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Updated: May 4, 2025
Camusot's clerk, a young man of two-and-twenty, named Coquart, had come in the morning to fetch all the documents and the judge's notes, and laid everything ready in his chambers, while the lawyer himself was wandering along the quays, looking at the curiosities in the shops, and wondering within himself:
This is what was taking place at the Palais while Lucien's protectresses were obeying the orders issued by Jacques Collin. The gendarmes placed the moribund prisoner on a chair facing the window in Monsieur Camusot's room; he was sitting in his place in front of his table. Coquart, pen in hand, had a little table to himself a few yards off.
Only a very little land had been cleared, just enough wheat being raised to supply the needs of the farmer and his assistants. The place should be made more productive, M. Coquart goes on to say, and the present farmer, Joseph Dufour, is just the man to do it.
Would you please to pay me back the postage? For God knows when we shall see our lodgers again!" "Was this letter handed to you by the postman?" asked Camusot, after carefully examining the envelope. "Yes, monsieur." "Coquart, write full notes of this deposition. Go on, my good woman; tell us your name and your business." Camusot made the woman take the oath, and then he dictated the document.
Father Germain was the missionary of the Indians, while Coquart seems to have ministered to the Acadians. The latter was a "secular priest," or one not connected with any religious order. Colonel Arbuthnot had reported to Governor Lawrence that the Acadians begged leave to remain upon their lands on their promise to be faithful and true to His Majesty's Government.
I am sixty years of age, monsieur I implore you do not write it. It is because must I say it?" "It will be to your own advantage, and more particularly to Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre's, if you tell everything," replied the judge. "Because he is Oh, God! he is my son," he gasped out with an effort. And he fainted away. "Do not write that down, Coquart," said Camusot in an undertone.
"If you have really gone through all the sufferings you have complained of since your arrest, you ought to be dead by this time," said Camusot ironically. "You are simply trying the courage of an innocent man and the strength of his constitution," said the prisoner mildly. "Coquart, ring. Send for the prison doctor and an infirmary attendant.
"No, monsieur," said the Governor; "his clerk Coquart instructed me to give the Abbe Carlos a private room and to liberate Monsieur de Rubempre but it is too late." "Good God! what has happened?" "Here, monsieur, is a letter for you which will explain the catastrophe.
What more do you want of me?" he added haughtily. "In this place, monsieur," said the magistrate, answering the poet's pride with mocking arrogance, "I alone have a right to ask questions." "I had the right to refuse to answer them," muttered the hapless Lucien, whose wits had come back to him with perfect lucidity. "Coquart, read the minutes to the prisoner."
Oh, my poor mother!" and Lucien burst into tears. "Coquart, read out to the prisoner that part of Carlos Herrera's examination in which he said that Lucien de Rubempre was his son." The poet listened in silence, and with a look that was terrible to behold. "I am done for!" he cried. "A man is not done for who is faithful to the path of honor and truth," said the judge.
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