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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Widow Lerouge"

He put his clothes in order, and dusted
them; he straightened his collar, and re-tied his cravat. Then pouring
a little water on his handkerchief, he passed it over his face, bathing
his eyes which were greatly inflamed. Then he endeavoured to smooth his
beard and hair. He had no idea that four lynx eyes were fixed upon him
all the while.
"Good!" murmured the young detective: "see how our cock sticks up his
comb, and smooths his feathers!
"I told you," put in Balan, "that he was only staggered. Hush! he is
speaking, I believe."
But they neither surprised one of those disordered gestures nor one of
those incoherent speeches, which almost always escape from the feeble
when excited by fear, or from the imprudent ones who believe in the
discretion of their cells. One word alone, "honour," reached the ears of
the two spies.
"These rascals of rank," grumbled Balan, "always have this word in their
mouths. That which they most fear is the opinion of some dozen friends,
and several thousand strangers, who read the 'Gazette des Tribunaux.'
They only think of their own heads later on."
When the gendarmes came to conduct Albert before the investigating
magistrate, they found him seated on the side of his bed, his feet
pressed upon the iron rail, his elbows on his knees, and his head buried
in his hands.


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