Thus proceeding from one point to another, and by the unaided power of his sagacity, coupled with indefatigable activity, the magistrate had succeeded in establishing Crochard’s guilt, and the existence of accomplices who had instigated the crime. No one could doubt that he was proud of it, and that his self-esteem had increased, although he tried hard to preserve his stiff and impassive appearance. He had even affected a certain dislike to the idea of reading Henrietta’s letter, until he should have proved that he could afford to do without such assistance.
But, now that he had proved this so amply, he very quickly asked for the letter, and read it. Like the chief surgeon, he, also, was struck and amazed by the wickedness of M. de Brevan.
“But here is exactly what we want,” he exclaimed,--“an irrefragable proof of complicity. He would never have dared to abuse Miss Ville- Handry’s confidence in so infamous a manner, if he had not been persuaded, in fact been quite sure, that Lieut. Champcey would never return to France.”
Then, after a few minutes’ reflection, he added,--
“And yet I feel that there is something underneath still, which we do not see. Why had they determined upon M. Champcey’s death even before he sailed? What direct and pressing interest could M. de Brevan have in wishing him dead at that time? Something must have happened between the two which we do not know.”
“What?”
“Ah! that is what I cannot conceive. But remember what I say, doctor: the future reserves some fearful mysteries yet to be revealed to us hereafter.”
The two men had been so entirely preoccupied with their thoughts, that they were unconscious of the flight of time; and they were not a little astonished, therefore, when they now noticed that the day was gone, and night was approaching. The lawyer rose, and asked, returning Henrietta’s letter to the doctor,--
“Is this the only one M. Champcey has received?”
“No; but it is the only one he has opened.”
“Would you object to handing me the others?”
The excellent doctor hesitated.
“I will hand them to you,” he said at last, “if you will assure me that the interests of justice require it. But why not wait”--
He did not dare say, “Why not wait for M. Champcey’s death?” but the lawyer understood him.
“I will wait,” he said.
While thus talking, they had reached the door. They shook hands; and the chief surgeon, his heart fall of darkest presentiments, slowly made his way to the hospital.
A great surprise awaited him there. Daniel, whom he had left in a desperate condition, almost dying,--Daniel slept profoundly, sweetly. His pale face had recovered its usual expression; and his respiration was free and regular.
“It is almost indescribable,” said the old doctor, whose experience was utterly at fault. “I am an ass; and our science is a bubble.”
Turning to Lefloch, who had respectfully risen at his entrance, he asked,--
“Since when has your master been sleeping in this way?”
“For an hour, commandant.”
“How did he fall asleep?”
“Quite naturally, commandant. After you left, the lieutenant was for some time pretty wild yet; but soon he quieted down, and finally he asked for something to drink. I gave him a cup of your tea; he took it, and then asked me to help him turn over towards the wall. I did so, and I saw him remain so, his arm bent, and his head in his hand, like a man who is thinking profoundly. But about a quarter of an hour later, all of a sudden, I thought I heard him gasp. I came up softly on tiptoe, and looked. I was mistaken; the lieutenant was not gasping, he was crying like a baby; and what I had heard were sobs. Ah, commandant! I felt as if somebody had kicked me in the stomach. Because, you see, I know him; and I know, that, before a man such as he is goes to crying like a little child, he must have suffered more than death itself. Holy God! If I knew where I could catch them, these rascals who give him all this trouble”--
His fists rose instinctively, and most undoubtedly something bright started from his eyes which looked prodigiously like a tear rolling slowly down one of the deep furrows in his cheek.
“Now,” he continued in a half-stifled voice, “I saw why the lieutenant had wished to turn his face to the wall, and I went back without making a noise. A moment after that, he began talking aloud. But he was right in his senses now, I tell you.”
“What did he say?”
“Ah! he said something like, ‘Henrietta, Henrietta!’ Always that good friend of his, for whom he was forever calling when he had the fever. And then he said, ‘I am killing her, I! I am the cause of her death. Fool, stupid, idiot that I am! He has sworn to kill me and Henrietta, the wretch! He swore it no doubt, the very day on which I, fool as I was, confided Henrietta and my whole fortune to him.’”
“Did he say that?”
“The very words, commandant, but better, a great deal better.”
The old surgeon seemed to be amazed.
“That cunning lawyer had judged rightly,” he said. “He suspected there was something else; and here it is.”
“You say, commandant?” asked the good sailor.
“Nothing of interest to you. Go on.”
“Well, after that--but there is nothing more to tell, except that I heard nothing more. The lieutenant remained in the same position till I came to light the lamp; then he ordered me to make him tack ship, and to let down the screen over the lamp. I did so. He gave out two or three big sighs, and then goodnight, and nothing more. He was asleep as you see him now.”
“And how did his eyes look when he fell asleep?”
“Quite calm and bright.”
The doctor looked like a man to whom something has happened which is utterly inexplicable to him, and said in a low voice,--
“He will pull through, I am sure now. I said there could not be another miracle; and here it is!”
Then turning to Lefloch, he asked,--
“You know where I am staying?”
“Yes, commandant.”
“If your officer wakes up in the night, you will send for me at once.”
“Yes, commandant.”
But Daniel did not wake up; and he had hardly opened his eyes on the next morning, about eight o’clock, when the chief surgeon entered his room. At the first glance at his patient, he exclaimed,--
“I am sure our imprudence yesterday will have no bad effects!”
Daniel said nothing; but, after the old surgeon had carefully examined him, he began,--
“Now, doctor, one question, a single one: in how many days will I be able to get up and take ship?”
“Ah! my dear lieutenant, there is time enough to talk about that.”
“No, doctor, no! I must have an answer. Fix a time, and I shall have the fortitude to wait; but uncertainty will kill me. Yes, I shall manage to wait, although I suffer like”--
The surgeon was evidently deeply touched.
“I know what you suffer, my poor Champcey,” he said; “I read that letter which came much nearer killing you than Crochard’s ball. I think in a month you will be able to sail.”
“A month!” said Daniel in a tone as if he had said an age. And after a pause he added,--
“That is not all, doctor: I want to ask you for the letters which I could not read yesterday.”
“What? You would--But that would be too great an imprudence.”
“No, doctor, don’t trouble yourself. The blow has fallen. If I did not lose my mind yesterday, that shows that my reason can stand the most terrible trial. I have, God be thanked, all my energy. I know I must live, if I want to save Henrietta,--to avenge her, if I should come too late. That thought, you may rest assured, will keep me alive.”
The surgeon hesitated no longer: the next moment Daniel opened the other two letters from Henrietta. One, very long, was only a repetition of the first he had read. The other consisted only of a few lines:--
“M. de Brevan has just left me. When the man told me mockingly that I need not count upon your return, and cast an atrocious look at me, I understood. Daniel, that man wants your life; and he has hired assassins. For my sake, if not for your own, I beseech you be careful. Take care, be watchful; think that you are the only friend, the sole hope here below, of your Henrietta.”
Now it was truly seen that Daniel had not presumed too much on his strength and his courage. Not a muscle in his face changed; his eye remained straight and clear; and he said in an accent of coldest, bitterest irony,--
“Look at this, doctor. Here is the explanation of the strange ill luck that has pursued me ever since I left France.”
At a glance the doctor read Henrietta’s warning, which came, alas! so much too late.
“You ought to remember this, also, that M. de Brevan could not foresee that the assassin he had hired would be caught.”
This was an unexpected revelation; and Daniel was all attention.
“What?” he said. “The man who fired at me has been arrested?”
Lefloch was unable to restrain himself at this juncture, and replied,--
“I should say so, lieutenant, and by my hand, before his gun had cooled off.”
The doctor did not wait for the questions which he read in the eyes of his patient. He said at once,--
“It is as Lefloch says, my dear lieutenant; and, if you have not been told anything about it, it was because the slightest excitement would become fatal. Yesterday’s experience has only proved that too clearly. Yes, the assassin is in jail.”
“And his account is made up,” growled the sailor.
But Daniel shrugged his shoulders, and said,--
“I do not want him punished, any more than the ball which hit me. That wretched creature is a mere tool. But, doctor, you know who are the real guilty ones.”
“And justice shall be done, I swear!” broke in the old surgeon, who looked upon the cause of his patient with as much interest as if it were his own. “Our lucky star has sent us a lawyer who is no trifler, and who, if I am not very much mistaken, would like very much to leave Saigon with a loud blast of trumpets.”
He remained buried in thought for a while, watching his patient out of the corner of his eye, and then said suddenly,--
“Now I think of it, why could you not see the lawyer? He is all anxiety to examine you. Consider, lieutenant, do you feel strong enough to see him?”
“Let him come,” cried Daniel, “let him come! Pray, doctor, go for him at once!”
“I shall do my best, my dear Champcey. I will go at once, and leave you to finish your correspondence.”
He left the room with these words; and Daniel turned to the letters, which were still lying on his bed. There were seven of them,--four from the Countess Sarah, and three from Maxime. But what could they tell him now? What did he care for the falsehoods and the calumnies they contained? He ran over them, however.
Faithful to her system, Sarah wrote volumes; and from line to line, in some way or other, her real or feigned love for Daniel broke forth more freely, and no longer was veiled and hidden under timid reserve and long-winded paraphrases. She gave herself up, whether her prudence had forsaken her, or whether she felt quite sure that her letters could never reach Count Ville-Handry. It sounded like an intense, irresistible passion, escaping from the control of the owner, and breaking forth terribly, like a long smouldering fire. Of Henrietta she said but little,--enough, however, to terrify Daniel, if he had not known the truth.
“That unfortunate, wayward girl,” she wrote, “has just caused her aged father such cruel and unexpected grief, that he was on the brink of the grave. Weary of the control which her indiscretions rendered indispensable, she has fled, we know not with whom; and all our efforts to find her have so far been unsuccessful.”
On the other hand, M. de Brevan wrote, “Deaf to my counsel and prayers even, Miss Ville-Handry has carried out the project of leaving her paternal home. Suspected of having favored her escape, I have been called out by Sir Thorn, and had to fight a duel with him. A paper which I enclose will give you the details of our meeting, and tell you that I was lucky enough to wound that gentleman of little honor, but of great skill with the pistol.
“Alas! my poor, excellent Daniel, why should I be compelled by the duties of friendship to confess to you that it was not for the purpose of remaining faithful to you, that Miss Henrietta was so anxious to be free? Do not desire to return, my poor friend! You would suffer too much in finding her whom you have loved so dearly unworthy of an honest man, unworthy of you. Believe me, I did all I could to prevent her irregularities, which now have become public. I only drew her hatred upon me, and I should not be surprised if she did all she could to make us all cut our throats.”
This impudence was bold enough to confound anybody’s mind, and to make one doubt one’s own good sense. Still he found the newspaper, which had been sent to him with the letter, and in it the account of the duel between M. de Brevan and M. Thomas Elgin. What did that signify? He once more read over, more attentively than at first, the letters of Maxime and the Countess Sarah; and, by comparing them with each other, he thought he noticed in them some traces of a beginning disagreement.
“It may be that there is discord among my enemies,” he said to himself, “and that they do no longer agree, now that, in their view, the moment approaches when they are to divide the proceeds of their crimes. Or did they never agree, and am I the victim of a double plot? Or is the whole merely a comedy for the purpose of deceiving me, and keeping me here, until the murderer has done his work?”
He was not allowed to torture his mind long with efforts to seek the solution of this riddle. The old doctor came back with the lawyer, and for more than half an hour he had to answer an avalanche of questions. But the investigation had been carried on with such rare sagacity, that Daniel could furnish the prosecution only a single new fact,--the surrender of his entire fortune into the hands of M. de Brevan.
And even this fact must needs, on account of its extreme improbability, remain untold in an investigation which was based upon logic alone. Daniel very naturally, somewhat ashamed of his imprudence, tried to excuse himself; and, when he had concluded his explanations, the lawyer said,--
“Now, one more question: would you recognize the man who attempted to drown you in the Dong-Nai in a boat which he had offered to you, and which he upset evidently on purpose?”
“No, sir.”
“Ah! that is a pity. That man was Crochard, I am sure; but he will deny it; and the prosecution will have nothing but probabilities to oppose to his denial, unless I can find the place where he changed his clothes.”
“Excuse me, there is a way to ascertain his identity.”
“How?”
“The voice of the wretch is so deeply engraven on my mind, that even at this moment, while I am speaking to you, I think I can hear it in my ear; and I would recognize it among a thousand.”
The lawyer made no reply, weighing, no doubt, in his mind the chances of a confrontation. Then he made up his mind, and said,--
“It is worth trying.”
And handing his clerk, who had been a silent witness of this scene, an order to have the accused brought to the hospital, he said,--
“Take this to the jail, and let them make haste.”
It was a month now since Crochard had been arrested; and his imprisonment, so far from discouraging him, had raised his spirits. At first, his arrest and the examination had frightened him; but, as the days went by, he recovered his insolence.
“They are evidently looking for evidence,” he said; “but, as they cannot find any, they will have to let me go.”
He looked, therefore, as self-assured as ever when he came into Daniel’s room, and exclaimed, while still in the door, with an air of intolerable arrogance,--
“Well? I ask for justice; I am tired of jail. If I am guilty, let them cut my throat; if I am innocent”--
But Daniel did not let him finish.
“That is the man!” he exclaimed; “I am ready to swear to it, that is the man!”
Great as was the impudence of Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, he was astonished, and looked with rapid, restless eyes at the chief surgeon, at the magistrate, and last at Lefloch, who stood immovable at the foot of the bed of his lieutenant. He had too much experience of legal forms not to know that he had given way to absurd illusions,--and that his position was far more dangerous than he had imagined. But what was their purpose? what had they found out? and what did they know positively? The effort he made to guess all this gave to his face an atrocious expression.
“Did you hear that, Crochard?” asked the lawyer.
But the accused had recovered his self-control by a great effort; and he replied,--
“I am not deaf.” And there was in his voice the unmistakable accent of the former vagabond of Paris. “I hear perfectly well; only I don’t understand.”
The magistrate, finding that, where he was seated, he could not very well observe Crochard, had quietly gotten up, and was now standing near the mantle-piece, against which he rested.
“On the contrary,” he said severely, “you understand but too well Lieut. Champcey says you are the man who tried to drown him in the Dong-Nai. He recognizes you.”
“That’s impossible!” exclaimed the accused. “That’s impossible; for”--
But the rest of the phrase remained in his throat. A sudden reflection had shown him the trap in which he had been caught,--a trap quite familiar to examining lawyers, and terrible by its very simplicity. But for that reflection, he would have gone on thus,--
“That’s impossible; for the night was too dark to distinguish a man’s features.”
And that would have been equivalent to a confession; and he would have had nothing to answer the magistrate, if the latter had asked at once,--
“How do you know that the darkness was so great on the banks of the Dong-Nai? It seems you were there, eh?”
Quite pallid with fright, the accused simply said,--
“The officer must be mistaken.”
“I think not,” replied the magistrate.
Turning to Daniel, he asked him,--
“Do you persist in your declaration, lieutenant?”
“More than ever, sir; I declare upon honor that I recognize the man’s voice. When he offered me a boat, he spoke a kind of almost unintelligible jargon, a mixture of English and Spanish words; but he did not think of changing his intonation and his accent.”
Affecting an assurance which he was far from really feeling, Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and said,--
“Do I know any English? Do I know any Spanish?”
“No, very likely not; but like all Frenchmen who live in this colony, and like all the marines, you no doubt know a certain number of words of these two languages.”
To the great surprise of the doctor and of Daniel, the prisoner did not deny it; it looked as if he felt that he was on dangerous ground.
“Never mind!” he exclaimed in the most arrogant manner. “It is anyhow pretty hard to accuse an honest man of a crime, because his voice resembles the voice of a rascal.”
The magistrate gently shook his head. He said,--
“Do you pretend being an honest man?”
“What! I pretend? Let them send for my employers.”
“That is not necessary. I know your antecedents, from the first petty theft that procured you four months’ imprisonment, to the aggravated robbery for which you were sent to the penitentiary, when you were in the army.”
Profound stupor lengthened all of Crochard’s features; but he was not the man to give up a game in which his head was at stake, without fighting for it.
“Well, there you are mistaken,” he said very coolly. “I have been condemned to ten years, that is true, when I was a soldier; but it was for having struck an officer who had punished me unjustly.”
“You lie. A former soldier of your regiment, who is now in garrison here in Saigon, will prove it.”
For the first time the accused seemed to be really troubled. He saw all of a sudden his past rising before him, which until now he had thought unknown or forgotten; and he knew full well the weight which antecedents like his would have in the scales of justice. So he changed his tactics; and, assuming an abject humility, he said,--
“One may have committed a fault, and still be incapable of murdering a man.”
“That is not your case.”
“Oh! how can you say such a thing?--I who would not harm a fly. Unlucky gun! Must I needs have such a mishap?”
The magistrate had for some time been looking at the accused with an air of the most profound disgust. He interrupted him rudely now, and said,--
“Look here, my man! Spare us those useless denials. Justice knows everything it wants to know. That shot was the third attempt you made to murder a man.”
Crochard drew back. He looked livid. But he had still the strength to say in a half-strangled voice,--
“That is false!”
But the magistrate had too great an abundance of evidence to allow the examination to continue. He said simply,--
“Who, then, threw, during the voyage, an enormous block at M. Champcey’s head? Come, don’t deny it. The emigrant who was near you, who saw you, and who promised he would not report you at that time, has spoken. Do you want to see him?”
Once more Crochard opened his lips to protest his innocence; but he could not utter a sound. He was crushed, annihilated; he trembled in all his limbs; and his teeth rattled in his mouth. In less than no time, his features had sunk in, as it were, till he looked like a man at the foot of the scaffold. It may be, that, feeling he was irretrievably lost, he had had a vision of the fatal instrument.
“Believe me,” continued the lawyer, “do not insist upon the impossible; you had better tell the truth.”
For another minute yet, the miserable man hesitated. Then, seeing no other chance of safety, except the mercy of the judges, he fell heavily on his knees, and stammered out,--
“I am a wretched man.”
At the same instant a cry of astonishment burst from the doctor, from Daniel, and the worthy Lefloch. But the man of law was not surprised. He knew in advance that the first victory would be easily won, and that the real difficulty would be to induce the prisoner to confess the name of his principal. Without giving him, therefore time to recover, he said,--
“Now, what reasons had you for persecuting M. Champcey in this way?”
The accused rose again; and, making an effort, he said slowly,--
“I hated him. Once during the voyage he had threatened to have me put in irons.”
“The man lies!” said Daniel.
“Do you hear?” asked the lawyer. “So you will not tell the truth? Well, I will tell it for you. They had hired you to kill Lieut. Champcey, and you wanted to earn your money. You got a certain sum of money in advance; and you were to receive a larger sum after his death.”
“I swear”--
“Don’t swear! The sum in your possession, which you cannot account for, is positive proof of what I say.”
“Alas! I possess nothing. You may inquire. You may order a search.”
Under the impassive mask of the lawyer, a certain degree of excitement could at this moment be easily discerned. The time had come to strike a decisive blow, and to judge of the value of his system of induction. Instead, therefore, of replying to the prisoner, he turned to the gendarmes who were present and said to them,--
“Take the prisoner into the next room. Strip him, and examine all his clothes carefully: see to it that there is nothing hid in the lining.”
The gendarmes advanced to seize the prisoner, when he suddenly jumped up, and said in a tone of ill-constrained rage,--
“No need for that! I have three one thousand-franc-notes sewn into the lining of my trousers.”
This time the pride of success got completely the better of the imperturbable coldness of the magistrate. He uttered a low cry of satisfaction, and could not refrain from casting a look of triumph at Daniel and the doctor, which said clearly,--
“Well? What did I tell you?”
It was for a second only; the next instant his features resumed their icy immobility; and, turning to the accused, he said in a tone of command,--
“Hand me the notes!”
Crochard did not stir; but his livid countenance betrayed the fierce suffering he endured. Certainly, at this moment, he did not play a part. To take from him his three thousand francs, the price of the meanest and most execrable crime; the three thousand francs for the sake of which he had risked the scaffold,--this was like tearing his entrails from him.
Like an enraged brute who sees that the enemy is all-powerful, he gathered all his strength, and, with a furious look, glanced around the room to see if he could escape anywhere, asking himself, perhaps, upon which of the men he ought to throw himself for the purpose.
“The notes!” repeated the inexorable lawyer. “Must I order force to be used?”
Convinced of the uselessness of resistance, and of the folly of any attempt at escape, the wretch hung his head.
“But I cannot undo the seams of my trousers with my nails,” he said. “Let them give me a knife or a pair of scissors.”
They were careful not to do so. But, at a sign given by the magistrate, one of the gendarmes approached, and, drawing a penknife from his pocket, ripped the seam at the place which the prisoner pointed out. A genuine convulsion of rage seized the assassin, when a little paper parcel appeared, folded up, and compressed to the smallest possible size. By a very curious phenomenon, which is, however, quite frequently observed in criminals, he was far more concerned about his money than about his life, which was in such imminent danger.
“That is my money!” he raged. “No one has a right to take it from me. It is infamous to ill use a man who has been unfortunate, and to rob him.”
The magistrate, no doubt quite accustomed to such scenes, did not even listen to Crochard, but carefully opened the packet. It contained three notes of a thousand francs each, wrapped up in a sheet of letter-paper, which was all greasy, and worn out in the folds. The bank-notes had nothing peculiar; but on the sheet of paper, traces could be made out of lines of writing; and at least two words were distinctly legible,--University and Street.
“What paper is this, Crochard?” asked the lawyer.
“I don’t know. I suppose I picked it up somewhere.”
“What? Are you going to lie again? What is the use? Here is evidently the address of some one who lives in University Street.”
Daniel was trembling on his bed.
“Ah, sir!” he exclaimed, “I used to live in University Street, Paris.”
A slight blush passed over the lawyer’s face, a sign of unequivocal satisfaction in him. He uttered half loud, as if replying to certain objections in his own mind,--
“Everything is becoming clear.”
And yet, to the great surprise of his listeners, he abandoned this point; and, returning to the prisoner, he asked him,--
“So you acknowledge having received money for the murder of Lieut. Champcey?”
“I never said so.”
“No; but the three thousand francs found concealed on your person say so very clearly. From whom did you receive this money?”
“From nobody. They are my savings.”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders; and, looking very sternly at Crochard, he said,--
“I have before compelled you to make a certain confession. I mean to do so again and again. You will gain nothing, believe me, by struggling against justice; and you cannot save the wretches who tempted you to commit this crime. There is only one way left to you, if you wish for mercy; and that is frankness. Do not forget that!”
The assassin was, perhaps, better able to appreciate the importance of such advice than anybody else there present. Still he remained silent for more than a minute, shaken by a kind of nervous tremor, as if a terrible struggle was going on in his heart. He was heard to mutter,--
“I do not denounce anybody. A bargain is a bargain. I am not a tell- tale.”
Then, all of a sudden, making up his mind, and showing himself just the man the magistrate had expected to find, he said with a cynic laugh,--
“Upon my word, so much the worse for them! Since I am in the trap, let the others be caught as well! Besides, who would have gotten the big prize, if I had succeeded? Not I, most assuredly; and yet it was I who risked most. Well, then, the man who hired me to ‘do the lieutenant’s business’ is a certain Justin Chevassat.”
The most intense disappointment seized both Daniel and the surgeon. This was not the name they had been looking for with such deep anxiety.
“Don’t you deceive me, Crochard?” asked the lawyer, who alone had been able to conceal all he felt.
“You may take my head if I lie!”
Did he tell the truth? The lawyer thought he did; for, turning to Daniel, he asked,--
“Do you know anybody by the name of Chevassat, M. Champcey?”
“No. It is the first time in my life I hear that name.”
“Perhaps that Chevassat was only an agent,” suggested the doctor.
“Yes, that may be,” replied the lawyer; “although, in such matters, people generally do their own work.”
And, continuing his examination, he asked the accused,--
“Who is this Justin Chevassat?”
“One of my friends.”
“A friend richer than yourself, I should think?”
“As to that--why, yes; since he has always plenty of money in his pockets, dresses in the last fashion, and drives his carriage.”
“What is he doing? What is his profession?”
“Ah! as to that, I know nothing about it. I never asked him, and he never told me. I once said to him, ‘Do you know you look like a prodigiously lucky fellow?’ And he replied, ‘Oh, not as much so as you think;’ but that is all.”
“Where does he live?”
“In Paris, Rue Louis, 39.”
“Do you write to him there? For I dare say you have written to him since you have been in Saigon.”
“I send my letters to M. X. O. X. 88.”
It became evident now, that, so far from endeavoring to save his accomplices, Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, would do all he could to aid justice in discovering them. He began to show the system which the wretch was about to adopt,--to throw all the responsibility and all the odium of the crime on the man who had hired him, and to appear the poor devil, succumbing to destitution when he was tempted and dazzled by such magnificent promises, that he had not the strength to resist. The lawyer continued,--
“Where and how did you make the acquaintance of this Justin Chevassat?”
“I made his acquaintance at the galleys.”
“Ah! that is becoming interesting. And do you know for what crime he had been condemned?”
“For forgery, I believe, and also for theft.”
“And what was he doing before he was condemned?”
“He was employed by a banker, or perhaps as cashier in some large establishment. At all events, he had money to handle; and it stuck to his fingers.”
“I am surprised, as you are so well informed with regard to this man’s antecedents, that you should know nothing of his present means of existence.”
“He has money, plenty of money; that is all I know.”
“Have you lost sight of him?”
“Why, yes. Chevassat was set free long before I was. I believe he was pardoned; and I had not met him for more than fifteen years.”
“How did you find him again?”
“Oh! by the merest chance, and a very bad chance for me; since, but for him, I would not be here.”
