The women began to cry; and those who had room enough knelt down.
“Poor countess!” murmured one of them. “Here is her husband dead, and they say one of her daughters is dying at home.”
But M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and Mechinet were too preoccupied with their own interests to think of stopping for more reliable news. The way was open: they went in, and hastened to the clerk’s office, where the gendarmes had taken Trumence, and now were guarding him.
He rose as soon as he recognized the gentlemen, and respectfully took off his cap. It was really Trumence; but the good-for-nothing vagrant did not present his usual careless appearance. He looked pale, and was evidently very much excited.
“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “so you have allowed yourself to be retaken?”
“Beg pardon, judge,” replied the poor fellow, “I was not retaken. I came of my own accord.”
“Involuntarily, you mean?”
“Quite by my own free will! Just ask the sergeant.”
The sergeant stepped forward, touched his cap, and reported,—
“That is the naked truth. Trumence came himself to our barrack, and said, ‘I surrender as a prisoner. I wish to speak to the commonwealth attorney, and give importance evidence.’”