The magistrate rose to see her to the door; but she had already disappeared, taking the kind-hearted Schmidt with her.
M. Daburon, more dead than alive, sank back again in his chair. His eyes filled with tears.
“And that is what she is!” he murmured. “Ah! I made no vulgar choice! I had divined and understood all her good qualities.”
He had never loved her so much; and he felt that he would never be consoled for not having won her love in return. But, in the midst of his meditations, a sudden thought passed like a flash across his brain.
Had Claire spoken the truth? Had she not been playing a part previously prepared? No, most decidedly no! But she might have been herself deceived, might have been the dupe of some skillful trick.
In that case old Tabaret’s prediction was now realised.
Tabaret had said: “Look out for an indisputable alibi.”
How could he show the falsity of this one, planned in advance, affirmed by Claire, who was herself deceived?
How could he expose a plan, so well laid that the prisoner had been able without danger to await certain results, with his arms folded, and without himself moving in the matter?
And yet, if Claire’s story were true, and Albert innocent!