"You will inform the Court that the prisoner refuses to incriminate
himself, eh?" he interjected.
"No, monsieur, I will inform Monsieur Barbille of what I saw. I will do
this without delay. It is the one thing left me to do."
In quite a grand kind of way he stood up and bowed, as though to dismiss
his visitor.
As George Masson did not move, the other went to the door and opened it.
"It is the only thing left to do," he repeated, as he made a gentle
gesture of dismissal.
"Not at all, my legal bombardier. Not at all, I say. All you know Jean
Jacques knows, and a good deal more--what he has seen with his own eyes,
and understood with his own mind, without legal help. So, you see, you've
kept me here talking when there's no need and while my business waits. It
is urgent, M'sieu' la Fillette--your business is stale. It belongs to
last session of the Court." He laughed at his joke. "M'sieu' Jean Jacques
and I understand each other." He laughed grimly now. "We know each other
like a book, and the Clerk of the Court couldn't get in an adjective that
would make the sense of it all clearer."
Slowly M. Fille shut the door, and very slowly he came back. Almost
blindly, as it might seem, and with a moan, he dropped into his chair.
His eyes fixed themselves on George Masson.
"Ah--that!" he said helplessly. "That! The little Zoe--dear God, the
little Zoe, and the poor madame!" His voice was aching with pain and
repugnance.
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