“She is English by birth, and whether or no, she is a woman, a high-bred lady; and it is abominable, unheard-of, to subject her to such monstrous treatment,” said the General.
“But these gentlemen declare that they are fully warranted, that she has put herself in the wrong—greatly, culpably in the wrong.”
“I don’t believe it!” cried the General, indignantly. “Not from these chaps, a pack of idiots, always on the wrong tack! I don’t believe a word, not if they swear.”
“But they have documentary evidence—papers of the most damaging kind against her.”
“Where? How?”
“He—M. le Juge—has been showing me a note-book;” and the General’s eyes, following Jack Papillon’s, were directed to a small carnet, or memorandum-book, which the Judge, interpreting the glance, was tapping significantly with his finger.
Then the Judge said blandly, “It is easy to perceive that you protest, M. le Général, against that lady’s arrest. Is it so? Well, we are not called upon to justify it to you, not in the very least. But we are dealing with a brave man, a gentleman, an officer of high rank and consideration, and you shall know things that we are not bound to tell, to you or to any one.”
“First,” he continued, holding up the note-book, “do you know what this is? Have you ever seen it before?”
“I am dimly conscious of the fact, and yet I cannot say when or where.”
“It is the property of one of your fellow travellers—an Italian called Ripaldi.”