Then I wrote her a letter in which I told her
that she need never expect to hear of me again, that I was nothing more
to her, and that she might look upon herself as a widow. That same night
I went away with my son."
"And what became of your wife after your departure?"
"I cannot say, sir; I only know that she quitted the neighbourhood a
year after I did."
"You have never lived with her since?"
"Never."
"But you were at her house three days before the crime was committed."
"That is true, but it was absolutely necessary. I had had much trouble
to find her, no one knew what had become of her. Fortunately my notary
was able to procure Madame Gerdy's address; he wrote to her, and that
is how I learnt that Claudine was living at La Jonchere. I was then at
Rome. Captain Gervais, who is a friend of mine, offered to take me to
Paris on his boat, and I accepted. Ah, sir, what a shock I experienced
when I entered her house! My wife did not know me! By constantly telling
everyone that I was dead, she had without a doubt ended by believing
it herself. When I told her my name, she fell back in her chair. The
wretched woman had not changed in the least; she had by her side a glass
and a bottle of brandy--"
"All this doesn't explain why you went to seek your wife.
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