Only once he was seen to give way to emotion. It was when the Lieutenant of Police stepped into the carriage and took his seat opposite to him.
"Monsieur," he exclaimed, passionately, "one word, for mercy's sake! Does she believe that I am guilty?"
"Monsieur de Fontane," replied the Lieutenant, briefly but kindly, "Madame la Comtesse entertains no doubt of your innocence."
The prisoner's whole countenance brightened. He bent his head gratefully, and spoke no more during the rest of the journey.
CHAPTER VII.
The Trial.
The court-house was crowded in every part. The judge in gloomy state, the robed lawyers, the busy avocats, the imperious ushers—all were there. It was a dark, wintry day. The great chandeliers were lighted in the hall. The windows were closed; but a little patch of daylight streamed in at the œil-de-bœuf overhead, and made the murky atmosphere still darker by contrast.
All Madame de Peyrelade's dear friends, who had fled so precipitately the evening of the murder, might have been seen in various parts of the court-house, chattering to each other with the most lively interest, and now and then affecting a tone of profound compassion for "ce pauvre Baron," or "cette charmante Madame la Comtesse." They, however, agreed unanimously in condemning the unfortunate Chevalier. All had discovered that his countenance wore a very cruel and sinister expression. One had never liked him from a boy: another had mistrusted him from the first: a third said it was rumoured that he had been much disliked in Prussia, and even dismissed the service: a fourth would not be in the least surprised to hear that this assassination was not the first of which he had been guilty.
The object of these charitable remarks sat, however, pale and composed, in the space railed off for the prisoner. Not the soldiers who stood behind his chair were more completely unmoved. He looked worn and sorrowful, but neither desponding nor abashed. He was dressed in a suit of complete mourning. His lawyer sat at a table near him, with far the more troubled countenance of the two. In a room set apart for the witnesses at the farther end of the Justice Hall might have been observed the three herdsmen who discovered the body, the Chevalier's servant, some gendarmes, and several strangers.
Near the bench, on a raised platform, sat a veiled lady in deep mourning, surrounded by a party of her friends. This was Madame de Peyrelade. Near her stood the Commandeur de Fontane, the Lieutenant of Police, and some other gentlemen of the Province.