The Red Robe answered you rudely. I beg your pardon. You now have in your power not only my life, but that of my husband. and the honor of my children." “Then your husband is ignorant of this?" "Yes, sir! Oh, don't tell him. I beg of you on my knees. That would be a crime, yes—a crime. Listen-listen. I returned to my own district, I concealed myself, I would have rather been dead. I did not wish to stay in Paris—you understand why.—And then soon afterwards my mother died. This man loved me, urged me to marry him. I refused. I had the courage to refuse for three years. Then I was so lonesome, so sad, and he was so unhappy that I finished by consent ing to marry him. I ought to have told him everything. I wanted to do so, but I could not. He would have suffered too much. For he is good, sir, I assure you" (the judge makes a gesture of some impatience), “Yes, yes, sometimes, it is true when he has drunk too
much, he is brutal. I will not lie to you about that. But that happened less and less as
time went on"
(she weeps).
“Oh,
he
must not know it, sir, he must not know it. He would go off, he would leave me, he would take my children away from me" (she cries out). “Oh, he would take away my children. I cannot tell you how much harm it would do. Tell me. Yes, I was guilty, but did I understand what I was doing? I was only seventeen, sir, when I went to Paris. My employers had a son. He almost took me by force, and besides, I loved him and then he wanted to take me away because his relations intended to send him off. I did what he wanted. I did not know that he stole that money. I swear, sir, that I did not know it." "Very well. Keep cool." "Let us return to your husband's case," says the ‘judge. “Yes, sir."
“Summon up all your courage, my poor woman. Your husband is guilty.” "It is not possible. It is not possible—-" The judge says with great apparent sin
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band. If you stick to your story that he was at home that night, you will go against the evidence and lose your husband. But if you tell me the truth-then if your husband was not the murderer he can tell what hap pened-he can tell who his companions were." “He had no companions," she says. “Did he go out alone?" "Yes." “At ten o'clock?" "At ten o'clock." “Did he return at five o'clock the next morning?" "Yes, all alone." "But are you sure it was that evening of the Ascension?" Yes." The judge says to his assistant, "Have you written that down?" “Yes, your honor." The judge then questions her as to her husband's indebtedness, and she says that he never told her about it. Perceiving his point, she exc1aims:— "No, sir, my husband did not kill a man for money. It is false-false-false." "Fake, is it?" says the judge, "Your hus
band began by blindly denying everything and then presented me successively with two systems of defense. Now you begin with falsehood, also. All this, I tell you, does him no "All I know is that my husband never murdered a man for money." "Well," says the judge, on a new tack, “perhaps he is not as guilty as I supposed at first. Perhaps he acted without pre meditation. Here is what may have taken place. Your husband may have been a little drunk and have gone to ask the old man for more time to pay the debt in. A dispute arose, the old man was still vigorous, and there may have been a struggle with the tragic end that we know. In this case, the
situation of your husband is entirely changed. He is not the criminal with malice afore thought, and the punishment for what he did do may be the very lightest. You see, then,
cerity, “To be sure he has not confessed
Madam, the interest you have in obtaining a
but I know that he was not at home on that night. There are witnesses who have told me so." "No, sir. My God-witnesses-what wit nesses? It is talse." "Now, don't lose your head," says the judge. “If you do, you will lose your hus
complete confession from him. Otherwise, the jury will go to the limit of severity. Do you understand me?" “Yes, sir." “Do you wish to speak to him in the sense which I have indicated?" “Yes, sir."
