He gave no sign of impatience; simply sat a while silent, and began again in the same placid and good-natured voice: “The court and I were at one in setting aside your evidence. It could not deceive a child. But there was a difference between myself and the other officers, because I knew my man and they did not. They saw in you a common soldier, and I knew you for a gentleman. To them your evidence was a leash of lies, which they yawned to hear you telling. Now, I was asking myself, how far will a gentleman go? Not surely so far as to help hush a murder up? So that—when I heard you tell how you knew nothing of the matter, and were only awakened by the corporal, and all the rest of it—I translated your statements into something else. Now, Champdivers,” he cried, springing up lively and coming towards me with animation, “I am going to tell you what that was, and you are going to help me to see justice done: how, I don’t know, for of course you are under oath—but somehow. Mark what I’m going to say.”
At that moment he laid a heavy, hard grip upon my shoulder; and whether he said anything more or came to a full stop at once, I am sure I could not tell you to this day. For, as the devil would have it, the shoulder he laid hold of was the one Goguelat had pinked. The wound was but a scratch; it was healing with the first intention; but in the clutch of Major Chevenix it gave me agony. My head swam; the sweat poured off my face; I must have grown deadly pale.
He removed his hand as suddenly as he had laid it there.
“What is wrong with you?” said he.
“It is nothing,” said I. “A qualm. It has gone by.”
“Are you sure?” said he. “You are as white as a sheet.”
“O no, I assure you! Nothing whatever. I am my own man again,” I said, though I could scarce command my tongue.
“Well, shall I go on again?” says he. “Can you follow me?”
“O, by all means!” said I, and mopped my streaming face upon my sleeve, for you may be sure in those days I had no handkerchief.