"
Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he
found no fewer than three hundred and seven. "Well, scoundrel!"
he cried; "are you still bold enough to deny it?"
Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh
as nothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible
proof. Forty-seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the
others. Certainly not by him! But by whom? Still he, alone, had
been the gainer through the deception.
"You see that the coward will not even defend himself!" exclaimed
one of the women.
He did not deign to turn his head. What did the insult matter to
him? He knew himself to be innocent, and yet he felt that he was
sinking to the lowest depths of infamy--he beheld himself
disgraced, branded, ruined. And realizing that he must meet facts
with facts, he besought God to grant him an idea, an inspiration,
that would unmask the real culprit.
But another person came to his aid. With a boldness which no one
would have expected on his part, M. de Coralth placed himself in
front of Pascal, and in a voice which betokened more indignation
than sorrow, he exclaimed: "This is a terrible mistake,
gentlemen. Pascal Ferailleur is my friend; and his past vouches
for his present. Go to the Palais de Justice, and make inquiries
respecting his character there. They will tell you how utterly
impossible it is that this man can be guilty of the ignoble act he
is accused of.
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