LITMIR.BIZ

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with an expression of intense satisfaction. Then he got upon his feet.

      “Are you now in a fit state to answer me?” asked the judge.

      Guespin staggered a little, then drew himself up. He continued erect before the judge, supporting himself against a table. The nervous trembling of his hands diminished, the blood returned to his cheeks, and as he listened, he arranged the disorder of his clothes.

      “You know the events of this night, don’t you?” commenced the judge; “the Count and Countess de Tremorel have been murdered. You went away yesterday with all the servants of the chateau; you left them at the Lyons station about nine o’clock; you have just returned, alone. Where have you passed the night?”

      Guespin hung his head and remained silent.

      “That is not all,” continued M. Domini; “yesterday you had no money, the fact is well known; one of your fellow-servants has just proved it. To-day, one hundred and sixty-seven francs are found in your wallet. Where did you get this money?”

      The unhappy creature’s lip moved as if he wished to answer; a sudden thought seemed to check him, for he did not speak.

      “More yet. What is this card of a hardware establishment that has been found in your pocket?”

      Guespin made a sign of desperation, and stammered:

      “I am innocent.”

      “I have not as yet accused you,” said the judge of instruction, quickly. “You knew, perhaps, that the count received a considerable sum yesterday?”

      A bitter smile parted Guespin’s lips as he answered:

      “I know well enough that everything is against me.”

      There was a profound silence. The doctor, the mayor, and Plantat, seized with a keen curiosity, dared not move. Perhaps nothing in the world is more thrilling than one of these merciless duels between justice and a man suspected of a crime. The questions may seem insignificant, the answers irrelevant; both questions and answers envelop terrible, hidden meanings. The smallest gesture, the most rapid movement of physiognomy may acquire deep significance, a fugitive light in the eye betray an advantage gained; an imperceptible change in the voice may be confession.

      The coolness of M. Domini was disheartening.

      “Let us see,” said he after a pause: “where did you pass the night? How did you get this money? And what does this address mean?”

      “Eh!” cried Guespin, with the rage of powerlessness, “I should tell you what you would not believe.”

      The judge was about to ask another question, but Guespin cut him short.

      “No; you wouldn’t believe me,” he repeated, his eyes glistening with anger. “Do men like you believe men like me? I have a past, you know, of antecedents, as you would say. The past! They throw that in my face, as if, the future depended on the past. Well, yes; it’s true, I’m a debauchee, a gambler, a drunkard, an idler, but what of it? It’s true I have been before the police court, and condemned for night poaching—what does that prove? I have wasted my life, but whom have I wronged if not myself? My past! Have I not sufficiently expiated it?”

      Guespin was self-possessed, and finding in himself sensations which awoke a sort of eloquence, he expressed himself with a savage energy well calculated to strike his hearers.

      “I have not always served others,” he continued; “my father was in easy circumstances—almost rich. He had large gardens, near Saumur, and he passed for one of the best gardeners of that region. I was educated, and when sixteen years old, began to study law. Four years later they thought me a talented youth. Unhappily for me, my father died. He left me a landed property worth a hundred thousand francs: I sold it out for sixty thousand and went to Paris. I was a fool then. I had the fever of pleasure-seeking, a thirst for all sorts of pastimes, perfect health, plenty of money. I found Paris a narrow limit for my vices; it seemed to me that the objects of my desires were wanting. I thought my sixty thousand francs would last forever.”

      Guespin paused; a thousand memories of those times rushed into his thoughts and he muttered:

      “Those were good times.”

      “My sixty thousand francs,” he resumed, “held out eight years. Then I hadn’t a sou, yet I longed to continue my way of living. You understand, don’t you? About this time, the police, one night, arrested me. I was ‘detained’ six months. You will find the records of the affair at the prefecture. Do you know what it will tell you? It will tell you that on leaving prison I fell into that shameful and abominable misery which exists in Paris. It will tell you that I have lived among the worst and lowest outcasts of Paris —and it is the truth.”

      The worthy mayor was filled with consternation.

      “Good Heaven!” thought he, “what an audacious and cynical rascal! and to think that one is liable at any time to admit such servants into his house!”

      The judge held his tongue. He knew that Guespin was in such a state that, under the irresistible impulse of passion, he might betray his innermost thoughts.

      “But there is one thing,” continued the suspected man, “that the record will not tell you; that, disgusted with this abject life, I was tempted to suicide. It will not tell you anything of my desperate attempts, my repentance, my relapses. At last, I was able in part to reform. I got work; and after being in four situations, engaged myself here. I found myself well off. I always spent my month’s wages in advance, it’s true—but what would you have? And ask if anyone has ever had to complain of me.”

      It is well known that among the most intelligent criminals, those who have had a certain degree of education, and enjoyed some good fortune, are the most redoubtable. According to this, Guespin was decidedly dangerous. So thought those who heard him. Meanwhile, exhausted by his excitement, he paused and wiped his face, covered with perspiration.

      M. Domini had not lost sight of his plan of attack.

      “All that is very well,” said he, “we will return to your confession at the proper time and place. But just now the question is, how you spent your night, and where you got this money.”

      This persistency seemed to exasperate Guespin.

      “Eh!” cried he, “how do you want me to answer? The truth? You wouldn’t credit it. As well keep silent. It is a fatality.”

      “I warn you for your own sake,” resumed the judge, “that if you persist in refusing to answer, the charges which weigh upon you are such that I will have you arrested as suspected of this murder.”

      This menace seemed to have a remarkable effect on Guespin. Great tears filled his eyes, up to that time dry and flashing, and silently rolled down his cheeks. His energy was exhausted; he fell on his knees, crying:

      “Mercy! I beg you, Monsieur, not to arrest me; I swear I am innocent, I swear it!”

      “Speak, then.”

      “You wish it,” said Guespin, rising. Then he suddenly changed his tone. “No, I will not speak, I cannot! One man alone could save me; it is the count; and he is dead. I am innocent; yet if the guilty are not found, I am lost. Everything is against me. I know it too well. Now, do with me as you please; I will not say another word.”

      Guespin’s determination, confirmed by his look, did not surprise the judge.

      “You will reflect,” said he, quietly, “only, when you have reflected, I shall not have the same confidence in what you say as I should have now. Possibly,” and the judge spoke slowly and with emphasis, “you have only had an indirect part in this crime; if so—”

      “Neither indirect nor direct,” interrupted Guespin; and he added, violently, “what misery! To be innocent, and not able to defend myself.”

      “Since it is so,” resumed M. Domini, “you should not object to be placed before Mme. de Tremorel’s body?”

      The

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