a modest competence. I again attempted to shake him, by showing him that his marriage, so ardently looked forward to for two years, would be broken off by this blow. He replied that he felt sure of the constancy of his betrothed, Mademoiselle d’Arlange.”
This name fell like a thunderbolt upon the ears of the investigating magistrate. He jumped in his chair. Feeling that his face was turning crimson, he took up a large bundle of papers from his table, and, to hide his emotion, he raised them to his face, as though trying to decipher an illegible word. He began to understand the difficult duty with which he was charged. He knew that he was troubled like a child, having neither his usual calmness nor foresight. He felt that he might commit the most serious blunders. Why had he undertaken this investigation? Could he preserve himself quite free from bias? Did he think his will would be perfectly impartial? Gladly would he put off to another time the further examination of the count; but could he? His conscience told him that this would be another blunder. He renewed, then, the painful examination.
“Sir,” said he, “the sentiments expressed by the viscount are very fine, without doubt; but did he not mention Widow Lerouge?”
“Yes,” replied the count, who appeared suddenly to brighten, as by the remembrance of some unnoticed circumstances — “yes, certainly.”
“He must have shown you that this woman’s testimony rendered a struggle with M. Gerdy impossible.”
“Precisely; sir; and, aside from the question of duty, it was upon that that he based his refusal to follow my wishes.”
“It will be necessary, count, for you to repeat to me very exactly all that passed between the viscount and yourself. Appeal, then, I beseech you, to your memory, and try to repeat his own words as nearly as possible.”
M. de Commarin could do so without much difficulty. For some little time, a salutary reaction had taken place within him. His blood, excited by the persistence of the examination, moved in its accustomed course. His brain cleared itself.
The scene of the previous evening was admirably presented to his memory, even to the most insignificant details. The sound of Albert’s voice was still in his ears; he saw again his expressive gestures. As his story advanced, alive with clearness and precision, M. Daburon’s conviction became more confirmed.
The magistrate turned against Albert precisely that which the day before had won the count’s admiration.
“What wonderful acting!” thought he. “Tabaret is decidedly possessed of second sight. To his inconceivable boldness, this young man joins an infernal cleverness. The genius of crime itself inspires him. It is a miracle that we are able to unmask him. How well everything was foreseen and arranged? How marvellously this scene with his father was brought about, in order to procure doubt in case of discovery? There is not a sentence which lacks a purpose, which does not tend to ward off suspicion. What refinement of execution! What excessive care for details! Nothing is wanting, not even the great devotion of his betrothed. Has he really informed Claire? Probably I might find out; but I should have to see her again, to speak to her. Poor child! to love such a man! But his plan is now fully exposed. His discussion with the count was his plank of safety. It committed him to nothing, and gained time. He would of course raise objections, since they would only end by binding him the more firmly in his father’s heart. He could thus make a merit of his compliance, and would ask a reward for his weakness. And, when Noel returned to the charge, he would find himself in presence of the count, who would boldly deny everything, politely refuse to have anything to do with him and would possibly have him driven out of the house, as an impostor and forger.”
It was a strange coincidence, but yet easily explained, that M. de Commarin, while telling his story, arrived at the same ideas as the magistrate, and at conclusions almost identical. In fact, why that persistence with respect to Claudine? He remembered plainly, that, in his anger, he had said to his son, “Mankind is not in the habit of doing such fine actions for its own satisfaction.” That great disinterestedness was now explained.
When the count had ceased speaking, M. Daburon said: “I thank you, sir. I can say nothing positive; but justice has weighty reasons to believe that, in the scene which you have just related to me, Viscount Albert played a part previously arranged.”
“And well arranged,” murmured the count; “for he deceived me!”
He was interrupted by the entrance of Noel, who carried under his arm a black shagreen portfolio, ornamented with his monogram.
The advocate bowed to the old gentleman, who in his turn rose and retired politely to the end of the room.
“Sir,” said Noel, in an undertone to the magistrate, “you will find all the letters in this portfolio. I must ask permission to leave you at once, as Madame Gerdy’s condition grows hourly more alarming.”
Noel had raised his voice a little, in pronouncing these last words; and the count heard them. He started, and made a great effort to restrain the question which leaped from his heart to his lips.
“You must however give me a moment, my dear sir,” replied the magistrate.
M. Daburon then quitted his chair, and, taking the advocate by the hand, led him to the count.
“M. de Commarin,” said he, “I have the honour of presenting to you M. Noel Gerdy.”
M. de Commarin was probably expecting some scene of this kind: for not a muscle of his face moved: he remained perfectly calm. Noel, on his side, was like a man who had received a blow on the head; he staggered, and was obliged to seek support from the back of a chair.
Then these two, father and son, stood face to face, apparently deep in thought, but in reality examining one another with mutual distrust, each striving to gather something of the other’s thoughts.
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. The count would open his arms: Noel would throw himself into them; and this reconciliation would only await the sanction of the tribunals, to be complete.
The coldness of the one, the embarrassment of the other, disconcerted his plans. He therefore thought it necessary to intervene.
“Count,” said he reproachfully, “remember that it was only a few minutes ago that you admitted that M. Gerdy was your legitimate son.”
M. de Commarin made no reply; to judge from his lack of emotion, he could not have heard.
So Noel, summoning all his courage, ventured to speak first — “Sir,” he stammered, “I entertain no —”
“You may call me father,” interrupted the haughty old man, in a tone which was by no means affectionate. Then addressing the magistrate he said: “Can I be of any further use to you, sir?”
“Only to hear your evidence read over,” replied M. Daburon, “and to sign it if you find everything correct. You can proceed, Constant,” he added.
The tall clerk turned half round on his chair and commenced. He had a peculiar way of jabbering over what he had scrawled. He read very quickly, all at a stretch, without paying the least attention to either full stops or commas, questions or replies; but went on reading as long as his breath lasted. When he could go on no longer, he took a breath, and then continued as before. Unconsciously, he reminded one of a diver, who every now and then raises his head above
