He expected a burst of despair, tears,
distressing cries. She might perhaps faint away; and he stood ready to
call in the worthy Schmidt.
He was mistaken. Claire drew herself up full of energy and courage. The
flame of indignation flushed her cheeks, and dried her tears.
"It is false," she cried, "and those who say it are liars! He cannot
be--no, he cannot be an assassin. If he were here, sir, and should
himself say, 'It is true,' I would refuse to believe it; I would still
cry out, 'It is false!'"
"He has not yet admitted it," continued the magistrate, "but he will
confess. Even if he should not, there are more proofs than are needed to
convict him. The charges against him are as impossible to deny as is the
sun which shines upon us."
"Ah! well," interrupted Mademoiselle d'Arlange, in a voice filled
with emotion, "I assert, I repeat, that justice is deceived. Yes," she
persisted, in answer to the magistrate's gesture of denial, "yes, he is
innocent. I am sure of it; and I would proclaim it, even were the whole
world to join with you in accusing him. Do you not see that I know him
better even than he can know himself, that my faith in him is absolute,
as is my faith in God, that I would doubt myself before doubting him?"
The investigating magistrate attempted timidly to make an objection;
Claire quickly interrupted him.
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