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Updated: June 16, 2025
Too full of the lawyer's shrewd surmises to express any surprise, Daniel looked at the words, and said coolly, "That is Maxime de Brevan's handwriting." A rush of blood colored instantly the pale face of Crochard.
Ah! if the man had been left to his own counsels, he would have kept it all secret, so terribly is he afraid of this Crochard; but, fortunately, his wife had more courage." "Decidedly," growled the surgeon. "The women are, after all, the better part of creation." The magistrate carefully replaced the letter in the box, and then went on in his usual calm voice,
"There were so many people on board who knew Pigot it would have to be a perfect disguise." "Crochard wouldn't stop for that. But it wasn't much of a risk. None of us had seen Pigot closely; all we had seen of him was the back of his head; and the passengers were all on deck watching the quarantine men. And yet, of course, the disguise was a perfect one.
Her companion made no reply, but he looked at the girl with a smile that seemed to say: "Poor child, you little know your mother!" However, in spite of his distrust, as the chaise made its way down the long avenue of poplars leading to Eaubonne, the Stranger thought that Madame Crochard was really asleep; perhaps he did not care to inquire how far her slumbers were genuine or feigned.
"Oh, there is no use taking all that trouble," broke in Godfrey, negligently. "Crochard won't try to sell them." "Won't try to sell them?" echoed Grady. "What's the reason he won't?" "Because he hasn't got them," answered Godfrey, smiling with an evidently deep enjoyment of Grady's dazed countenance. "Oh, come off!" said that worthy disgustedly. "If he hasn't got 'em I'd like to know who has!"
He had drawn a handkerchief from his pocket, and rubbed his eyes hard, as if he hoped thus to bring forth a few tears. "Come, come!" said the magistrate. "No scene!" Crochard sighed deeply, and then continued in a tearful tone, "They might cut me to pieces, and I would not be able to say what happened after that. I was dead drunk, and do not recollect a thing any more.
They want and require proof, positive proof, before they condemn. Well, such proof I have." "Oh!" From the same box from which he had taken the papers concerning Crochard he now drew a letter, which he shook in the air with a threatening gesture. "Here is something," he said, "which was sent to the state attorney twelve days after the last attempt had been made on M. Champcey's life. Listen!"
"I told Godfrey I couldn't stand any more of this," I muttered, and stumbled into my bedroom, undressed with difficulty, and turned out the light. Then, as I lay there, staring up into the darkness, a stinging thought brought me upright. Godfrey where was Godfrey? Was he on the track of Crochard? Was he daring a contest with him? Perhaps, even at this moment....
But what has happened since proves very clearly, as my wife says, that I was wrong to keep silence; and I am ready now to tell all, whatever may be the consequences. "Still, sir, I beg you will protect me, in case Crochard should think of avenging himself on me or on my family, a thing which might very easily happen, as he is a very bad man, capable of any thing.
It was evidently a case of coarsest hypocrisy; for his looks contradicted his words and his voice. The magistrate, however, seemed to be taken in. "You show proper feelings," he said. "Now get up and answer me. What is your name?" "Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet." "What age?" "Thirty-five years." "Where were you born?" "At Bagnolet, near Paris. And on that account, my friend" "Never mind.
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