"Calumnies! odious calumnies! The lower classes, to annoy the rich, do
not hesitate to say all sorts of things against them. Don't you know it?
Is it not always so? The gentry, above all, those of a provincial town,
live in glass houses. The lynx eyes of envy watch them steadily night
and day, spy on them, surprise what they regard as their most secret
actions to arm themselves against them. The bourgeois goes on, proud and
content; his business prospers; he possesses the esteem and friendship
of his own class; all this while, he is vilified by the lower classes,
his name dragged in the dust, soiled by suppositions the most
mischievous. Envy, Monsieur, respects nothing, no one."
"If Laurence has been slandered," observed Dr. Gendron, smiling, "she
has a good advocate to defend her."
The old justice of the peace (the man of bronze, as M. Courtois called
him) blushed slightly, a little embarrassed.
"There are causes," said he, quietly, "which defend themselves.
Mademoiselle Courtois is one of those young girls who has a right to all
respect. But there are evils which no laws can cure, and which revolt
me. Think of it, monsieurs, our reputations, the honor of our wives and
daughters, are at the mercy of the first petty rascal who has
imagination enough to invent a slander. It is not believed, perhaps; but
it is repeated, and spreads. What can be done? How can we know what is
secretly said against us; will we ever know it?"
"Eh!" replied the doctor, "what matters it? There is only one voice, to
my mind, worth listening to--that of conscience. As to what is called
'public opinion,' as it is the aggregate opinion of thousands of fools
and rogues, I only despise it."
This discussion might have been prolonged, if the judge of instruction
had not pulled out his watch, and made an impatient gesture.
"While we are talking, time is flying," said he. "We must hasten to the
work that still remains."
It was then agreed that while the doctor proceeded to his autopsy, the
judge should draw up his report of the case. M. Plantat was charged with
watching Lecoq's investigations.
As soon as the detective found himself alone with M. Plantat:
"Well," he said, drawing a long breath, as if relieved of a heavy
burden, "now we can get on."
Plantat smiled; the detective munched a lozenge, and added:
"It was very annoying to find the investigation already going on when I
reached here. Those who were here before me have had time to get up a
theory, and if I don't adopt it at once, there is the deuce to pay!"