"There," said Michou, pushing him aside with his foot, "if I did not still respect the mark of your baptism, I would wish to see you die there like a dog. Ah! you can weep now! See to what your life of debauchery and idleness has brought you; but you are not capable of understanding my words. Listen; it is not you that I pity, but the remembrance of an honest girl, who, to the eyes of the neighborhood, was your betrothed, the unfortunate creature! In the name of Jeanne Ragaud, I will save you from the scaffold that you deserve; but on one condition...."
"Speak, speak! I will do whatever you wish," cried the wretch, raising himself upon his knees. "I promise you, Michou; but save me!"
"Miserable coward!" said the game-keeper with disgust, "your prayers and your tears cause me as much horror as your crimes. You have not even the courage to play the part of a murderer! But what I have said I will do. Get up, if you have still strength to stand on your legs. Mark what I say. You must disappear. I give you, not three days, like Jean-Louis, but two hours, in which I will go and remove the body of your victim, and warn the police. In two hours I will have declared on oath that Barbette was poisoned by you, and the proofs will not be wanting. Do what you please—hide yourself in a hole or fly. In two hours, I repeat, the police will be on your track, and, if the devil wishes to save you, that is his affair."
"Thanks," said Isidore, rising.
"Your thanks is another insult," said Michou. He opened the door himself, and pushed the wretch outside with such a tremendous blow of his fist that he stumbled and fell across the threshold.
Owing to the bad weather, the village street was deserted. Michou saw Isidore disappear with the quickness of a deer. He closed the door again, and sat down, resting his head upon his hands, to gather together his ideas.
"My God," said the excellent man, raising his eyes to heaven with the honest look of a Christian, "perhaps I have done wrong, but thou art powerful enough to repair the effect of my too great mercy, and I have saved from a disgrace that could not be remedied thy servants, the poor Ragauds."
All this had not taken much time, and Michou was meditating upon the events of that terrible night, when he felt some one strike him on the shoulder; it was M. Aubry.
"It is you, M. Jacques?" said the doctor. "What are you doing here, old fellow?"
"I was waiting for you, monsieur," replied he quietly, for he had entirely recovered his self-possession. "Is any one sick here?"