PAGE 23
Alamontade
by
Now Madame Bertollon undertook to plead her own cause before the tribunal in which Menard had been so unsuccessful. In this I saw nothing but an artifice of Menard himself, who wished to call the power of female beauty to his aid to support his eloquence.
As she entered the hall a deathlike silence prevailed. She never was so charming as at this moment; her simple attire, and the paleness of deep grief, summoned compassion into each heart, and tears into every eye.
All was silent, and all eyes were turned from her upon me. I was to speak, but could not, such was my inexpressible confusion. She was the picture of suffering innocence. All the delightful hours I had spent with her were recalled to my memory on seeing her, and surrounded my soul like weeping angels pleading for her and whispering that she was certainly guiltless.
At length I recovered. I declared that no one would be more delighted by a proof of the innocence of the accused than her husband, and myself, his advocate. But for this proof it was necessary that she should remove suspicion and confess her intention in purchasing the poison.
Madame Bertollon appeared very weak, leaning on the arm of her advocate. She looked at me with a painful glance, expressive of love and sorrow.
“Oh! Alamontade,” she said, in a faint voice, “and must it be you to urge the discovery of my object in purchasing the poison? You–and in this place?”
After a few moments’ silence she suddenly rose, turned her pale countenance towards the judges, and said, in a bitter tone, expressive of mental despair,
“My lords, you have threatened me with the rack to force my confession; that is sufficient, and I will put an end to the proceedings–I am guilty, I intended a murder with this poison. More you will not learn from me; pronounce your verdict.”
She turned and left the court–perfect silence and utter amazement prevailed. Two days afterwards the tribunal pronounced the verdict of “guilty” against the wretched woman.
M. Bertollon had long since recovered. He was more cheerful than usual, and joked as before at my zeal for virtue; he loved me at the same time so truly that it grieved him that I so obstinately persisted in my strict principles. I therefore sometimes afforded him the satisfaction of appearing to agree with him, and of yielding to his favourite whim, that all upon earth was but a play of expediency.
The evening previous to the day on which the sentence was passed I was with him; we were cheerfully sitting at our wine, until midnight, and swore everlasting friendship to each other till death.
“Tell me, Colas, do you know Clementine de Sonnes?”
I blushed. Wine and confidence in his friendship elicited the holy secret. Bertollon laughed immoderately, exclaiming repeatedly, “Simpleton that you are! you are everywhere tricked by your heavenly virtue. Pray be rational for once, why have you not told me this long since? She would now be your betrothed; well, she shall be yours, here is my hand upon it. With prudence we may subdue the world, why not a girl or a proud family? I have already observed that Clementine is not likely to refuse you.”
In raptures I clasped my friend in my arms. “Oh! if you could do that, Bertollon, you would make me happy–make me a god.”
“So much the better, for I shall still want your divine assistance for some pet plan. A girl so like your Clementine that they might be taken for sisters. Such a girl lives at Adze. You simpletons have hitherto thought that I go there as frequently as I do for the sake of pure air or business. No; I love the girl inexpressibly; no woman ever fettered me like her. As soon as I am rid of my wife I shall court the Venus of Adze. But then, M. Colas, I shall trouble you not to have such conversations with my future wife as you used to enjoy with my first one.”