he passed on to his explanation with Madame Gerdy, and he gave the magistrate even fuller details than he had given his old neighbour.
She had, he said, at first utterly denied the substitution, but he insinuated that, plied with questions, and overcome by the evidence, she had, in a moment of despair, confessed all, declaring, soon after, that she would retract and deny this confession, being resolved at all hazards that her son should preserve his position.
From this scene, in the advocate’s judgment, might be dated the first attacks of the illness, to which she was now succumbing.
Noel then described his interview with the Viscount de Commarin. A few inaccuracies occurred in his narrative, but so slight that it would have been difficult to charge him with them. Besides, there was nothing in them at all unfavourable to Albert.
He insisted, on the contrary, upon the excellent impression which that young man had made on him. Albert had received the revelation with a certain distrust, it is true, but with a noble firmness at the same time, and, like a brave heart, was ready to bow before the justification of right.
In fact, he drew an almost enthusiastic portrait of this rival, who had not been spoiled by prosperity, who had left him without a look of hatred, towards whom he felt himself drawn, and who after all was his brother.
M. Daburon listened to Noel with the most unremitting attention, without allowing a word, a movement, or a frown, to betray his feelings.
“How, sir,” observed the magistrate when the young man ceased speaking, “could you have told me that, in your opinion, no one was interested in Widow Lerouge’s death?”
The advocate made no reply.
“It seems to me,” continued M. Daburon, “that the Viscount de Commarin’s position has thereby become almost impregnable. Madame Gerdy is insane; the count will deny all; your letters prove nothing. It is evident that the crime is of the greatest service to this young man, and that it was committed at a singularly favourable moment.”
“Oh sir!” cried Noel, protesting with all his energy, “this insinuation is dreadful.”
The magistrate watched the advocate’s face narrowly. Was he speaking frankly, or was he but playing at being generous? Could it really be that he had never had any suspicion of this?
Noel did not flinch under the gaze, but almost immediately continued — “What reason could this young man have for trembling, or fearing for his position? I did not utter one threatening word, even indirectly. I did not present myself like a man who, furious at being robbed, demands that everything which had been taken from him should be restored on the spot. I merely presented the facts to Albert, saying, ‘Here is the truth? what do you think we ought to do? Be the judge.’”
“And he asked you for time?”
“Yes. I had suggested his accompanying me to see Widow Lerouge, whose testimony might dispel all doubts; he did not seem to understand me. But he was well acquainted with her, having visited her with the count, who supplied her, I have since learned, liberally with money.”
“Did not this generosity appear to you very singular?”
“No.”
“Can you explain why the viscount did not appear disposed to accompany you?”
“Certainly. He had just said that he wished, before all, to have an explanation with his father, who was then absent, but who would return in a few days.”
The truth, as all the world knows, and delights in proclaiming, has an accent which no one can mistake. M. Daburon had not the slightest doubt of his witness’s good faith. Noel continued with the ingenuous candour of an honest heart which suspicion has never touched with its bat’s wing: “The idea of treating at once with my father pleased me exceedingly. I thought it so much better to wash all one’s dirty linen at home, I had never desired anything but an amicable arrangement. With my hands full of proofs, I should still recoil from a public trial.”
“Would you not have brought an action?”
“Never, sir, not at any price. Could I,” he added proudly, “to regain my rightful name, begin by dishonouring it?”
This time M. Daburon could not conceal his sincere admiration.
“A most praiseworthy feeling, sir,” he said.
“I think,” replied Noel, “that it is but natural. If things came to the worst, I had determined to leave my title with Albert. No doubt the name of Commarin is an illustrious one; but I hope that, in ten years time, mine will be more known. I would, however, have demanded a large pecuniary compensation. I possess nothing: and I have often been hampered in my career by the want of money. That which Madame Gerdy owed to the generosity of my father was almost entirely spent. My education had absorbed a great part of it; and it was long before my profession covered my expenses. Madame Gerdy and I live very quietly; but, unfortunately, though simple in her tastes, she lacks economy and system; and no one can imagine how great our expenses have been. But I have nothing to reproach myself with, whatever happens. At the commencement, I could not keep my anger well under control; but now I bear no ill-will. On learning of the death of my nurse, though, I cast all my hopes into the sea.”
“You were wrong, my dear sir,” said the magistrate. “I advise you to still hope. Perhaps, before the end of the day, you will enter into possession of your rights. Justice, I will not conceal from you, thinks she has found Widow Lerouge’s assassin. At this moment, Viscount Albert is doubtless under arrest.”
“What!” exclaimed Noel, with a sort of stupor: “I was not, then, mistaken, sir, in the meaning of your words. I dreaded to understand them.”
“You have not mistaken me, sir,” said M. Daburon. “I thank you for your sincere straightforward explanations; they have eased my task materially. To-morrow — for today my time is all taken up — we will write down your deposition together if you like. I have nothing more to say, I believe, except to ask you for the letters in your possession, and which are indispensable to me.”
“Within an hour, sir, you shall have them,” replied Noel. And he retired, after having warmly expressed his gratitude to the investigating magistrate.
Had he been less preoccupied, the advocate might have perceived at the end of the gallery old Tabaret, who had just arrived, eager and happy, like a bearer of great news as he was.
His cab had scarcely stopped at the gate of the Palais de Justice before he was in the courtyard and rushing towards the porch. To see him jumping more nimbly than a fifth-rate lawyer’s clerk up the steep flight of stairs leading to the magistrate’s office, one would never have believed that he was many years on the shady side of fifty. Even he himself had forgotten it. He did not remember how he had passed the night; he had never before felt so fresh, so agile, in such spirits; he seemed to have springs of steel in his limbs.
He burst like a cannon-shot into the magistrate’s office, knocking up against the methodical clerk in the rudest of ways, without even asking his pardon.
“Caught!” he cried, while yet on the threshold, “caught, nipped, squeezed, strung, trapped, locked! We have got the man.”
Old Tabaret, more Tirauclair than ever, gesticulated with such comical vehemence and such remarkable contortions that even the tall clerk smiled, for which, however, he took himself severely to task on going
