She stared at him, blinking viciously behind her glasses.
“Ah! I thought so! That is like the whole tribe of you! You had him arrested!”
“No,” said Raymond. “I did not have him arrested. You remember the note that was read out at the trial, Madame Blcndin—about the attempted escape of Henri Mentone?”
“Well?”—Madame Blondin's animosity at the sight of a soutane was forgotten for the moment in a newly aroused interest. “Well—what of it? I remember! What of it?”
“It seems,” said Raymond, “that Monsieur Dupont has discovered that Bourget was to help in the escape.”
Madame Blondin cackled suddenly in unholy mirth. “And so they arrested him, eh? Well, I am glad! Do you hear? I am glad! I hope they wring his neck for him! He would help the murderer of my son to escape, would he? I hope they hang him with the other!”
“They will not hang him,” Raymond replied. “He has given all the information in his possession to the police, and he is to go free. But it was because of that afternoon here that he was persuaded to help in the escape. He expected to revenge himself on me: and that story, too, Madame Blondin, is now known to the police. Bourget has confessed to buying whisky here, and is ready to testify as a witness against you.”
“Le maudit!” Mother Blondin's voice rose in a virulent scream. “I will tear his eyes out! Do you hear? I will show Jacques Bourget what he will get for telling on me! He has robbed me! He never pays! Well, he will pay for this! He will pay for this! I will find some one who will cut his tongue out! They are not all like Jacques Bourget, they are——”
“You do not quite understand, Madame Blondin,” Raymond interrupted gravely. “It is not with Jacques Bourget that you are concerned now, it is with the police. Monsieur Dupont came to the village this afternoon—indeed, he is here now. He said he had evidence enough at last to close up this place and put you in jail, and that he was going to do so. You are in a very serious situation, Madame Blondin”—he made as though to step forward—“will you not let me come in, as a friend, and talk it over with you, and see what we can do?”
Mother Blondin's hand was like a claw in its bony thinness, as it gripped hard over the edge of the door.