Claire herself would desire me to act thus. Would she wed
a man suspected of a crime? Never. If he is innocent, he will be saved;
if guilty, let him perish!"
This was very sound reasoning; but, at the bottom of his heart, a
thousand disquietudes darted their thorns. He wanted to reassure
himself.
"Do I still hate this young man?" he continued. "No, certainly. If
Claire has preferred him to me, it is to Claire and not to him I owe my
suffering. My rage was no more than a passing fit of delirium. I will
prove it, by letting him find me as much a counsellor as a magistrate.
If he is not guilty, he shall make use of all the means in my power to
establish his innocence. Yes, I am worthy to be his judge. Heaven, who
reads all my thoughts, sees that I love Claire enough to desire with all
my heart the innocence of her lover."
Only then did M. Daburon seem to be vaguely aware of the lapse of time.
It was nearly three o'clock in the morning.
"Goodness!" cried he; "why, old Tabaret is waiting for me. I shall
probably find him asleep."
But M. Tabaret was not asleep. He had noticed the passage of time no
more than the magistrate.
Ten minutes had sufficed him to take an inventory of the contents of M.
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