"
"Oh! enough, sir, enough!" interrupted Claire, whose eyes beamed once
more with happiness. "You say it was on Shrove Tuesday evening?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Ah! I was sure," she cried triumphantly. "I told you truly that he
could not be guilty."
She clasped her hands, and, from the movement of her lips, it was
evident that she was praying. The expression of the most perfect faith
represented by some of the Italian painters illuminated her beautiful
face while she rendered thanks to God in the effusion of her gratitude.
The magistrate was so disconcerted, that he forgot to admire her. He
awaited an explanation.
"Well?" he asked impatiently.
"Sir," replied Claire, "if that is your strongest proof, it exists no
longer. Albert passed the entire evening you speak of with me."
"With you?" stammered the magistrate.
"Yes, with me, at my home."
M. Daburon was astounded. Was he dreaming? He hardly knew.
"What!" he exclaimed, "the viscount was at your house? Your grandmother,
your companion, your servants, they all saw him and spoke to him?"
"No, sir; he came and left in secret. He wished no one to see him; he
desired to be alone with me.
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