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Mademoiselle d'Arlange's silence brought the magistrate back to the reality. He raised his eyes to her. Overcome by the violence of her emotion, she lay back in her chair, and breathed with such difficulty that M. Daburon feared she was about to faint. He moved quickly towards the bell, to summon aid; but Claire noticed the movement, and stopped him. "What would you do?" she asked.
Fortunately, though, my poor father was dead." M. Daburon pitied the speaker sincerely. "Rest a while, my friend," he said; "compose yourself." "No," replied the sailor, "I would rather get through with it quickly. One man, the priest, had the charity to tell me of it. If ever he should want Lerouge!
For that, his mother's consent was necessary; and I was taking to Claudine a document which the notary had drawn up, and which she signed. This is it." M. Daburon took the paper, and appeared to read it attentively. After a moment he asked: "Have you thought who could have assassinated your wife?" Lerouge made no reply. "Do you suspect any one?" persisted the magistrate.
"Yes, very rich; for that was not all: he owned near Orleans a property leased for six thousand francs a year. He owned, besides, the house I now live in, where we lived together; and I, fool, sot, imbecile, stupid animal that I was, used to pay the rent every three months to the concierge!" "That was too much!" M. Daburon could not help saying. "Was it not, sir?
M. Daburon remained standing leaning against his writing-table. "You know why I have come?" asked the young girl. With a nod, he replied in the affirmative. He divined her object only too easily; and he was asking himself whether he would be able to resist prayers from such a mouth. What was she about to ask of him? What could he refuse her? Ah, if he had but foreseen this?
Like the child who again and again builds up and demolishes his house of cards, he arranged and entangled alternately his chain of inductions and arguments. In his own mind there was certainly no longer a doubt as regards this sad affair, and it seemed to him that M. Daburon shared his opinions. But yet, what difficulties there still remained to encounter!
Claire spoke in the positive manner of one who saw no obstacle in the way of the very simple and natural desire which she had expressed. A formal assurance given by her ought to be amply sufficient; with a word, M. Daburon would repair everything. The magistrate was silent. He admired that saint-like ignorance of everything, that artless and frank confidence which doubted nothing.
The doctor was sent for; and, since then, she has not recovered consciousness. The doctor " "It is well," interrupted M. Daburon. "Let us leave that for the present. Do you know, sir, whether Widow Lerouge had any enemies?" "None that I know of, sir." "She had no enemies? Well, now tell me, does there exist to your knowledge any one having the least interest in the death of this poor woman?"
The magistrate eagerly seized the piece of kid. It had evidently come from a glove. "You took care, I hope, M. Martin," said M. Daburon, "not to attract attention at the house where you made this investigation?" "Certainly, sir. I first of all examined the exterior of the wall at my leisure.
He presented such a picture of utter despair that the investigating magistrate slightly shuddered at the sight. M. Tabaret looked frightened, and even the clerk seemed moved. "Constant," said M. Daburon quickly, "go with M. Tabaret, and see if there's any news at the Prefecture." The clerk left the room, followed by the detective, who went away regretfully.
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