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Updated: June 9, 2025
He had a pink face like a girl's, a broad forehead topped with close-cropped hair, and a scrubby and ill-trimmed fair beard. His bright eyes gleamed with intelligence. He seemed not in the least embarrassed and wore a pleasant smile, free from any shade of banter. M. Filleul looked at him with an aggressive air of distrust. The two gendarmes came forward.
Isidore made him a very low bow, as though he were greeting a colleague whom he knew how to esteem at his true value, and, turning to M. Filleul: "It appears, Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction, that you have received a satisfactory account of me?" "Perfectly satisfactory! To begin with, you were really at Veules-les-Roses at the time when Mlle. de Saint-Veran thought she saw you in the sunk road.
"Which coat?" "The driver's." And the deputy prosecutor handed M. Filleul a piece of paper, folded in four, containing these few words written in pencil, in a more or less common hand: "Woe betide the young lady, if she has killed the governor!" The incident caused a certain stir. "A word to the wise!" muttered the deputy. "We are now forewarned."
Filleul's bosom friend, came to the castle to celebrate her daughter's wedding quietly, as a matter of course. However, the next day the Jacobins none the less proceeded to arrest Mme. Filleul and Mme. Chalgrin, who, they said, had wasted the candles of the nation. A few days later they were both guillotined. Among the favourite walks were the Temple boulevards.
One was to tell him that Holmlock Shears would arrive next morning. "Capital!" cried M. Filleul, joyfully. "Inspector Ganimard will be here too. It will be delightful." "The other letter is for you, Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction," said the comte. "Better and better," said M. Filleul, after reading it. "There will certainly not be much for those two gentlemen to do.
He went on to the chateau, put a few questions to the servants and joined the examining magistrate in a room on the ground floor, at the end of the right wing, where M. Filleul used to sit in the course of his operations. M. Filleul was writing, with his clerk seated opposite to him.
Early in the war J.B. adopted a French soldier and furnishes him with a monthly allowance of tobacco. Incidentally, he is also lubricating his rusty French by carrying on a correspondence with his "filleul de guerre" who writes him from the trenches, "somewhere in France."
"Long enough to collect the necessary information." "Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction, I beseech you to collect it with all possible speed and discretion." "Why?" "My father is an old man. We are very much attached to each other and I would not have him suffer on my account." The more or less pathetic note in his voice made a bad impression on M. Filleul. It suggested a scene in a melodrama.
"Yes, now or rather, if you do not mind, in an hour or two, when I shall have assisted at your inquiry to the end." "No, no, young man, here and now, please." At that moment Raymonde de Saint-Veran, who had not taken her eyes from Isidore Beautrelet since the beginning of this scene, came up to M. Filleul: "Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction " "Yes, mademoiselle?"
Suddenly, with a back stroke of this stick, he smashed one of the little statues that adorned the front of the chapel. "Why, you're mad!" shouted M. Filleul, beside himself, rushing at the broken pieces of the statue. "You're mad! That old saint was an admirable bit of work " "An admirable bit of work!" echoed Isidore, giving a whirl which brought down the Virgin Mary.
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