“None that I know of, sir.”
“She had no enemies? Well, now tell me, does there exist to your knowledge any one having the least interest in the death of this poor woman?”
As he asked this question the investigating magistrate kept his eyes fixed on Noel’s, not wishing him to turn or lower his head.
The advocate started, and seemed deeply moved. He was disconcerted; he hesitated, as if a struggle was going on within him.
Finally, in a voice which was by no means firm, he replied, “No, no one.”
“Is that really true?” asked the magistrate, looking at him more searchingly. “You know no one whom this crime benefits, or whom it might benefit,—absolutely no one?”
“I know only one thing, sir,” replied Noel; “and that is, that, as far as I am concerned, it has caused me an irreparable injury.”
“At last,” thought M. Daburon, “we have got at the letters; and I have not betrayed poor old Tabaret. It would be too bad to cause the least trouble to that zealous and invaluable man.” He then added aloud: “An injury to you, my dear sir? You will, I hope, explain yourself.”
Noel’s embarrassment, of which he had already given some signs, appeared much more marked.
“I am aware, sir,” he replied, “that I owe justice not merely the truth, but the whole truth; but there are circumstances involved so delicate that the conscience of a man of honour sees danger in them. Besides, it is very hard to be obliged to unveil such sad secrets, the revelation of which may sometimes—”