Death -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
Marc affectionately grasped his hands once more, and retained them for
a moment in his own, whilst resolving to warn him of impending danger,
indeed to tell him everything. 'I regret,' he said, 'that nobody saw
you, and I regret still more that you did not keep your return ticket.
There are so many fools and malicious folks about! It is being reported
that this morning the police found overwhelming proofs here, copies of
the writing-slip, initialled in the same way as the one which formed
part of the gag. Mignot, it seems, is astonished that he should have
found you so sound asleep yesterday morning; and Mademoiselle Rouzaire
now remembers that about a quarter to eleven o'clock on the night of
the crime, she heard voices and footsteps, as if somebody were entering
the house.'
Very pale but very calm, Simon smiled and shrugged his shoulders:
'Ah! that's it, is it? They are suspecting me. Well, I now understand
the expressions I have seen on the faces of the folk who have been
passing the school since early this morning! Mignot, who is a good
fellow at heart, will of course say as everybody else says, for fear of
compromising himself with a Jew like me. As for Mademoiselle Rouzaire,
she will sacrifice me ten times over, if her confessor has suggested it
to her, and if she finds a chance of advancement or merely additional
consideration in such a fine deed. Ah! they are suspecting me, are
they? and the whole pack of clerical hounds has been let loose!'
He almost laughed as he spoke. But Rachel, whose customary indolence
seemed to have been increased by her deep grief, had now suddenly
risen, her beautiful countenance all aglow with dolorous revolt.
'You, you! They suspect you of such ignominy!' she exclaimed; 'you who
were so kind and gentle when you came home, and clasped me in your
arms, and spoke such loving words to me! They must be mad! Is it not
sufficient that I should speak the truth, tell of your return, and of
the night we spent together?'
Then she flung herself upon his neck, weeping and relapsing into the
weakness of an adored and caressed woman. Pressing her to his heart her
husband strove to reassure and calm her.
'Don't be distressed, my darling! Those stories are idiotic, they stand
on nothing. I am quite at ease; the authorities may turn everything
here upside down; they may search all my past life, they will find no
guilt in it. I have only to speak the truth, and, do you know, nothing
can stand against the truth; it is the great, the eternal victor.'
Then, turning to his friend, he added: 'Is it not so, my good Marc? is
one not invincible when one has truth on one's side?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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