“Monsieur Auffray,” said Brigaut, as pale as the dead girl, “I listen to you because you are Monsieur Auffray. But at this moment I would not listen to—”
“Justice!” Auffray put in.
“Is there such a thing as Justice?” cried Brigaut.
“That—that is Justice!” he went on, threatening the lawyer, the surgeon, and the clerk with his chisel that flashed in the sunlight.
“My good fellow,” said the curé, “Monsieur Rogron’s lawyer has appealed to Justice. His client lies under a serious accusation, and it is impossible to refuse a suspected person the means of clearing himself. According to Monsieur Rogron’s advocate, if this poor child died of the abscess on the brain, her former guardian must be regarded as guiltless; for it is proved that Pierrette for a long time concealed the blow she had given herself—”
“That will do!” said Brigaut.
“My client—” Vinet began.
“Your client,” cried the Breton, “shall go to hell, and I to the scaffold; for if one of you makes an attempt to touch her whom your client killed—if that sawbones does not put his knife away, I will strike him dead.”
“This is overt resistance,” said Vinet; “we shall lay it before the Court.”
The five strangers withdrew.
“Oh, my son!” said the old woman, starting up and throwing her arms round Brigaut’s neck, “let us bury her at once; they will come back.”
“When once the lead is soldered,” said the plumber, “perhaps they will not dare.”
Monsieur Auffray hurried off to his brother-in-law. Monsieur Lesourd, to try to get this matter settled. Vinet wished for nothing better. Pierrette once dead, the action as to the guardianship, which was not yet decided, must die a natural death, without any possibility of argument either for or against the Rogrons; the question remained an open one. So the shrewd lawyer had perfectly foreseen the effect his demand would produce.
At noon Monsieur Desfondrilles reported to the Bench on the inquiry relating to the Rogrons, and the Court pronounced a verdict of no case, on self-evident grounds.
Rogron dared not show his face at Pierrette’s funeral, though all the town was present. Vinet tried to drag him there; but the ex-haberdasher feared the excitement of universal reprobation.
Brigaut, after seeing the grave filled up in which Pierrette was laid, left Provins and went on foot to Paris. He addressed a petition to the Dauphiness to be allowed, in consideration of his father’s name, to enlist in the Royal Guard, and was soon afterwards enrolled. When an expedition was fitted out for Algiers, he again wrote to the Dauphiness, begging to be ordered on active service. He was then sergeant; Marshal Bourmont made him sublieutenant of the Line. The Major’s son behaved like a man seeking death. But death has hitherto respected Jacques Brigaut, who has distinguished himself in all the recent expeditions without being once wounded. He is now at the head of a battalion in the Line. There is not a more taciturn or a better officer. Off duty he is speechless, walks alone, and lives like a machine. Everyone understands and respects some secret sorrow. He has forty-six thousand francs, left him by old Madame Lorrain, who died in Paris in 1829.
Vinet was elected député in 1830, and the services he has done to the new Government have earned him the place of Prosecutor-General. His influence is now so great that he will always be returned as député. Rogron is Receiver-General in the town where Vinet exercises his high functions, and by a singular coincidence Monsieur Tiphaine is the chief President of the Supreme Court there; for the Judge unhesitatingly attached himself to the new dynasty of July. The ex-beautiful Madame Tiphaine lives on very good terms with the beautiful Madame Rogron. Vinet and President Tiphaine agree perfectly.
As to Rogron, utterly stupid, he says such things as this:
“Louis Philippe will never be really king until he can create nobles.”
This speech is obviously not his own.
His failing health allows Madame Rogron to hope that ere long she may be free to marry General the Marquis de Montriveau, a peer of France, who is Governor of the department, and attentive to her. Vinet is always in a hurry to condemn a man to death; he never believes in the innocence of the accused. This man, born to be a public prosecutor, is considered one of the most amiable men of his district, and is not less successful in Paris and in the Chamber; at Court he is the exquisite courtier.
General Baron Gouraud, that noble relic of our glorious armies, has married—as Vinet promised that he should—a Demoiselle Matifat, five-and-twenty years of age, the daughter of a druggist in the Rue des Lombards, who had a fortune of fifty thousand crowns. He is Governor—as Vinet prophesied—of a department close to Paris. He was made a peer of France as the reward of his conduct in the riots under Casimir Périer’s Ministry. Baron Gouraud was one of the generals who took the Church of Saint-Merry, delighted to “rap the knuckles” of the civilians who had bullied them for fifteen years; and his zeal won him the Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honor.
None of those who were implicated in Pierrette’s death have any remorse. Monsieur Desfondrilles is still an archaeologist; but, to promote his own election, Attorney-General Vinet took care to have him appointed President of the Court. Sylvie holds a little court, and manages her brother’s affairs; she lends at high interest, and does not spend more than twelve hundred francs a year.
From time to time, in the little Square, when some son of Provins comes home from Paris to settle there, and is seen coming out of Mademoiselle Rogron’s house, some former partisan of the Tiphaines will say, “The Rogrons had a very sad affair once about a ward …”
“A mere party question,” President Desfondrilles replies. “Monstrous tales were given out. Out of kindness of heart they took this little Pierrette to live with them, a nice child enough, without a
