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Updated: May 20, 2025
M. Daburon had augured better results from this meeting, which he had been awaiting ever since the count's arrival. He had expected that this abrupt presentation would bring about an intensely pathetic scene, which would not give his two witnesses time for reflection.
"Because we are opposed by a criminal of marked ability. A most providential accident has placed us upon his track. If we give him time to breathe, he will escape." The only answer was an inclination of the head, which M. Daburon may have intended for a sign of assent.
"Is that really true?" asked the magistrate, looking at him more searchingly. "You know no one whom this crime benefits, or whom it might benefit, absolutely no one?" "I know only one thing, sir," replied Noel; "and that is, that, as far as I am concerned, it has caused me an irreparable injury." "At last," thought M. Daburon, "we have got at the letters; and I have not betrayed poor old Tabaret.
A cloud of anxiety spread itself like a veil over his beaming countenance. "Noel here," he repeated. Then he timidly added: "And does he know?" "Nothing," replied M. Daburon. "I had no need of mentioning your name. Besides, had I not promised absolute secrecy?" "Ah, that's all right," cried old Tabaret. "And what do you think sir, of Noel?"
"So, so!" exclaimed the chief of detective police. "I know where to search!" "You think so?" inquired M. Daburon. "Why, it is clear enough. We must find the tall sunburnt man, the gallant in the blouse. The brandy and the wine were intended for his entertainment. The widow expected him to supper. He came, sure enough, the amiable gallant!"
But before we part I'll give you a light to find your way with. Do you know who that witness is that I've brought?" "No; but tell me, my good M. Gevrol." "Well, that fellow on the bench there, who is waiting for M. Daburon, is the husband of the victim of the La Jonchere tragedy!" "Is it possible?" exclaimed old Tabaret, perfectly astounded.
When he attempted to speak of his hopes to the marchioness, she would say: "You know what we agreed upon. Not a word. Already does the voice of conscience reproach me for lending my countenance to such an abomination. To think that I may one day have a granddaughter calling herself Madame Daburon! You must petition the king, my friend, to change your name."
Unfortunately, too, Claire and her governess were gone out. A maid was occupied in inundating the old lady with all sorts of waters, in the hope of calming her nerves. She received Daburon as a messenger direct from Providence. In a little more than half an hour, she told her story, interlarded with numerous interjections and imprecations. "Do you comprehend this judge?" cried she.
In the first transports of my resentment, I heaped upon his memory all the insults that can be inspired by the most violent hatred, when I learnt, But I will confide my history to you, M. Daburon. When I was five and twenty years of age. I was earning two thousand francs a year, as a clerk at the Monte de Piete.
To give himself confidence, he fumbled over his soft felt hat, decorated with little lead medals, like the cap of king Louis XI. of devout memory, and also adorned with some if that worsted twist made by the young country girls, on a primitive frame composed of four or five pins stuck in a hollow cork. M. Daburon examined him, and estimated him at a glance.
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