The morning had dawned, and I was still undecided as to what I should do. Innocence must be saved, but her safety must be the ruin of my benefactor, my first and only friend; only an excess of love for me had elicited the horrible secret. Should I go and betray him? He was the author of my happiness; should the hand which had received innumerable benefits from him, plunge him ungratefully into an unfathomable abyss? Should I lose him whom I still loved, the only one who loved me? “Unhappy series of events,” I sighed, “must I become the instrument of fettering innocence, or of sacrificing the life of my benefactor?”
But my conscience cried, “Be just before you wish to be kind! Whatever consequences may attend the actions which we perform, from duty,—nay, even did they involve the destruction of ourselves—nothing should hinder us when virtue is at stake. Return to your poverty, go solitary and cheerfully through life, only save your peace of mind and carry with you a quiet conscience. You did what justice required. There is a God, be pure as he is.”
I wrote to the police inspector of the district to come immediately to me on most urgent business. On his arrival I repaired to Bertollon’s room, while the officer remained without.
Bertollon was still asleep; I trembled, love and compassion overcame me, I exclaimed, “Bertollon,” and kissed him.
He awoke, and I suffered him to wake completely during some indifferent conversation.
“Tell me,” I said, at length, “is your wife really innocent? Had you poisoned the essence yourself?”
He looked at me with a penetrating glance, saying, “Be silent.”
“But, Bertollon, this answer is but a confirmation of last night’s statement. I conjure you, my friend, remove my doubts. Have you done all you said, or did you only wish to——”
Bertollon rose, and said, “Colas! I trust you are discreet.”
“But speak, Bertollon, pray speak! the court will pass sentence on your wife to-day, let not innocence perish!”