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He sobbed, and could not say a single word. At the end of a quarter of an hour, during which Lucien with great difficulty recovered his self-command, the clerk laid before him the copy of the letter and begged him to sign a footnote certifying that the copy was faithful to the original, and might be used in its stead "on all occasions in the course of this preliminary inquiry," giving him the option of comparing the two; but Lucien, of course, took Coquart's word for its accuracy.
"I am the prisoner once more," said Lucien to himself. While the clerk was reading, Lucien came to a determination which compelled him to smooth down Monsieur Camusot. When Coquart's drone ceased, the poet started like a man who has slept through a noise to which his ears are accustomed, and who is roused by its cessation. "You have to sign the report of your examination," said the judge.
I will write to the Governor to give you a better room." "Shall I find writing materials?" "You can have anything supplied to you that you ask for; I will give orders to that effect by the usher who will take you back." Lucien mechanically signed the minutes and initialed the notes in obedience to Coquart's indications with the meekness of a resigned victim.
If it was the policy of the Crown to grant lands along the river of Malbaie there are many people who would like those fertile areas, but there is danger that they would trade with the Indians which should be strictly forbidden. So runs M. Coquart's report.
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