“Yes, Madame, it was I.”
“Do you swear it?”
“I swear it.”
Revolving the past in her mind, Catherine recalled Savin’s blow. The criminal must be somebody whom Savin thought was sent by his wife, or he would not have struck at her. And, therefore, Bruno, who had taken to flight at her proposition, perhaps had reconsidered it and resolved to carry it out.
“I am a wretched woman,” she said, with a crestfallen look. Presently she once more withdrew to examine her cheek. It was burning, and she imagined that the impression of Savin’s fingers was still there.
The justice and Banastre continued in consultation. They were at a loss as to their duty. In the face of Bruno’s confession, the other evidence seemed to put upon it a reasonable doubt, but finally they decided to arrest Bruno. In vain did he protest that he alone was the criminal; that Catherine was innocent.
“Very well. That the magistrate must decide,” asseverated the Chief of Police.
For the time being the prisoners were locked up in two rooms in the house. A guard was placed over them, and then the justice went home with Monsieur Eugène. The people likewise sought their homes.
It was now eleven o’clock in the morning.
