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Updated: June 21, 2025
He acted without volition of his own, and simply in obedience to another, it is true, and it seemed to him that he himself risked nothing, for he simply told the truth, and yet he was troubled. Had Sanselme been alone in the world with no one but himself to care for he might not have been so strict, for he had run many risks in his life.
The phantom that is to say, Madame Danglars, the poor, insane creature had escaped from Fanfar's house by the door which Sanselme left open, and having found her son thus strangely, lavished on him tender words, which in the ear of the dastard were like curses. Thus they reached the shore, and it was not until Benedetto saw the Seine once more before him that he realized what he was doing.
Suddenly he felt something within reach of the hands with which he was beating the water like a drowning dog. It was a rope. A schooner had been wrecked here and a rope was hanging from its broken hull. Sanselme clung to it with the energy of despair, and by it raised himself on board the schooner and fell on the deck utterly exhausted, morally and physically. Suddenly he uttered a wild cry.
Sanselme, for he it was, uttered an angry exclamation: "And you, Benedetto, are still the same scoundrel that you were!" The two men started to their feet, looking at each other as they had looked when Fate and their crimes first brought them together. Yes, it was Sanselme, who had simply changed the letters in his name and become Maslenes, who now spoke to his former associate with such contempt.
And then he came, all in black. We thought him so kind and good. He was the curé, you know." Sanselme started back. "And when he said to me, 'Jane, why do you not come to confession? I told him the truth, and said it was because I had nothing to confess." "Go on! go on!" said Sanselme. Further doubt was impossible, he was himself the infamous priest. He fell on his knees, and sobbed and wept.
He had preserved much of the persuasiveness of a priest, his language stirred and softened at one and the same time. But now every word that he uttered was sincere. Jane remained excessively sad. Sanselme had saved several thousand francs. What should he do with Jane? He had left Lyons, hoping that a change of scene would go far toward restoring cheerfulness to Jane. Vain hope.
And as Sanselme looked up he saw her. A terrible cry escaped from his lips, and he recoiled with staring eyes riveted on the spectre before him. "It is she!" he murmured. "The dead, it seems, are permitted to revisit the earth!" The woman slowly approached Sanselme, and looked at him closely. She came so near that she could touch him, and then with a wild laugh, she screamed: "The convict!
And that witness must be yourself." "You forget, I fancy, that were I to reveal the truth the scaffold would be your end!" "Ah! that is my affair, Sanselme. You have but to answer my questions truly. I rely on you, for really," sneered Benedetto, "you have quite the air of an honest man. You remember. Do you remember the night of the 24th of February, 1839?"
For the first time she had spoken angrily, but Sanselme would have forgiven her if she had struck him. He saw that memory still haunted her, that there was no peace or rest for her. He wanted her to travel, but the money, where was he to get money? And it was while tortured by these thoughts that Benedetto appeared to him. And this was not all.
Fanfar ran to his assistance. "Don't trouble yourself about me," cried Sanselme. "Tell me, did I hear you speak the name of Jane?" "That is certainly the name on this note," answered Fanfar, extending the paper in his hand, which Sanselme snatched from him. "Yes, it is hers. It is my dau " He stopped even in his delirium he had strength to conceal his secret. "It is Jane's," he added.
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