Maître Barraud had meanwhile been examining the letter written by Léon, of which one corner had been torn off—no doubt where the old man’s attempt to burn it had left a blackened edge. He had relapsed into his most tranquil and uninterested air, and sat down.
The Procureur attempted to cross-examine Mme. Lemaire, but it was useless. He asked how it was that she could hear so clearly the words of a dying and feeble old man, when by her own account the door was half closed, and she had failed to catch her husband’s words.
She replied simply that she could not tell.
Was it not possible that she had been mistaken.
“I heard what I have repeated.”
“And you have come here to give evidence against your husband without so much as telling him what you were going to do!”
“I—I tried—I sent—” She looked wildly round, and, before any one could reach her, dropped unconscious on the floor.