The court, however, was near adjournment, and there was no doubt that M. de Beaudrillart’s prospects were bad. If his wife could only have gone to him, it seemed to her that half the anguish would have been lightened; but to think of him desolate and despairing was agony. Her father’s presence gave her a certain comfort, although at first she had been seized with the dread that she might have to listen to reproaches of her husband, which she would have found unendurable. But M. Bourget was stolidly silent. By slow degrees he was coming round to believe in Léon’s innocence of the greater charge, and he was extraordinarily impressed with the powers of Maître Barraud. He was kind to Nathalie, telling her of M. Georges’s persistent confidence, and of his bringing Raoul to Tours; and to the poor mother, parted from her child by what seemed years, even a lifetime, it was comfort to have every word repeated, and to know that he was well and happy. She feasted upon it, then was smitten with remorse for letting her thoughts leave Léon, even for a minute. Was there nothing for her to do? They said that Maître Barraud wished to speak to her, and she breathlessly pushed her father out of the room, and waited, holding the door. She tried to speak, but her voice sounded strangely far away, and her eyes dumbly questioned the young advocate. To her surprise he looked as usual, and his voice was as indifferent as ever.
“I need only detain you one moment, madame. You saw the wife, and she refused to speak. Do you imagine she had anything to say!”
“Once I thought she had.”
“What were you speaking of at that moment?”
“Of our child.”
He nodded. “I knew she had a sentiment. Her husband neglects her, and she spends her days at the Orphanage. I do not despair. The child and her conscience will work upon her.”
“She knew nothing of the trial.”
“Good! She will think the more. A thousand thanks, madame!” He was gone.
Unconscious tact had stifled the question of how he thought the trial was going, and, although she did not know it, she had her reward. He joined M. Rodoin in the court-yard of the hotel, and said:
“Crow, man of discernment! Your hazel-eyed Madame de Beaudrillart is a phoenix. She answered my questions, and did not pester me with one of her own. I should like to win the case, partly on that account, and partly because Miron is so confoundedly cocksure.”