M. Denizet concluded the inquiry in less than a week. He found the Western Railway Company extremely willing to give him assistance. All the papers he desired, as well as all the evidence likely to be useful, were placed at his disposal; for the company, also, had the keenest desire to see the end of this deplorable scandal connected with one of its staff which, ascending through the complicated machinery of its organisation, had threatened to disturb even its board of directors. It became necessary to remove the mortified limb with all speed. And so, M. Dabadie, Moulin, and others from Havre again filed through the room of the examining-magistrate, giving the most disastrous details in regard to the bad conduct of Roubaud; next came M. Bessière, the station-master at Barentin, as well as several of the servants of the company at Rouen, whose evidence proved of decisive importance, in respect to the first murder; then, M. Vandorpe, the station-master at Paris, Misard, the signalman, and the headguard, Henri Dauvergne—the two last being particularly affirmative concerning the complacent conjugal easiness of the accused. Henri, whom Séverine had looked after at La Croix-de-Maufras, even ventured to relate that one night while still weak he believed he heard Roubaud and Cabuche concerting together under the window. This went a long way towards explaining matters, and upset the system of the two accused, who pretended they were unknown to one another. The entire staff of the company raised a cry of reprobation. Everyone pitied the unfortunate victims, that poor young woman for whose shortcomings there was so much excuse; that upright old gentleman, whose memory was now cleared of the ugly stories which had been circulated respecting him.
But it was in the Grandmorin family, particularly, that this new trial had aroused the passions again, and if M. Denizet still met with powerful support from this quarter, he had to struggle to maintain the integrity of his system. The Lachesnayes chaunted victory, for, exasperated at the legacy of La Croix-de-Maufras, bleeding with avarice, they had never ceased insisting on the guilt of Roubaud. So when the case came to the surface again, the only thing they saw in it was an opportunity to attack the will; and as there existed but one way of obtaining the revocation of the legacy, that of depriving Séverine under a judgment of forfeiture by reason of ingratitude, they accepted, in part, the version of Roubaud; namely, that his wife was an accomplice who had assisted him to kill the President, although not out of vengeance for an imaginary infamy, but for the purpose of robbing him. The examining-magistrate therefore entered into a conflict with them, particularly with Berthe, who showed herself very bitter against her old friend, the murdered woman, whom she charged abominably; while he defended her with heat, flying into a temper when anyone touched his masterpiece—that edifice of logic, so well erected, as he proudly said himself, that if one piece were removed it would all tumble down.
In this connection a very lively scene occurred in his private room, between the Lachesnayes and Madame Bonnehon. The latter, who, on the former occasion, had supported the Roubauds, had found herself compelled to abandon the husband; but she continued to stand up for his wife, by reason of a sort of tender complicity, being very tolerant in regard to beauty and matters of the heart, and she was quite agitated with this tragic romance bespattered with blood.
She spoke out very plainly, and was full of disdain for money. Was her niece not ashamed to return to this question of the legacy? To pronounce Séverine guilty would be to accept the pretended confession of Roubaud in its entirety, and taint the memory of the President afresh. Had not the inquiry so ingeniously established the truth, it would have been necessary to invent it, for the honour of the family. And she spoke rather bitterly about Rouennais society, which made such a fuss anent the matter; that society she no longer reigned over now that age had come, and she was losing even her opulent blonde beauty of a goddess of ripe years. Yes; again on the previous evening, at the house of Madame Leboucq, the wife of the counsellor, that tall, elegant brunette who had dethroned her, the guests whispered broad anecdotes together: the adventure of Louisette, and everything public malignity could invent.
At this moment, M. Denizet intervened to inform her that M. Leboucq would sit as assessor at the coming assizes, and the Lachesnayes, who felt uneasy, held their tongues with an air of giving in. But Madame Bonnehon allayed their alarm, remarking that she was certain justice would be done; the assizes would be presided over by her old friend M. Desbazeilles, whose rheumatism only permitted him the recollection of the past, in the matter of gallantry; and the second assessor would be M. Chaumette, the father of the young substitute who was under her protection. She therefore had no anxiety, although a melancholy smile played on her lips when she mentioned this gentleman, whose son had latterly been noticed as a visitor at the house of Madame Leboucq, where she herself had sent him, so that there might be no impediment to his future.
When the famous trial at last began, the rumour of approaching war and the agitation that spread all over France, prevented a good deal of the reverberation that the proceedings would otherwise have occasioned. Rouen, nevertheless, was for three days in a high state of fever. A regular crush occurred at the entrance to the court, and the reserved seats were invaded by ladies of the town.
Never had the ancient palace of the Dukes of Normandy accommodated such an affluence of people since it had been fitted up as a Palace of Justice. The trial took place in the last days of June. The afternoons were warm and sunny, and the bright light lit up the ten stained-glass windows, bathing in luminosity the oak woodwork, the white stone crucifix, which stood out at the end of the room against the red hangings sprinkled with bees, as well as the celebrated ceiling of the time of Louis XII. with its carved squares gilded in very old and softly toned gold.
The public were already stifling before the proceedings commenced. Women stood on tiptoe to see the various incriminating articles lying spread out on the table: the watch belonging to Grandmorin, the blood-stained night-dress of Séverine, and the knife that had served for the two murders. The gentleman defending Cabuche, an advocate from Paris, was also a centre of interest. In the jury-box sat twelve stout and grave Rouennais buttoned up in their frock-coats. And when the judges entered, there was so much pushing among the public who were standing, that the President at once had to threaten that he would have the court cleared.
At last the case was called on, and the jury sworn. Reading over the names of the witnesses caused another stir among the crowd who were burning with curiosity. At those of Madame Bonnehon and M. de Lachesnaye the heads swayed from side to side; but Jacques particularly impassioned the ladies, who followed him with their eyes. As soon as the accused were brought in, each between two gendarmes, the public never ceased looking at them; and, criticising their appearance, found that they both looked low and ferocious, like a couple of bandits. Roubaud, in his dark jacket, with a necktie arranged after the manner of a person neglectful of his appearance, caused surprise by his prematurely old manner, and his stupid-looking face bursting with fat. As to Cabuche, he was as everyone expected to find him. Wearing a long blue blouse he seemed the very type of an assassin, with enormous fists, and a carnivorous jaw. Just one of those fellows whom you would not care to knock up against at the corner of a wood on a dark night.