"
Promptly as M. Plantat had corrected himself, his slip of the
tongue did not escape M. Lecoq.
"Was it really a slip, or not?" he asked himself.
"These wretches have been terribly punished," pursued M. Plantat,
"and it is impossible to pity them; all would have gone rightly if
Sauvresy, intoxicated by his hatred, had not committed a blunder
which was almost a crime."
"A crime!" exclaimed the doctor.
M. Lecoq smiled and muttered in a low tone:
"Laurence."
But low as he had spoken, M. Plantat heard him.
"Yes, Monsieur Lecoq," said he severely. "Yes, Laurence. Sauvresy
did a detestable thing when he thought of making this poor girl the
accomplice, or I should say, the instrument of his wrath. He
piteously threw her between these two wretches, without asking
himself whether she would be broken. It was by using Laurence's
name that he persuaded Bertha not to kill herself. Yet he knew of
Tremorel's passion for her, he knew her love for him, and he knew
that his friend was capable of anything. He, who had so well
foreseen all that could serve his vengeance, did not deign to
foresee that Laurence might be dishonored; and yet he left her
disarmed before this most cowardly and infamous of men!"
The detective reflected.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373