Yes, but how could he prevent it? Could he fight against the world? Why not carry her into the dense forest surrounding the town, and there conceal her? But no, that was not practical. Intuition made him aware that there was no time to be lost. But what could he do? His mental anguish was lacerating. Suddenly a noise arrested his ear. “They cannot enter now,” he exclaimed, springing to the door. But it was only a cowherd--that was all. Words would fail to describe the suffering of the motionless Bruno. “Time passes and I must not be idle,” he remarked, as a thought flashed through his brain. In a dream, as it were, the little blond head of Sidonie passed before his eyes, and in a moment he seemed to hear her voice saying: “But they will take you for an assassin, an accomplice!” Meanwhile, at the Barrau cottage the proceedings revealed Catherine’s peculiar attitude in regard to the affair. The justice of the peace had found it necessary to interrogate her. With fixed eyes and half-open mouth, she sat as though engrossed in one abstraction. Frequently she raised her hand to her face, as though to brush away a stain. The remembrance of that bloody hand was like an avenging fury. Besides, the presence of Jeannille Marselon, whose look was mesmeric in its influence, increased her nervousness. Léocadia Faillot was gossiping as usual. “She is feigning insanity,” said Léocadia. “See her face.” There are people who take pleasure in giving pain. Mademoiselle Faillot belonged to that genus. She derived pleasure in witnessing Catherine’s misery. To the questions propounded by the justice, Catherine answered: “I do not know,” or “Oh, if he were _living_! He is my only judge, my husband!” “Fine words, indeed!” exclaimed Léocadia, derisively. “Do you confess that you were implicated in your husband’s death?” “No.” “Do you deny it?” “No.” “Ah, ha! I knew she would pretend she had lost her head.” So malicious did Léocadia look as she made this remark that Sidonie indignantly reproved her. The little cripple had no reason either for loving or defending Catherine, but she was too fair-minded not to take her part when she saw others siding against her with Léocadia. “You are a wicked woman, Mam’selle Léocadia, a very wicked woman!” “Well, I am not an invalid or a cripple.” “Who knows?” rejoined Sidonie. Mademoiselle Faillot shrugged her shoulders, but continued her abuse. Meanwhile the crowd began to threaten Catherine with death. Her only answer was a smile, and that was irritating in the extreme. At length, the justice decided to arrest her. Just then a young fellow, half drunk, volunteered his opinion in these words: “It was your Bruno Volane who dealt the blow for you, I fancy.” “Bruno Volane,” said the magistrate. “Who is he?” “Oh, another one of her lovers.” “Poor fellow,” groaned Catherine.