nothing to go

upon except suppositions.'

'Certainly, Brother Gorgias is not a pleasant customer,' declared

David, 'and my feelings are akin to yours. But can we denounce him when

we have only arguments to bring against him? No witness would support

us; all would stand up for the Brother and whitewash him in reply to

our impious charges.'

Delbos had listened attentively. 'At all events,' said he, 'I cannot

defend Simon without carrying the battle into the enemy's camp. Bear in

mind, too, that the only help from which you may derive some advantage

will perhaps come to you from the Church itself. The old quarrel

between our Bishop, Monseigneur Bergerot, and Father Crabot, the Rector

of Valmarie, is taking a very serious turn, by reason, precisely,

of the Simon affair. My own belief is that the crafty mind and the

invisible hand, which seem to you to be directing the whole business,

are those of Father Crabot. I certainly do not accuse him of the crime,

but it is he who is protecting the culprit. And if we attack him we

shall strike the head of the band, besides which the Bishop will be on

our side--not openly, of course; but is not such assistance something,

even if it be secret?'

A smile of doubt appeared on Marc's face, as if he felt that one never

had the Church on one's side when human truth and justice were at

stake. However, he likewise regarded Father Crabot as the enemy, and

to trace the developments of the case back to him and to endeavour to

destroy him was the right course. So they spoke of Father Crabot and

of his past life, which a somewhat mysterious legend poetised. He was

thought to be the illegitimate grandson of a famous general, a prince

of the First Empire, which relationship, in the estimation of patriotic

souls, endued his pious ministry with some of the resounding glory of

battle and conquest. But the romantic circumstances in which he had

taken orders touched people more deeply. At thirty years of age he had

been a rich, handsome, gallant cavalier, on the point of marrying a

beautiful widow, a Duchess with a great name and a great fortune; but

brutal death had struck her down in her flower. That blow, as Father

Crabot often said, had shown him the bitter nothingness of human joys,

and cast him into the arms of religion. He had gained thereby the

tremulous tenderness of all women's hearts; they were well pleased,

indeed, that he should have sought a refuge in heaven, for love of the

one woman whom he had adored.

Then another legend, that of the foundation of the College of Valmarie,

endeared him to the devotees of the region. The Valmarie estate had

previously belonged to the old Countess de Quédeville, who, after

notorious amours, had retired thither to sanctify her last years by the

practice of extreme piety. Her son and daughter-in-law having perished

in an accident while travelling, she remained alone with her grandson

and sole heir, Gaston, a boy of nine years, who was most aggressively

turbulent, violent in speech, and wild in his play. Not knowing how to

subdue him, and not daring to trust him to school life, the Countess

had engaged as tutor a young Jesuit of six and twenty, Father Philibin,

whose manners suggested his peasant origin, but who was recommended

to her for his extreme firmness. He, no doubt, made the Countess

acquainted with Father Crabot, who was some five or six years his

senior, and who was then at the height of his celebrity, radiant with

the halo of his great passion and its tragic, divine ending. Six months

later, as friend and confessor, he reigned at Valmarie, evil-minded

people asserting that he was the lover of the Countess.

As that turbulent boy Gaston seemed to disturb the happy quietude of

the domain, a truly royal one with its grand old trees, its running

waters, its great stretches of green velvet, there was at one moment

some thought of sending him to the Jesuit Fathers in Paris. He climbed

the loftiest poplars for rooks' nests, took to the river in his clothes

to fish for eels, came home in rags, with arms and legs bruised,

and his face bleeding, giving his grandmother no rest whatever from

anxiety, in spite of Father Philibin's reputed firmness. But all at

once the situation was tragically altered: Gaston was drowned one day

while walking out, under the nominal supervision of his tutor. The

latter related that the boy had fallen into a dangerous hole full of

water, whence it had been impossible to extricate him, in spite of the

efforts of a young fellow of fifteen, Georges Plumet--the son of one of

the gardeners and sometimes Gaston's companion in his escapades--who

had run up on seeing the accident from a distance. The Countess,

profoundly grieved, died during the following year, bequeathing

Valmarie and all her fortune to Father Crabot--or, to be exact,

to a petty clerical banker of Beaumont, who lent his name in such

matters--with directions to establish a Jesuit College on the estate.

Crabot, for a time, had taken himself elsewhere, then had returned

with the rank of Rector, and for ten years now the College had been

prospering under his control.

He reigned there from his austere and retired little cell, whose

walls were bare, and whose furniture was limited to a little pallet,

a table, and two chairs. He made the bed, he swept the floor himself;

and though he heard the confessions of his female penitents in the

chapel, it was in that cell that he listened to those of the men, as

if he were proud of the poverty and solitude into which he withdrew

like some redoubtable divinity, leaving to Father Philibin, the Prefect

of the Studies, all usual daily intercourse with the pupils of the

establishment. But, although he rarely showed himself to them in the

class-rooms, he reserved 'parlour-days' to himself, lavished attentions

on his pupils' relations, particularly on the ladies and young girls

of the local aristocracy, busying himself with the future of his dear

sons and dear daughters, arranging their marriages, insuring them good

positions, in fact disposing of all those fine folk for the greater

glory of God and of his particular Order. And it was thus that he had

become an all-powerful personage.

'To tell the truth,' Delbos resumed, 'Father Crabot strikes me as being

a mediocrity, whose entire strength proceeds from the stupidity of

those among whom he works. I am more distrustful of Father Philibin,

whom you think a worthy man. I am impressed by his affected roughness

and frankness. Suspicion clings to his doings and to Crabot's in the

time of the Countess de Quédeville, such as the drowning of that child

Gaston, and all the more or less lawful manœuvring to acquire the

estate and the fortune. It happens that the only witness of Gaston's

death, Georges Plumet, the gardener's son, is precisely Brother

Gorgias, for whom Philibin assumed great affection and of whom he made

an Ignorantine, when, of course, he changed his name. And now we find

those three men together again, and the solution of the present mystery

is to be found, perhaps, in that circumstance; for, if Brother Gorgias

be guilty, the efforts of the others to save him might be explained

by strong personal motives, the existence of some skeleton in their

cupboard, and the dread lest he should speak out if he were abandoned.

Unfortunately, as you said just now, we can only form suppositions,

whereas we need substantial, authentic facts. However, let us keep on

searching. Defence, I repeat it, will only be possible if I am armed

sufficiently to be an accuser and an avenger.'

That conversation with Delbos inspirited David and Marc. And, even as

had been foreseen, they tasted for a moment the pleasure of witnessing

a quarrel in the clerical camp. At the outset of the affair Abbé

Quandieu, the parish priest of Maillebois, had not concealed his belief

in the innocence of Simon. He did not go so far as to accuse one of

the Brothers; but he allowed it to be seen that he disapproved of the

frantic campaign which the Brothers and the Capuchins were carrying

on with the object of gaining the whole district for themselves;

for, apart from his own loss of parishioners, it distressed him, for

religion's sake, to see the basest superstitions triumphing. When he

found public opinion suddenly poisoned with respect to Simon's case,

he became neutral, never speaking of the affair, but dreading, in his

sincere piety, lest his dear gentle Lord of charity and love should

be slain and replaced by a God of falsehood and iniquity. His only

consolation was that his views coincided with those of Monseigneur

Bergerot, the Bishop, who was fond of him and whom he often visited.

Like the priest himself, the Bishop was accused of Gallicanism, which

simply meant that he did not invariably bow to Rome, and that the

idolatrous worship of images and the impudent trafficking of those

who contracted to perform spurious miracles were repugnant to his

pure faith. For instance, he observed with saddened eyes the invading

tendencies of the Maillebois Capuchins, who so openly traded on the

shrine of St. Antony of Padua which they had set up in their chapel,

thus competing disloyally with the church of St. Martin, where Abbé

Quandieu officiated. The Bishop's anxiety increased when behind the

Capuchins he divined the presence of the Jesuits, all the disciplined

troops of his enemy Father Crabot, who was always employing his

influence to thwart him, and who dreamt of becoming master of the

diocese.

The Bishop reproached the Jesuits with compelling God to go to men,

instead of forcing men to go to God, and he also saw in them the

artisans of the society compromise, of the falling off both in faith

and in observances, which in his opinion was destroying the Church. In

the Simon affair, on finding them so intent upon ruining the unhappy

prisoner, he became suspicious and studied the case very carefully with

Abbé Quandieu, who was well informed. He must then have arrived at a

decisive opinion. Perhaps indeed he learnt who was really the culprit.

But what course could he take, how could he give up a member of the

religious Orders, without risk of doing harm to religion? He lacked the

courage to go as far as that. Yet certainly his silence was full of

bitterness, and he felt anxious as to the consequences of the monstrous

adventure into which others were forcing the Church, which he would

have liked to see all peace, equity, and kindliness.

Thus Monseigneur Bergerot's resignation was not absolute. The idea of

abandoning his dear Abbé Quandieu, of allowing those whom he called

'the dealers of the Temple' to consummate his ruin, was unbearable

to him. On coming, then, to Maillebois in the course of a pastoral

round of inspection, he officiated personally in the ancient church

of St. Martin, and delivered an address in which he blamed all gross

superstition, referring plainly to the commerce carried on by the

Capuchins in their chapel, which was now driving as much trade as a

bazaar. Nobody was mistaken as to the Bishop's meaning; moreover,

everyone felt that the blow was directed not only against Father

Théodose, but against Father Crabot who was behind him. And as

Monseigneur ended by expressing the hope that the Church of France

would remain the pure source of all truth and justice, the scandal

became the greater, for in those words an allusion to the Simon affair

was detected, and the Bishop was accused of casting the Brothers of the

Christian Doctrine to the Jews, the bribe-takers, and the traitors.

On returning to his episcopal palace Monseigneur Bergerot must have

trembled at the thought of the courage he had shown, particularly

as everything was done to embitter his position still more. Some

intimates, in recounting the visit of thanks which Abbé Quandieu paid

him, mentioned that the Bishop and the poor priest had wept together.

The agitation at Beaumont increased as the assizes drew near; the

Indictment Chamber having returned the papers in Simon's case to the

Prosecution Office, the first hearing had been fixed for Monday,

October 20. Meantime the position taken up by the Bishop brought

popular passions to a climax. He was attacked even more violently by

_Le Petit Beaumontais_ than by _La Croix de Beaumont_, though the

latter journal was in the hands of the Jesuits. The Simonists had

plucked up a little courage at the advent of his unhoped-for help; but

the anti-Simonists poisoned public opinion with fresh romances, among

others an extraordinary invention to the effect that a Jew syndicate

had been formed to buy up all the powers of the world by dint of

millions. And three millions, it was said, had gone to Monseigneur

Bergerot as his share.

From that moment dementia and violence reigned throughout the town.

From Le Mauviot, the working-class _faubourg_, to the Avenue des

Jaffres, the aristocratic quarter, passing by way of the Rue Fontanier

and the adjoining narrow streets where the smaller shopkeepers

congregated, the contest became more and more bitter, the Simonists,

who were few in number, being crushed by the ever-growing hordes of

their adversaries. On one occasion a crowd went to hoot Salvan, the

Director of the Training College, as he was suspected of Simonism; and

in a like spirit, Depinvilliers, the Jew-hating and patriotic principal

of the Lycée, was acclaimed. Paid brawlers, recruited on the pavements

and reinforced by clerical young men of position, swept the streets

and threatened the Jew-shops. The saddest was that the Republican and

even some of the Socialist working men either disinterested themselves

from the contest or took up positions against right and truth. Then

terror reigned, cowardice became widespread, all the social forces

coalesced against the unhappy prisoner. The University, headed by

Forbes, its Rector, did not stir for fear of compromising itself.

The official Administration, personified by Prefect Hennebise, had

disinterested itself from the question at the outset, desirous as it

was of incurring no worries. The politicians, the Senators as well as

the Deputies, remained silent for fear they might lose their seats if

they spoke otherwise than the electors did. The Church, in which the

Bishop had ceased to count, Father Crabot becoming its real chief,

demanded the setting up of piles and stakes, and the extermination

of all Jews, Protestants, and Freemasons. The army, by the voice of

General Jarousse, also called for the cleansing of the country, and the

enthronement of an emperor or a king as soon as all the rogues without

God or fatherland should be sabred. And there remained the Judicial

Bench, towards which every hope went forth, for did it not hold in its

hands the necessary _dénouement_, the condemnation of the dirty Jew, by

which alone the salvation of France might be assured? Thus Gragnon, the

presiding judge, and Raoul de La Bissonnière, the Public Prosecutor,

had become great personages, of whom nobody doubted, for their

anti-Simonism was as notorious as were their desire for advancement and

their passion for popularity.

When the names inscribed on the general roll of jurors for the coming

assizes were made public, there was a fresh outburst of violence and

intrigue. The most terrible pressure was brought to bear on the persons

who were likely to serve; so that nobody might remain ignorant of

their names and addresses _Le Petit Beaumontais_ printed them, thus

designating them to the fury of the crowd in the event of their failing

to convict the prisoner. They received anonymous letters, they were

upset by strange visitors, they were begged to think of their wives and

children. In the drawing-rooms of the Avenue des Jaffres people amused

themselves with elaborate calculations, passing in review the more

or less certain opinions of each individual juror. Would such a one

convict or would he not? The question became a society pastime.

At beautiful Madame Lemarrois' house each Saturday, her day, nothing

else was spoken of. All the ladies came: Générale Jarousse, who,

although lean, ugly, and dusky, was said to be abominably unfaithful

to the general, her husband; Présidente Gragnon, who, still superb and

languishing, fascinated the young Assessors of the Public Prosecution

Service; Préfete Hennebise, who, like an artful and prudent Parisienne,

spoke little and listened a great deal; together with the eager Madame

Daix, the Investigating Magistrate's wife, and at times even Madame

de La Bissonnière, the Prosecutor's spouse, though she, gentle and

retiring in her ways, seldom went into society. The ladies had all

attended a great fête given at La Désirade by the Sanglebœufs in

accordance with the advice of Baron Nathan, who had prevailed on his

daughter to shake off her indolence and place herself, like others

of her sex, at the service of the good cause. The part which women

played in the affair was indeed an influential one: they were worth an

army, said young Deputy Marcilly, who, waiting to see on which side

victory would rest, comported himself as a Simonist with some and as an

anti-Simonist with others.

But a last quarrel maddened everybody. One morning _Le Petit

Beaumontais_ formally suggested that at least some part of the case

should be heard _in camera_. This idea had certainly not originated

with the newspaper itself; one divined in it a deep knowledge of

the sentiments of the multitude, a hope that mystery would make the

charges appear yet more monstrous than they were, and a desire for

some convenient means by which one might subsequently justify the

condemnation of an innocent man, as for instance by asserting that

facts had come out _in camera_ with which the general public was not

acquainted. The Simonists detected the danger, protested, appealed for

full light, the hearing of the whole case in open court; whereupon the

anti-Simonists, fired with indignation, shrieked that the appeal was

scandalous, and demanded to know whether the ears of respectable people

were to be soiled by being compelled to listen to the most abominable

particulars. Thus, during the last week, a furious _mêlée_ raged in

Beaumont.

At last the great day, October 20, arrived. The school term having

begun, Marc had been obliged to reinstall himself at Jonville, with

Geneviève and little Louise, whom Madame Duparque and Madame Berthereau

had insisted on keeping with them throughout the whole vacation that

year. Marc had assented the more readily as his sojourn at Maillebois

permitted him to carry on his investigations, which, alas! led to

nothing. But at the same time he had felt so uncomfortable in the

ladies' house, where never a word was said of the great affair, that he

was happy to find himself once more in his school, among his troop of

playful boys, some of whom were so dear to him. On the other hand, at

his own request, he had been cited as a witness in the case in order

that he might testify to Simon's good character; and he awaited the

trial with a quiver of emotion, again possessed by tenacious reliance

in truth and justice, for it seemed to him impossible that a man could

be condemned without proofs, in these days and in France, a land of

liberty and generosity.

When he arrived at Beaumont on the Monday morning the town appeared

to be in a state of siege. Most of the troops were kept under arms in

their barracks, but gendarmes and infantrymen guarded the approaches of

the Palace of Justice; and in order to reach it Marc had to overcome

all sorts of obstacles, although he was duly provided with a witness's

summons. Again, he found the staircases and passages likewise barred by

troops. The Assize Court, a new and very spacious hall, glittered with

gilding and imitation marble, in the crude light entering by six large

windows. The place was already crowded two hours before the opening of

the proceedings. All the fine folk of Beaumont were assembled behind

the judges' armchairs. There were ladies in full dress everywhere,

even on the benches usually reserved for witnesses. And the 'pit,'

where only standing room was provided, was already tumultuous. A picked

throng was gathered there; one recognised the church beadles and the

hired 'demonstrators' of the streets, with whom mingled some of the

ranters of the Young Catholic set. There was a long delay, and thus

Marc had ample time to examine the faces around him and to realise amid

what hostile passions the proceedings would take their course.

The Court appeared: first Gragnon and his Assessors, then the

Procureur de la République, La Bissonnière. The first formalities were

accomplished rapidly; but it was rumoured that a 'panel' had not been

formed without difficulty, several jurors on the roll having applied to

be excused, so great was their dread of incurring any responsibility

in Simon's case. At last the twelve chosen men entered the court in a

file, and took their seats morosely, like condemned criminals. There

were five shopkeepers, two manufacturers, two individuals living on

their means, a doctor, an architect, and a retired army captain. The

architect, a pious man, named Jacquin, who worked for the bishopric,

happened to be the foreman, his name having come first at the drawing

of lots. If the counsel for the defence had not challenged him by

reason of his connections, it was because he enjoyed a well-deserved

reputation for loyalty, uprightness, and honesty. Moreover, something

like disappointment became manifest among the anti-Simonists on the

arrival of the jurymen, whose names were repeated here and there, as

each in succession was identified. Some of them appeared to be doubtful

customers; and there had been hopes of a more reliable jury, one

absolutely determined to convict the prisoner.

Deep silence fell; then the examination of Simon began. Looking puny

and awkward as he entered the court, he had created an unfavourable

impression. But he had drawn himself up, and now, by reason of the

quiet and easy way in which he answered the questions addressed to him,

he appeared to be impudent. Gragnon, the presiding judge, had put on

the scoffing air which he assumed on great occasions, while keeping

his little grey eyes fixed upon the advocate, Maître Delbos, the

anarchist, as he called him, whom he had undertaken to suppress with a

thumb-stroke. Meantime he indulged in witticisms, striving to provoke

laughter, but growing gradually irritated by the calmness of Simon,

who, as he did not lie, was unable to contradict himself and thus give

himself away. The judge therefore became insolent, vainly endeavouring

to provoke a protest from Delbos; but the latter, knowing his man, held

his tongue and smiled. On the whole, the first day's proceedings, while

rejoicing the Simonists, rendered the anti-Simonists extremely anxious,

for the prisoner had clearly set forth the hour of his return to

Maillebois, and the manner in which he had immediately joined his wife,

without it being possible for the judge to produce a single certain,

ascertained fact in opposition to his declarations. At the rising of

the Court, when the crowd retired, the witnesses for the defence were

hooted, and there was almost a fight on the steps of the Palace of

Justice.

On the Tuesday the hearing of the witnesses began amid a yet greater

concourse of people. First came assistant-master Mignot, whose

statements were now less assertive than they had been during the

magisterial inquiry. He no longer spoke positively of the hour at

which he had heard sounds of footsteps and voices. Simple and worthy

fellow as he was at bottom, he doubtless felt disturbed when he thought

of the terrible consequences of such evidence as the judge tried to

extract from him. But Mademoiselle Rouzaire was pitilessly precise.

She specified the exact time, a quarter to eleven o'clock, adding even

that she had fully recognised Simon's voice and footfall. Then came a

long procession of railway employés, _octroi_ officials,[5] and mere

wayfarers, whose evidence was taken to solve the question whether the

prisoner had travelled by the 10.30 train, as the prosecution asserted,

or whether he had returned home on foot, as he himself claimed to

have done. The depositions on the subject were interminable, full of

confusion and contradictions. The impression they left, however, was

somewhat favourable to the defence. But next came the much awaited

evidence of Father Philibin and Brother Fulgence. The former, which was

very brief, proved a disappointment, for the Jesuit merely recounted

in a few husky sentences how he had found the little body on the floor

near the bed. But Brother Fulgence amused the whole assembly by the

vehemence he imparted to his narrative, throughout the whole of which

he gesticulated as wildly as a jumping-jack. Nevertheless, he seemed

quite pleased with the effect he produced. From the very outset of the

affair he had not ceased to muddle and spoil things.

At last the three assistant Brothers, Isidore, Lazarus, and Gorgias,

who had been specially cited by the defence, were called. Delbos

allowed the two former to retire after a few insignificant questions,

but he rose and remained erect while Gorgias was at the bar. That

former little peasant, the son of a gardener at Valmarie, Georges

Plumet as he was called in the days of the Countess de Quédeville, and

now Brother Gorgias of the Ignorantine Order, was a strong, thin, dark

and knotty man, with a low stern forehead, projecting cheek-bones, and

thick lips under a big nose shaped like an eagle's beak. As formerly

mentioned, he was afflicted with a tic, a convulsive twitching of his

upper lip on its left side, which thus disclosed his strong teeth, and

formed a kind of involuntary rictus, having a violent and scoffing

expression. When he stepped forward in his old black frock and with

his white band of doubtful cleanliness, a quiver, which had come

nobody knew whence, sped through the assembly. And immediately a duel,

with questions as keen as sword thrusts and answers as cutting as

parries, began between the advocate and the Brother on the subject

of the evening of the crime, on the time which the witness had taken

to escort little Polydor to his home, and the precise hour at which

he had returned to the school. The public listened in perplexity,

failing to understand the decisive importance of this examination,

for the witness was a stranger to most of the people present. As it

happened, Brother Gorgias, in his violent scoffing way, found an answer

for every question, produced proofs, and established the fact that at

half-past ten o'clock he had been in bed in his cell. Brothers Isidore

and Lazarus were recalled, the doorkeeper of the Brothers' school

was fetched, together with two inhabitants of Maillebois, belated

promenaders, and all swore and confirmed the Ignorantine's assertions.

[Footnote 5: Those who collect municipal dues at the gates or outskirts

of French towns.--_Trans._]

Of course this duel was not fought without considerable intervention on

the part of President Gragnon, who thought the opportunity favourable

to silence Delbos, on the ground that he addressed insulting questions

to the Brother. Delbos retorted by submitting 'conclusions,' and there

was quite a to-do, amidst which Brother Gorgias seemed triumphant,

turning on the advocate sly glances of disdain, as if to imply that he

feared nothing whatever, protected as he was by his God of anger and

extermination, who proved so terrible to infidels. But if the incident

yielded no result that Delbos could immediately put to use, it wrought

great perturbation; and some folk felt terribly alarmed lest Simon

should escape as the result of such attempts to cast doubt into the

minds of the jurors. That alarm must have spread to the Congregations,

for a fresh incident occurred after the evidence of the handwriting

experts, Masters Badoche and Trabut, who, amidst general stupefaction,

explained how they detected Simon's initials, an E and an S interlaced,

in the paraph on the copy-slip, when nobody else could see them there.

That copy-slip was the one document in the case, everything depended

on it; thus the evidence of those extraordinary experts was extremely

grave: it meant the condemnation of Simon.

It was then that Father Philibin, who had followed the proceedings

most attentively, asked the judge's permission to return to the

bar. There, in a ringing voice, he, who had first shown himself so

spiritless and retiring, recounted a brief story of a certain letter

he had seen--a letter written by Simon to a friend, and signed with

the same flourishes. And when Gragnon pressed him, asked for precise

particulars, the Jesuit raised his hand towards the picture of the

Crucifixion above the judgment seat, and declared theatrically that

it was a secret of the confessional, and that he would say no more.

Thus the second day's proceedings came to an end amid a paroxysm of

feverishness and tumult.

On the Wednesday the question of hearing the report on the post-mortem

examination and the evidence of the school children _in camera_ was

dealt with. The presiding judge had the right to take such a course;

but Delbos, without contesting it, set forth all the danger of wrapping

the affair in mystery, and submitted fresh 'conclusions' to the effect

that all evidence should be heard in open court. None the less Gragnon

quietly pronounced a judgment, which the numerous gendarmes who were

present immediately put into execution by pushing the public outside.

There was an extraordinary outburst of emotion, a perfect scramble,

followed by passionate discussions in the passages. During the two

hours occupied by the proceedings _in camera_ the excitement kept on

increasing. Frightful rumours and statements circulated as if what was

being said in court filtered through the walls. At first the chatterers

dealt with the report on the post-mortem examination, discussing in

turn every expression said to be contained in it, and adding horrible

particulars, hitherto unknown to anybody, but absolutely proving

Simon's guilt. Then came the evidence of the Bongard, Doloir, Savin,

and Milhomme children, who were pictured saying things they had never

said. However, people were convinced that all had been corrupted,

and, in spite of Delbos's protest, which indeed was regarded as

a mere comedy, it was declared that the Simonists themselves had

desired proceedings _in camera_ in order to save the secular school of

Maillebois from utter disgrace. Thus, was not condemnation certain?

Besides, those who might be disturbed by the lack of sufficient proof

respecting the death of Zéphirin would be told that certain things

had been stated _in camera_--things they would be unable to control,

knowing nothing of them.

When the doors were re-opened there came a rush, people swept

in tumultuously, searching and sniffing for some trace of the

monstrosities they had imagined. But during the remainder of the

sitting they heard little beyond the evidence of a few witnesses for

the defence, witnesses as to character, among whom Marc figured, and

who all declared Simon to be a very kind and gentle man, fondly

attached to his wife and children. Only one witness attracted any

attention, this being Mauraisin, the Elementary Inspector, who had felt

greatly annoyed by the citation which Delbos had intentionally sent

to him. At a loss between his desire to please the anti-Simonists and

his fear of displeasing his immediate superior, Le Barazer, whom he

knew to be discreetly a Simonist, Mauraisin was in the first instance

obliged to admit that he had reported most favourably on Simon and his

school, and subsequently he could only qualify those reports by vague

insinuations respecting the prisoner's sly character and the sectarian

violence of his religious passions.

The speeches of La Bissonnière and Delbos occupied the Court throughout

the Thursday and the Friday. During the earlier proceedings La

Bissonnière had intervened as little as possible, spending most of

his time in taking notes and contemplating his finger-nails. At heart

he was not free from uneasiness, and he must have asked himself if

he would not do well to relinquish certain charges as some of the

so-called proofs were so very fragile. Thus his address was rather

spiritless. He contented himself with pointing out the various

probabilities of guilt, and ended by asking merely for the application

of the law. His speech had lasted barely two hours, its success was

meagre, and the anxiety of the anti-Simonists again became acute.

Not enough time was left that day for Delbos, who only finished his

speech on the morrow. He began by drawing a portrait of Simon, showing

him in his school, esteemed and loved, having an adorable wife and

beautiful children at his fireside. Then, after setting forth the

horrible and ignoble circumstances of the crime, the advocate asked

if such a man could be guilty of it. He took the so-called proofs

of the prosecution one by one, and demonstrated their nothingness.

On the subject of the copy-slip, and the report of the hand-writing

experts, he waxed terrible; he showed that the ownership of the one

document in the case could not be attributed to Simon, and he exposed

the arrant stupidity of the report drawn up by Masters Badoche and

Trabut. He discussed and destroyed every item of evidence, even that

which had been taken _in camera_, thereby drawing on himself all the

thunders of President Gragnon. Quite a violent quarrel arose, and,

indeed, from that moment Delbos spoke under the constant threat of

being arbitrarily silenced. Nevertheless, from a defender he became

an accuser; he cast before the Court the Brothers and the Capuchins,

and the Jesuits also. He carried the case back to Father Crabot in

order that he might strike the chief of the coalition, as he desired

to do. Only a Brother, he said, could have committed the crime, and,

although he did not name Brother Gorgias, he designated him; he gave

all the reasons on which his conviction was based, he pointed out all

the underhand devices which had been adopted by the other side, the

formation of a great clerical conspiracy of which Simon was the victim,

and the necessity for the plotters that an innocent man should be

condemned in order that the real culprit might be saved. In conclusion

he cried to the jury that it was not the murderer of little Zéphirin,

but the secular schoolmaster, the Jew, whom they were really asked to

condemn. The end of his speech, though rent by the interruptions of the

presiding judge and the hooting of the audience, was, on the whole,

regarded as an oratorical triumph, which placed Delbos in the front

rank, but for which his client, no doubt, would pay heavily.

La Bissonnière immediately rose to reply to it, his countenance

assuming an expression of grief and indignation. An unqualifiable

scandal had taken place; the counsel for the defence had dared to

accuse a Brother without producing any serious proof in support of

his monstrous allegation. He had done worse: he had denounced as that

Brother's accomplices both his superiors and other members of the

religious Orders, including even one of high personality, before whom

all honest folk bowed with respect. Religion was outraged, anarchist

passions were let loose, those who acknowledged neither God nor

patriotic feeling would fain precipitate the country into an abyss. For

three hours La Bissonnière went on denouncing the enemies of society

in flowery language, drawing his little figure erect, as if he felt he

were at last rising to the high destiny to which his ambition aspired.

As he finished he became ironical; he wished to know if the fact of

being a Jew sufficed to make a man innocent; and then he asked the jury

for all its severity, for the head of the wretch who had degraded and

murdered a little child. Frantic applause burst forth, and Delbos, by

his vehement rejoinder full of exasperation, only drew on himself a

fresh tempest of insults and threats.

It was seven o'clock in the evening when the jurors retired to consider

their verdict. As the questions put to them by the Court were few in

number, it was hoped that matters would be finished in less than an

hour, and that one might then go off to dine. Night had fallen, and

the few big lamps placed on the tables did not suffice to illumine

the great hall. Candles, which looked like church tapers, had been

set up in front of the newspaper reporters, who were still working.

The atmosphere was hot and murky, but not a lady quitted her seat,

the crowd stubbornly remained there, phantom-like in places according

to the play of the lights, which threw great tragic shadows around.

All gave full rein to their passions, there was a deafening uproar

of voices, with an agitation, a seething and bubbling, as in some

fermenting vat. The few Simonists were triumphant; they declared it

would be impossible for the jury to convict. And, in spite of the

noisy applause bestowed on La Bissonnière's reply, the anti-Simonists,

who crowded the hall, showed themselves nervous, trembling lest the

expiatory victim should escape them. It was asserted that Jacquin, the

foreman of the jury, had spoken to somebody of the anguish he felt in

presence of the absolute lack of proofs. And three other jurymen were

mentioned as having appeared favourable to the prisoner. Acquittal

became possible. Thus there was angry waiting, waiting which lasted and

lasted, contrary to all previous expectations. Eight o'clock struck,

nine o'clock struck, and still the jurors did not return. They had been

shut up for two hours, unable, no doubt, to come to an agreement. This

only increased the general uncertainty, and, although the door of the

jury's retiring room was carefully closed, rumours came from it, nobody

knew how, raising the agitation of the ravenous, extenuated, impatient

throng to a climax.

All at once it was learnt that the foreman, acting for himself and his

colleagues, had begged the presiding judge to go to them. According

to another version it was the judge who had placed himself at their

disposal, insisting to see them, which seemed a scarcely correct

proceeding. However, the waiting began once more, long minutes went by.

What could the judge be doing with the jurors? Legally he might only

acquaint them with the dispositions of the law, should they be ignorant

of the consequences of their decision. But the delay which was taking

place appeared very long for a simple explanation of that kind; and,

indeed, a fresh rumour suddenly spread among Gragnon's intimates, who

did not seem at all struck by the enormity of such a story. It was to

the effect that a document had reached the judge after the close of

the proceedings, and that he had found it absolutely necessary to lay

it before the jurymen, though the prisoner and his counsel were not

present. However, ten o'clock struck, and at last the jury reappeared.

Then, in the anxious and suddenly silent hall, when the judges had

returned and taken their seats, their robes setting red blotches

against the background of shifting darkness, architect Jacquin, the

foreman, arose. His face, distinctly seen, for the light of a lamp

fell on it, was very pale. And it was in a somewhat weak voice that

he pronounced the customary formula. The jury's answer was 'yes'

to all the questions, but it granted the admission of extenuating

circumstances, illogically of course, and with the sole object of

avoiding the capital penalty. The penalty, in the circumstances, was

penal servitude for life, and sentence was pronounced by President

Gragnon with the air of a well-satisfied jolly dog and the jeering

nasal accent habitual to him. The Procureur de la République, La

Bissonnière, picked up his papers with a quick gesture, like a man

relieved and delighted at having secured his desire. From the audience

frantic applause had risen immediately--the loud baying of hungry

hounds, to whom the long-pursued quarry was at last flung. It was like

the delirium of cannibals gorging themselves with human flesh. And yet

amid that tumult, fraught with horrid savagery, above all the ferocious

baying, there rose a cry--Simon's unceasing cry, 'I am innocent! I

am innocent!'--a loud and stubborn call which sowed truth in worthy

hearts, whilst Advocate Delbos, with tears springing to his eyes, leant

towards the condemned man and embraced him like a brother.