This sentimental outburst produced no impression whatever upon the magistrate. “In that case,” said he, “I suppose you are willing to accept this soldier’s statement.”
The man hesitated, as if conscious that he had fallen into a snare, and that he would be obliged to weigh each answer carefully. “I accept it,” said he at last. “Of course I accept it.”
“Very well, then. This soldier, as you must recollect, wished to revenge himself on Lacheneur, who, by promising him a sum of money, had inveigled him into a conspiracy. A conspiracy against whom? Evidently against you; and yet you pretend that you had only arrived in Paris that evening, and that mere chance brought you to the Poivriere. Can you reconcile such conflicting statements?”
The prisoner had the hardihood to shrug his shoulders disdainfully. “I see the matter in an entirely different light,” said he. “These people were plotting mischief against I don’t know whom—and it was because I was in their way that they sought a quarrel with me, without any cause whatever.”
Skilfully as the magistrate had delivered this thrust, it had been as skilfully parried; so skilfully, indeed, that Goguet, the smiling clerk, could not conceal an approving grimace. Besides, on principle, he always took the prisoner’s part, in a mild, Platonic way, of course.
“Let us consider the circumstances that followed your arrest,” resumed M. Segmuller. “Why did you refuse to answer all the questions put to you?”
A gleam of real or assumed resentment shone in the prisoner’s eyes.
“This examination,” he growled, “will alone suffice to make a culprit out of an innocent man!”
“I advise you, in your own interest, to behave properly. Those who arrested you observed that you were conversant with all the prison formalities and rules.”
“Ah! sir, haven’t I told you that I have been arrested and put in prison several times—always on account of my papers? I told you the truth, and you shouldn’t taunt me for having done so.”