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Updated: May 26, 2025
The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously. "It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did not enlighten him when he saw M. de Boiscoran make a fire and get ready to murder Count Claudieuse." The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint.
It is very difficult to make up a story which is to account for every thing. But you are a clever man: you thought it over, and you made out a story. There is nothing lacking in it, except probability. You might tell me that the Countess Claudieuse has unfairly enjoyed the reputation of a saint, and that she has given you her love; perhaps I might be willing to believe it.
He is the man! "And could you hesitate after such evidence? No! I can not and will not believe it. After such crimes, society expects that justice should be done, justice in the name of Count Claudieuse on his deathbed, justice in the name of the dead, justice in the name of Bolton's mother, and of Guillebault's widow and her five children."
It covers four pages: before you have read two, you will be forced to abandon the case." Then the young advocate repeats the evidence given by the accused; and really, under the influence of his eloquence, the charges seem to fall to the ground, and to be utterly annihilated. "And now," he went on, "what other evidence remains there? The evidence given by Count Claudieuse. It is crushing, you say.
Why will you refer to relations which must be forgotten? It is no longer the friend who speaks to you, not even the man, but simply the magistrate. You were seen" "Who is the wretch?" "Cocoleu!" M. de Boiscoran seemed to be overwhelmed. He stammered, "Cocoleu? That poor epileptic idiot whom the Countess Claudieuse has picked up?" "The same."
If there had been nothing against him but the fire at Valpinson, and the attempts upon Count Claudieuse, that would have been a small matter. But the fire had had terrible consequences. Two men had perished in it; and two others had been so severely wounded as to put their lives in jeopardy. Only the evening before, a sad procession had passed through the streets of Sauveterre.
Standing face to face, Jacques and the Countess Claudieuse looked at each other madly, feeling that the fatal hour in their lives had come at last. Each felt a growing, a sure conviction of the other. There was no need of explanations. They had been misled by appearances: they acknowledged it; they were sure of it.
At last the mayor was at leisure to inquire after Count Claudieuse. "Master is down there," replied an old woman, pointing at a little cottage with a thatched roof. "The doctor has had him carried there." "Let us go and see how he is," said the mayor to his two companions. They stopped at the door of the only room of the cottage.
Why should I speak less loud? Do you think that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letter would not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon have satisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! I have never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lost already, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, without friends."
"I believe not." "We must give it up, then. But your man-servant? Old Anthony was in your confidence. Did you never tell him any thing about it?" "Never. Only once I sent for him to come to Vine Street when I had sprained my foot in coming down stairs." "So that it is impossible for you to prove that the Countess Claudieuse ever came to your house in Passy?
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