“But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at all
the examinations, and who have no small experience in criminal
matters,--that I believe M. de Boiscoran innocent. I know M. Galpin does
not think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, nor
the town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction. You see, I was there
when they fell upon M. de Boiscoran, asleep in his bed. Well, the very
tone of his voice, as he cried out, ‘Oh, my dear Galpin!’ told me that
the man is not guilty.”
“Oh, sir,” stammered Dionysia, “thanks, thanks!”
“There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmed
my conviction. As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. de Boiscoran
does! You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to remove
the seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that were
asked. I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought. He said I was
a fool. Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is. Ah! I beg your
pardon, I mean that he is mistaken. The more I see of M. de Boiscoran,
the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say to
clear up the whole matter.”
Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she
well-nigh forgot why she had come.
“Then,” she asked, “you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?”
“I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam,” was the reply. “But
he is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mind
returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his
ingenuity and his cleverness”--
Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his
consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much
in his cups. He exclaimed,--
“Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not
let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you
just now.”