The defendant, a large, handsome girl of Lower Normandy, well educated for her station in life, wept continuously and would not answer to anything.
The court and the spectators were forced to the opinion that she had committed this barbarous act in a moment of despair and madness, since there was every indication that she had expected to keep and bring up her child.
The president tried for the last time to make her speak, to get some confession, and, having urged her with much gentleness, he finally made her understand that all these men gathered here to pass judgment upon her were not anxious for her death and might even have pity on her.
Then she made up her mind to speak.
“Come, now, tell us, first, who is the father of this child?” he asked.
Until then she had obstinately refused to give his name.
But she replied suddenly, looking at her masters who had so cruelly calumniated her:
“It is Monsieur Joseph, Monsieur Varambot's nephew.”
The couple started in their seats and cried with one voice—“That's not true! She lies! This is infamous!”
The president had them silenced and continued, “Go on, please, and tell us how it all happened.”