“You!”
Astonishment and irritation were reflected in the two exclamations. Mr. Hamel looked at his old companion in arms with his colourless eyes, the flame of life now no more than a trembling light in them, though it was still so pure; while the jury lawyer, unpleasantly affected by his dismissal from a case that would have given him a sensational chance for resounding argument, forgot the circumstances of the trial, and the misfortunes of the temporarily beaten family, and could think only of the opportunity for personal success that was ruthlessly snatched from him.
“Yes, I,” said Mr. Roquevillard. “I shall reclaim my son so energetically that they’ll give him back to me. They can’t refuse to give a father back his son.”
Having thus dictated his orders for the combat, he exerted himself next to bring round his allies to his way of thinking, for he could, if he liked, modify his imperious manner, and was not without skill in the art of leading men. He was certain of the assistance of the president, and so he turned his attention specially to Mr. Battard, who might escape him.
“You will be there, both of you, please. I count on you. If I ask to take your place, Battard, it isn’t because I rank my skill above yours. But there are certain things which it is my sad privilege alone to explain to the jury.”
“What things?”
“That’s my secret. You’ll hear it all to-morrow. I believe I can convince the jury of my son’s innocence without mentioning the name of Mrs. Frasne.”
“By making reparation for the injury?”
“No, by direct argument.”
“I don’t understand.”