And
while he pretended to be engaged in recovering his breath he
studied the room and its occupants. A revolver was lying on the
floor beside a torn and crumpled letter, and tears were still
glittering in the eyes of Madame Ferailleur and her son. A keen
observer needed no further explanation of the scene.
"I will not conceal from you, monsieur," began the baron, "that I
have been led here by certain compunctions of conscience." And,
misinterpreting a gesture which Pascal made, "I mean what I say,"
he continued; "compunctions of conscience. I have them
occasionally. Your departure this morning, after that deplorable
scene, caused certain doubts and suspicions to arise in my mind;
and I said to myself, 'We have been too hasty; perhaps this young
man may not be guilty.'"
"Monsieur!" interrupted Pascal, in a threatening tone.
"Excuse me, allow me to finish, if you please. Reflection, I must
confess, only confirmed this impression, and increased my doubts.
'The devil!' I said to myself again; 'if this young man is
innocent, the culprit must be one of the habitues of Madame
d'Argeles's house--that is to say, a man with whom I play twice a
week, and whom I shall play with again next Monday.' And then I
became uneasy, and here I am!" Was the absurd reason which the
baron gave for his visit the true one? It was difficult to decide.
"I came," he continued, "thinking that a look at your home would
teach me something; and now I have seen it, I am ready to take my
oath that you are the victim of a vile conspiracy.
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