“And you too, my old friend: you think I am guilty?”
“I conjure you,” said Anthony, “I answer for any thing. It is barely
twenty feet. In your mother’s name”--
But, instead of answering him, M. de Boiscoran turned round, and called
M. Galpin. When he had come in, he said to him, “Look at that window,
sir! I have money, fast horses; and the sea is only five miles off. A
guilty man would have escaped. I stay here; for I am innocent.”
In one point, at least, M. de Boiscoran had been right. Nothing would
have been easier for him than to escape, to get into the garden, and to
reach the hiding-place which his servant had suggested to him. But after
that? He had, to be sure, with old Anthony’s assistance, some chance of
escaping altogether. But, after all, he might have been found out in his
hiding-place, or he might have been overtaken in his ride to the coast.
Even if he had succeeded, what would have become of him? His flight
would necessarily have been looked upon as a confession of his guilt.
Under such circumstances, to resist the temptation to escape, and to
make this resistance well known, was in fact not so much an evidence
of innocence as a proof of great cleverness. M. Galpin, at all events,
looked upon it in that light; for he judged others by himself. Carefully
and cunningly calculating every step he took in life, he did not believe
in sudden inspirations. He said, therefore, with an ironical smile,
which was to show that he was not so easily taken in,--
“Very well, sir. This circumstance shall be mentioned, as well as the
others, at the trial.”
Very differently thought the commonwealth attorney and the clerk. If
the magistrate had been too much engaged in his dictation to notice any
thing, they had been perfectly able to notice the great excitement under
which the accused had naturally labored. Perfectly amazed at first, and
thinking, for a moment, that the whole was a joke, he had next become
furiously angry; then fear and utter dejection had followed one another.
But in precise proportion as the charges had accumulated, and the
evidence had become overwhelming, he had, so far from becoming
demoralized, seemed to recover his assurance.
“There is something curious about it,” growled Mechinet. M. Daubigeon,
on the other hand, said nothing; but when M. de Boiscoran came out of
his dressing-room, fully dressed and ready, he said,--
“One more question, sir.”
The poor man bowed. He was pale, but calm and self-possessed.
“I am ready to reply,” he said.
“I’ll be brief. You seemed to be surprised and indignant at any one’s
daring to accuse you. That was weakness. Justice is but the work of man,
and must needs judge by appearances. If you reflect, you will see that
the appearances are all against you.”
“I see it but too clearly.”
“If you were on a jury, you would not hesitate to pronounce a man guilty
upon such evidence.”
“No, sir, no!”