“This is true!” exclaimed the Baron de Willading; “Balthazar surely says naught but truth here!”

“This is known and allowed; crime is not always the result of cool determination, but it comes of terror, of sudden thought, the angry mood, the dire temptation, and a fair occasion.  Though thou left’st Vevey ignorant of Jacques Colis’ departure, didst thou hear nothing of his movements by the way?”

Balthazar changed color.  There was evidently a struggle in his bosom, as if he shrunk from making an acknowledgment that might militate against his interests; but, glancing an eye at the guides, he recovered his proper tone of mind, and answered firmly: 

“I did.  Pierre Dumont had heard the tale of my child’s disgrace, and, ignorant that I was the injured parent, he told me of the manner in which the unhappy man had retreated from the mockery of his companions.  I knew, therefore, that we were on the same path.”

“And yet thou perseveredst?”

“In what, Herr Chatelain?  Was I to desert my daughter, because one who had already proved false to her stood in my way?”

“Thou hast well answered, Balthazar,” interrupted Marguerite.  “Thou hast answered as became thee!  We are few, and we are all to each other.  Thou wert not to forget our child because it pleased others to despise her.”

The Signor Grimaldi bent towards the Valaisan, and whispered near his ear.

“This hath the air of nature.” he observed; “and does it not account for the appearance of the father on the road taken by the murdered man?”

“We do not question the probability or justness of such a motive, Signore; but revenge may have suddenly mounted to the height of ferocity in some wrangle:  one accustomed to blood yields easily to his passions and his habits.”

The truth of these suggestions was plausible, and the noble Genoese drew back in cold disappointment.  The chatelain consulted with those about him, and then desired the wife to come forth in order to be confronted with her husband.  Marguerite obeyed.  Her movement was slow, and her whole manner that of one who yielded to a stern necessity.

“Thou art the headsman’s wife?”

“And a headsman’s daughter.”

“Marguerite is a well-disposed and a sensible woman,” put in Peterchen; “she understands that an office under the state can never bring disgrace in the eyes of reason, and wishes no part of her history or origin to be concealed.”

The glance that flashed from the eye of Balthazar’s wife was withering; but the dogmatic bailiff was by far too well satisfied with his own wisdom to be conscious of its effects.

“And a headsman’s daughter,” continued the examining judge; “why art thou here?”

“Because I am a wife and a mother.  As the latter I came upon the mountain, and as a wife I have mounted to the convent to be present at this examination.  They will have it that there is blood upon the hands of Balthazar, and I am here to repel the lie.”