Yes, for her, death is far preferable! And yet I do not
think, no, I cannot think her son guilty."
"No! what, you too?"
Old Tabaret put so much warmth and vivacity into this exclamation, that
Noel looked at him with astonishment. He felt his face grow red, and he
hastened to explain himself. "I said, 'you too,'" he continued, "because
I, thanks perhaps to my inexperience, am persuaded also of this young
man's innocence. I cannot in the least imagine a man of his rank
meditating and accomplishing so cowardly a crime. I have spoken with
many persons on this matter which has made so much noise; and everybody
is of my opinion. He has public opinion in his favor; that is already
something."
Seated near the bed, sufficiently far from the lamp to be in the shade,
the nun hastily knitted stockings destined for the poor. It was a purely
mechanical work, during which she usually prayed. But, since old Tabaret
entered the room, she forgot her everlasting prayers whilst listening
to the conversation. What did it all mean? Who could this woman be? And
this young man who was not her son, and who yet called her mother,
and at the same time spoke of a true son accused of being an assassin?
Before this she had overheard mysterious remarks pass between Noel and
the doctor.
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