The surgeon who has commenced a painful operation does not leave it
half-finished because the patient struggles, suffers, and cries out.
"It is painful, Mademoiselle,--" he began.
Claire did not let him finish.
"Enough, sir," said she; "all that you can say will be of no avail. I
respect your unhappy conviction. I ask, in return, the same regard for
mine. If you were truly my friend, I would ask you to aid me in the task
of saving him, to which I am about to devote myself. But, doubtless, you
would not do so."
"If you knew the proofs which I possess, mademoiselle," he said in a
cold tone, which expressed his determination not to give way to anger,
"if I detailed them to you, you would no longer hope."
"Speak, sir," cried Claire imperiously.
"You wish it, mademoiselle? Very well; I will give you in detail all the
evidence we have collected. I am entirely yours, as you are aware. But
yet, why should I harass you with all these proofs? There is one which
alone is decisive. The murder was committed on the evening of Shrove
Tuesday; and the prisoner cannot give an account of what he did on that
evening. He went out, however, and only returned home about two o'clock
in the morning, his clothes soiled and torn, and his gloves frayed.
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