he mother sent the child to the field, where
the father had just dug a deep hole. She thought her father meant to
throw her in, but he embraced her, weeping, and admonished her to be
good.

Even if people had been ready to doubt every other testimony, the
report of the child passed as irrefutable, and no one concerned himself
as to how it had been concocted, how the ignorant young thing had been
courted, bribed, how she had been intoxicated by fondling, applause,
or, it may be, even by fear. She was dragged from her sleep at night,
in order to take advantage of her bewilderment; every new fancy was
welcomed, the girl thought she was doing something remarkable, and
played her part with increasing readiness. In such wise she molded out
of nothing things which were calculated to throw a singularly realistic
light upon the fevered image of the fateful night; for instance, how
the mother had cut bread with the same knife with which the old
gentleman had been stabbed, and how Madeleine had refused the bread,
because it made her shudder; or how the blood, caught up in the pan,
had been given to one of the pigs to drink, and how the animal had
become wild in consequence, and had rushed, screaming madly, through
the yard.

Bastide Grammont bore hearing after hearing with a cold placidity. His
frigidly haughty dignity, his mocking smile, the mute shrug of his
shoulders, caused Monsieur Jausion frequent annoyance. But there were
times when, carried away by impatience, he interrupted the judge
outright, and attacked, boldly and eloquently, the frail yet
indestructible structure of the evidence.

"If it was my intention and interest to do away with my uncle, did it
require a conspiracy of so many people?" he asked, his face blazing
with scorn. "Am I supposed to have such a combination of craft and
stupidity as to ally myself with brothel-keepers, harlots, smugglers,
old women, and convicted criminals, people who would, as long as I
live, remain my masters and blackmailers, even supposing silence to be
among their virtues? Can anything more senseless be imagined than to
seize a man on an open road and drag him into a house known to be
suspicious? Why all this elaborate plot? Did no better occasion offer
itself to me? Could I not have enticed the old man to the estate, shot
him and buried him in the woods? It is claimed that I forced him to
sign bills,--where are they, these bills? They would be bound to turn
up and expose me. You