“Time passes and I must not be idle,” he remarked, as a thought flashed through his brain. In a dream, as it were, the little blond head of Sidonie passed before his eyes, and in a moment he seemed to hear her voice saying: “But they will take you for an assassin, an accomplice!”
Meanwhile, at the Barrau cottage the proceedings revealed Catherine’s peculiar attitude in regard to the affair. The justice of the peace had found it necessary to interrogate her. With fixed eyes and half-open mouth, she sat as though engrossed in one abstraction. Frequently she raised her hand to her face, as though to brush away a stain. The remembrance of that bloody hand was like an avenging fury. Besides, the presence of Jeannille Marselon, whose look was mesmeric in its influence, increased her nervousness.
Léocadia Faillot was gossiping as usual.
“She is feigning insanity,” said Léocadia. “See her face.”
There are people who take pleasure in giving pain. Mademoiselle Faillot belonged to that genus. She derived pleasure in witnessing Catherine’s misery.
To the questions propounded by the justice, Catherine answered: “I do not know,” or “Oh, if he were living! He is my only judge, my husband!”
“Fine words, indeed!” exclaimed Léocadia, derisively.
“Do you confess that you were implicated in your husband’s death?”
“No.”
“Do you deny it?”