Short stories, French -- Translations into English
"Yes, my dear Monsieur, I was. A policeman conducted me through the Palais
de Justice, before the magistrate, a lean man, who asked me my name and
address. I replied that I lived in Versailles, and that I had company to
dinner; he interrupted me, 'You know the prisoner?' pointing to the man
with the muffler, 'Speak up.' But he questioned me so threateningly that I
became disconcerted, for I felt that he was passing judgment upon me. Then
in my embarrassment the words did not come quickly. I finished, moreover,
by telling him that I knew the man without knowing him; then he became
furious: 'What's that you say? You know a man without knowing him! At
least explain yourself!' I was all of a tremble, and said that I knew he
was a Spaniard, but the man replied that he was not a Spaniard. 'Well,
well,' said the Judge. 'Denial, always denial; it is your way.' 'I tell
you that my name is Rigaud, and that I was born in Josey, in Josas; they
are not Spaniards that are born in Josey, in Josas.' 'Always
contradiction; very good, very good!' And the Judge addressed himself to
me. 'Then this man is a Spaniard?' 'Yes, Monsieur the Judge, so I have
been told.' 'Do you know anything more about him?' 'I know he made
purchases at my brother's pharmacy in the Rue Montorgueil.' 'At a
pharmacy! and he bought, did he not, some chlorate of potash, azotite of
potash, and sulphur powder; in a word, materials to manufacture
explosives.' 'I don't know what he bought. I only know that he did not
pay, that's all.' 'Parbleau! Anarchists never pay--' 'I did not need to
pay. I never bought chlorate of potash in the Rue Montorgueil,' cried the
man; but the Judge exclaimed, louder still, 'Yes, it is your audacious
habit of lying, but I will sift this matter to the bottom; sift it, do you
understand. And now why is that muffler on in the month of May?' 'I have a
cold,' replied the other. 'Haven't I the right to have a cold?' 'That is
very suspicious, very suspicious. I am going to send for the druggist in
the Rue Montorgueil!'"
"Then they sent for your brother?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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