“Ah, yes, listen, my friend!” cried Nathalie, joyfully.
Léon had made an effort, strange to his nature, to control himself and spare his wife in their interview. He had been inexpressibly touched by the swiftness of rescue she had brought to his aid on that terrible night. He knew that at this moment she was wearing gloves, lest his eyes should be offended by the cuts and scratches on her hands. He had strung himself heroically to the point of concealing his misery, and of letting her suppose that the worst was past. But, as is often the case, he resented a cheerful view on her part, and could not allow her, even for an instant, to lighten the weight of the situation. In a moment he was plunged into black gloom, and assuring her that whatever happened he could never survive the humiliation of the trial. M. Rodoin discreetly withdrew to the farthest limits, and stood regarding a black spot on the wall. He turned a deaf ear as well as a back, but he could not help hearing a confused murmur of pleading words, sighs, groans, and muttered exclamations of misery. The lawyer fidgeted, looked at his watch, and took a sudden resolution. He turned round sharply.
“Monsieur le baron,” he said, brusquely, “permit me to point out that if you kill madame before the trial, there, will be one good head the less on our side. That is all.”
“Monsieur!” cried Nathalie, reproachfully.
“Yes, yes, madame, I am perfectly aware that most women’s hearts are as tough as leather, and yours may be among them, but there are exceptions. It will be awkward if yours should turn out an exception. Monsieur Léon would do well to recollect this, and, also, that the complication is one of his own making.”
The young man straightened himself.
“You hit—hard, Monsieur Rodoin,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Because I never in my life esteemed you half so much as I do now, monsieur,” said the lawyer, in a low voice, “or pitied you less. You committed a wrong act, so have many of us. You have the courage to expiate it, as many of us have not. You will gain the respect of honest men, and you have your wife’s devoted love. Allons, monsieur, whatever happens, you are not so much to be pitied. The time is up; here comes the warder. Madame will never forgive me for what I have had the presumption to say; nevertheless, she and I will go and cogitate over the best line of defence.”