"I have spoken the truth."
"Write that down, clerk," said Van Spreckdal.
The pen scratched again.
"And this woman," continued the judge—"this woman who is being murdered at the side of the well—did you imagine her also?"
"Certainly."
"You have never seen her?"
"Never."
Van Spreckdal rose indignantly; then, sitting down again, he seemed to consult his companion in a low voice.
These two dark profiles silhouetted against the brightness of the window, and the three men standing behind me, the silence in the hall—everything made me shiver.
"What do you want with me? What have I done?" I murmured.