What was it Valérie had said—that it was such a terrible thing to have to say anything that would help to send a man to death? But the man was not going to death. It was to be a life sentence—and afterwards, after the trial, there would be time to think, and plot, and plan.
“It is the same one,” said Raymond in a low voice.
“You also saw Monsieur Dupont take a large number of loose bills from the prisoner's pocket?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know their amount?”
“No. Monsieur Dupont did not count them at the time.”
“There were a great many, however, crumpled in the pocket, as though they had been hastily thrust there?”
“Yes.”
Why did that man in the prisoner's dock look at him like that—not in accusation—it was worse than that—it was in a sorrowful sort of wonder, and a numbed despair. Those devils were laughing in his ears—he was telling the truth!
“That is all, I think, Monsieur le Curé,” said the crown prosecutor abruptly.