With one of those sudden changes of tone which he knew how to use so effectively, he allowed his last sentences to ring out like a trumpet. The next moment the Procureur was on his feet, protesting against such a charge being made; the crowd, stirred to its depths, broke into an inarticulate murmur, promptly hushed; Nathalie, the tears raining down her cheeks, kissed her hand impulsively to her husband; Maître Barraud, remarking quietly that an important though late witness had arrived who would prove what was said, merely appealed to the Court to hear her, and sat down without troubling himself to carry his speech any further; presently, and before the agitation had subsided, and after a consultation with the judges, it was seen that a plain woman, dressed in black, her eyes fixed on the ground, was in the witness-box, and a whisper went round the court that this was M. Lemaire’s wife.
Her answers were at first mechanical, and throughout scarcely audible. As she was sworn, those who were near saw a tremor pass over her, and compassion made the judge cease to request her to speak more plainly, as soon as he discovered that to do so was beyond her powers. Maître Barraud, in place of his junior, examined her himself, and very briefly. After the necessary particulars as to who she was, he went direct to M. de Cadanet’s last illness, and inquired whether the name of De Beaudrillart had been mentioned to her by him.
She replied that it had, more than once.
In what manner?
He gave her the impression of having a yearning towards them; particularly, here her voice shook, towards the boy.
Did she suggest his sending for them?
Yes.
He refused?
Yes.
Did he speak of the prisoner? She looked uncomprehending, and he added, “Of Monsieur de Beaudrillart?”