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"Without her, would I have to live as I am doing, refusing myself everything to make both ends meet? Not a bit of it! I would invest my fortune in a life annuity. But I know, thank heaven, the duties of a mother; and I economise all I can for my little Claire." This devotion appeared so admirable to M. Daburon, that he could not utter a word. "Ah!
One deposition alone to that effect would have such great weight, that M. Daburon, as soon as Tabaret had left him, turned all his attention in that direction. He could still hope for a great deal. It was only Saturday, the day of the murder was remarkable enough to fix people's memories, and up till then there had not been time to start a proper investigation.
"And now," concluded the investigating magistrate, "listen to good advice: do not persist in a system of denying, impossible to sustain. Give in. Justice, rest assured, is ignorant of nothing which it is important to know. Believe me; seek to deserve the indulgence of your judges, confess your guilt." M. Daburon did not believe that his prisoner would still persist in asserting his innocence.
This name, my dear friend, is simply ridiculous. Do you think it will be easy to make a Daburon of a young girl who for nearly eighteen years has been called d'Arlange?" This objection did not seem to trouble the magistrate. "After all," continued the old lady, "your father gained a Cottevise, so you may win a d'Arlange.
It had the advantage, too, of anticipating the axiom, "Search out the one whom the crime will benefit!" Tabaret had spoken truly, when he said that they would not easily make the prisoner confess. M. Daburon admired Albert's presence of mind, and the resources of his perverse imagination. "You do indeed," continued the magistrate, "appear to have had the greatest interest in this death.
M. Daburon had arrived at his office in the Palais de Justice at nine o'clock in the morning, and was waiting. His course resolved upon, he had not lost an instant, understanding as well as old Tabaret the necessity for rapid action. He had already had an interview with the public prosecutor, and had arranged everything with the police.
"I have burnt it." "This precaution leads one to suppose that you considered the letter compromising." "Not at all, sir; it treated entirely of private matters." M. Daburon was sure that this letter came from Mademoiselle d'Arlange. Should he nevertheless ask the question, and again hear pronounced the name of Claire, which always aroused such painful emotions within him?
And, without giving M. Daburon time to reply, he laid before him the facts which, twelve hours before, he had related to M. Tabaret. It was the same story, with the same circumstances, the same abundance of precise and conclusive details; but the tone in which it was told was entirely changed.
Upon this reply, so important and yet made in the most unconscious tone, M. Daburon raised his eyes to the witness. The advocate lowered his head. "And then?" asked the magistrate, after a moment's silence, during which he had taken a few notes. "Those words, sir, were the last spoken by Madame Gerdy. Assisted by our servant, I carried her to her bed.
Albert passed the entire evening you speak of with me." "With you?" stammered the magistrate. "Yes, with me, at my home." M. Daburon was astounded. Was he dreaming? He hardly knew. "What!" he exclaimed, "the viscount was at your house? Your grandmother, your companion, your servants, they all saw him and spoke to him?" "No, sir; he came and left in secret.
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