P.--Go on!
A.--I went therefore to the priest at Brechy, that evening: unluckily
there was no one at home at the parsonage when I got there. I was
ringing the third or fourth time in vain, when a little peasant-girl
came by, who told me that she had just met the priest at the Marshalls’
Cross-roads. I thought at once I would go and meet him, and went in
that direction. But I walked more than four miles without meeting him. I
thought the girl must have been mistaken, and went home again.
P.--Is that your explanation?
A.--Yes.
P.--And you think it a plausible one?
A.--I have promised to say not what is plausible, but what is true.
I may confess, however, that, precisely because the explanation is so
simple, I did not venture at first to give it. And yet if no crime had
been committed, and I had said the day after, “Yesterday I went to see
the priest at Brechy, and did not find him,” who would have seen any
thing unnatural in my statement?
P.--And, in order to fulfil so simple a duty, you chose a roundabout
way, which is not only troublesome, but actually dangerous, right across
the swamps?
A.--I chose the shortest way.
P.--Then, why were you so frightened upon meeting young Ribot at the
Seille Canal?
A.--I was not frightened, but simply surprised, as one is apt to be
when suddenly meeting a man where no one is expected. And, if I was
surprised, young Ribot was not less so.
P.--You see that you hoped to meet no one?
A.--Pardon me, I did not say so. To expect is not the same as to hope.
P.--Why, then did you take such pains to explain your being there?
A.--I gave no explanations. Young Ribot first told me, laughingly, where
he was going, and then I told him that I was going to Brechy.
P.--You told him, also, that you were going through the marshes to shoot
birds, and, at the same time you showed him your gun?
A.--That may be. But is that any proof against me? I think just the
contrary. If I had had such criminal intentions as the prosecution
suggests, I should certainly have gone back after meeting people,
knowing that I was exposed to great danger. But I was only going to see
my friend, the priest.
P.--And for such a visit you took your gun?
A.--My land lies in the woods and marshes, and there was not a day when
I did not bag a rabbit or a waterfowl. Everybody in the neighborhood
will tell you that I never went out without a gun.
P.--And on your return, why did you go through the forest of
Rochepommier?
A.--Because, from the place where I was on the road, it was probably the
shortest way to Boiscoran. I say probably, because just then I did not
think much about that. A man who is taking a walk would be very much
embarrassed, in the majority of cases, if he had to give a precise
account why he took one road rather than another.
P.--You were seen in the forest by a woodcutter, called Gaudry?
A.--So I was told by the magistrate.
P.--That witness deposes that you were in a state of great excitement.
You were tearing leaves from the branches, you were talking loud.
A.--I certainly was very much vexed at having lost my evening, and
particularly vexed at having relied on the little peasant-girl. It is
quite likely that I might have exclaimed, as I walked along, “Plague
upon my friend, the priest, who goes and dines in town!” or some such
words.
There was a smile in the assembly, but not such as to attract the
president’s attention.
P.--You know that the priest of Brechy was dining out that day?