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"Come, come," said M. Daburon, without stopping his preparations for departure, "you are going out of your mind, my dear M. Tabaret. How, after all that you have read there, can " "Yes, sir, yes: it is because I have read this that I entreat you to pause, or we shall add one more mistake to the sad list of judicial errors.
That great disinterestedness was now explained. When the count had ceased speaking, M. Daburon said: "I thank you, sir. I can say nothing positive; but justice has weighty reasons to believe that, in the scene which you have just related to me, Viscount Albert played a part previously arranged." "And well arranged," murmured the count; "for he deceived me!"
The apparent rebellion of his prisoner troubled M. Daburon a great deal. He was further extremely surprised to find the discernment of the old detective at fault; just as though Tabaret were infallible. Tabaret had predicted an unexceptionable alibi; and this alibi was not forthcoming. Why? Had this subtle villain something better than that? What artful defence had he to fall back upon?
"Poor child," continued M. Daburon, pitiless even in his compassion, "unhappy young girl! This is your first deception! Nothing more terrible could be imagined; few women would know how to bear it. But you are young; you are brave; your life will not be ruined. Hereafter you will feel horrified at this crime. There is no wound, I know by experience, which time does not heal."
Lecoq started off at a run, Gevrol was seriously humiliated. "You have of course, sir, the right to demand the services of whom you please," commenced he, "but yet " "Do not," interrupted M. Daburon, "let us lose our tempers, M. Gevrol. I have known you for a long time, and I know your worth; but to-day we happen to differ in opinion.
Old Tabaret had on his side only a subtle theory, mere words; M. Daburon possessed palpable testimony, facts. And such was the peculiarity of the case, that all the reasons brought forward by the old man to justify Albert simply reacted against him, and confirmed his guilt.
"I certainly knew you by reputation," answered M. Daburon; "but your name did not occur to me, and it was only in consequence of hearing you praised that I had the excellent idea of asking your assistance. But what, I should like to know, is your reason for adopting this employment?" "Sorrow, sir, loneliness, weariness. Ah! I have not always been happy!"
In that event, I do not think, so far as one can answer for oneself, that I should have mentioned her name." There was no appearance of bravado. What Albert said, he thought and felt. M. Daburon regretted his irony. "Sir," he said kindly, "you must return to your prison. I cannot release you yet; but you will be no longer in solitary confinement.
What, the husband of the victim alive, and the police ignorant of his existence! Thus thought M. Daburon. What, then, does this wonderful progress in invention accomplish? To-day, precisely as twenty years ago, when Justice is in doubt, it requires the same inordinate loss of time and money to obtain the slightest information.
This shall be my share of life's happiness." The last beams of closing day still enabled the magistrate to see Mademoiselle d'Arlange. Her beautiful face had the whiteness and the immobility of marble. Heavy tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It seemed to M. Daburon that he was beholding the frightful spectacle of a weeping statue. "You love another," said he at length, "another!
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