The Justice: How can you prove this assertion?
Madame Luneau (red in the face, choking and stammering): How can I prove it? What proofs have I? I haven't a single real proof that the child isn't his. But, your Honour, it isn't his, I swear it on the head of my dead husband.
The Justice: Well, whose is it, then?
Madame Luneau (stammering with rage): How do I know? How do—do I know? Everybody's I suppose. Here are my witnesses, your Honour, they're all here, the six of them. Now make them testify, make them testify. They'll tell—
The Justice: Collect yourself, Madame Luneau, collect yourself and reply calmly to my questions. What reasons have you to doubt that this man is the father of the child you are carrying?
Madame Luneau: What reasons? I have a hundred to one, a hundred? No, two hundred, five hundred, ten thousand, a million and more reasons to believe he isn't. After the proposal I made to him, with the promise of one hundred francs, didn't I learn that he wasn't the father of his own children, your Honour, not the father of one of 'em?
Hippolyte (calmly): That's a lie.
Madame Luneau (exasperated): A lie! A lie, is it? I think his wife has been around with everybody around here. Call my witnesses, your Honour, and make them testify?
Hippolyte (calmly): It's a lie.
Madame Luneau: It's a lie, is it? How about the red-haired ones, then? I suppose they're yours, too?