"Laurence."
But low as he had spoken, M. Plantat heard him.
"Yes, Monsieur Lecoq," said he severely. "Yes, Laurence. Sauvresy did a
detestable thing when he thought of making this poor girl the
accomplice, or I should say, the instrument of his wrath. He piteously
threw her between these two wretches, without asking himself whether she
would be broken. It was by using Laurence's name that he persuaded
Bertha not to kill herself. Yet he knew of Tremorel's passion for her,
he knew her love for him, and he knew that his friend was capable of
anything. He, who had so well foreseen all that could serve his
vengeance, did not deign to foresee that Laurence might be dishonored;
and yet he left her disarmed before this most cowardly and infamous of
men!"
The detective reflected.
"There is one thing," said he, "that I can't explain. Why was it that
these two, who execrated each other, and whom the implacable will of
their victim chained together despite themselves, did not separate of
one accord the day after their marriage, when they had fulfilled the
condition which had established their crime?"
The old justice of the peace shook his head.
"I see," he answered, "that I have not yet made you understand Bertha's
resolute character. Hector would have been delighted with a separation;
his wife could not consent to it. Ah, Sauvresy knew her well! She saw
her life ruined, a horrible remorse lacerated her; she must have a
victim upon whom to expiate her errors and crimes; this victim was
Hector. Ravenous for her prey, she would not let him go for anything in
the world."
"I' faith," observed Dr. Gendron, "your Tremorel was a chicken-hearted
wretch. What had he to fear when Sauvresy's manuscript was once
destroyed?"
"Who told you it had been destroyed?" interrupted M. Plantat.
M. Lecoq at this stopped promenading up and down the room, and sat down
opposite M. Plantat.
"The whole case lies there," said he. "Whether these proofs have or have
not been destroyed."