“Now, I know the murderer of those two women and the inventors of that bold, strange plot; I have been told every detail. Postpone Calvi’s execution, and you shall know all; but you must give me your word that he shall be sent safe back to the hulks and his punishment commuted. A man so miserable as I am does not take the trouble to lie—you know that. What I have told you is the truth.”
“To you, Jacques Collin, though it is degrading Justice, which ought never to condescend to such a compromise, I believe I may relax the rigidity of my office and refer the case to my superiors.”
“Will you grant me this life?”
“Possibly.”
“Monsieur, I implore you to give me your word; it will be enough.”
Monsieur Granville drew himself up with offended pride.
“I hold in my hand the honor of three families, and you only the lives of three convicts in yours,” said Jacques Collin. “I have the stronger hand.”
“But you may be sent back to the dark cells: then, what will you do?” said the public prosecutor.
“Oh! we are to play the game out then!” said Jacques Collin. “I was speaking as man to man—I was talking to Monsieur de Granville. But if the public prosecutor is my adversary, I take up the cards and hold them close.—And if only you had given me your word, I was ready to give you back the letters that Mademoiselle Clotilde de Grandlieu——”
This was said with a tone, an audacity, and a look which showed Monsieur de Granville, that against such an adversary the least blunder was dangerous.