"Prisoner, you have heard the evidence of this witness? Have you anything to say?" he asked, solemnly.
Jacqueline had not heard the evidence. From the moment she recognized her husband a thousand mad thoughts had stormed through her mind in a bewildering phantasmagoria. Her fierce hatred had given birth to a hundred fantastic schemes of vengeance that the situation made possible. Should she wait until her character and her shame had been painted their blackest and then tell the crowded court that he was her husband? Should she go to the place of execution and denounce him from the scaffold? No! She could not do that because of her boy. She had killed Laroque to hide her shame from her son. How could she proclaim it now and make that terrible crime useless? But couldn't she tell just enough to show him—God! how she hated him! who she was and to what he had driven her? She could picture his face as he recognized her and listened to the horrible story of her degradation. She was glad that there was no vice so low that it had not soiled her; for thus the greater would be his anguish when she proclaimed it....
"You insist on remaining silent?" the President was saying.
"Wait a little! Wait a little while!" she murmured, but so low that even Raymond could not catch the words.
"Gentlemen of the Jury, have you any questions to ask the jury?" He paused and turned to M. Valmorin.
"Thank you, no, M. the President," bowed the Prosecutor.
"Has the counsel for the defense anything to ask the witness?"
The instinct of the cross-examiner triumphed over the nervousness of youth.
"The witness has mentioned that my client had been drinking absinthe," said Raymond, rising. His voice was sure and steady. "I should like to know whether he thinks she was intoxicated."
The President nodded and turned to Victor.