“Then why have you such a horror of a trial?”

“Because—­”

“Are you a friend to his family, and anxious to preserve the great name which he has covered with mud and devoted to infamy?”

“No, but I am anxious for Laurence, my friend; the thought of her never leaves me.”

“But she is not his accomplice; she is totally ignorant—­there’s no doubt of it—­that he has killed his wife.”

“Yes,” resumed M. Plantat, “Laurence is innocent; she is only the victim of an odious villain.  It is none the less true, though, that she would be more cruelly punished than he.  If Tremorel is brought before the court, she will have to appear too, as a witness if not as a prisoner.  And who knows that her truth will not be suspected?  She will be asked whether she really had no knowledge of the project to murder Bertha, and whether she did not encourage it.  Bertha was her rival; it were natural to suppose that she hated her.  If I were the judge I should not hesitate to include Laurence in the indictment.”

“With our aid she will prove victoriously that she was ignorant of all, and has been outrageously deceived.”

“May be; but will she be any the less dishonored and forever lost?  Must she not, in that case, appear in public, answer the judge’s questions, and narrate the story of her shame and misfortunes?  Must not she say where, when, and how she fell, and repeat the villain’s words to her?  Can you imagine that of her own free will she compelled herself to announce her suicide at the risk of killing her parents with grief?  No.  Then she must explain what menaces forced her to do this, which surely was not her own idea.  And worse than all, she will be compelled to confess her love for Tremorel.”

“No,” answered the detective.  “Let us not exaggerate anything.  You know as well as I do that justice is most considerate with the innocent victims of affairs of this sort.”

“Consideration?  Eh!  Could justice protect her, even if it would, from the publicity in which trials are conducted?  You might touch the magistrates’ hearts; but there are fifty journalists who, since this crime, have been cutting their pens and getting their paper ready.  Do you think that, to please us, they would suppress the scandalous proceedings which I am anxious to avoid, and which the noble name of the murderer would make a great sensation?  Does not this case unite every feature which gives success to judicial dramas?  Oh, there’s nothing wanting, neither unworthy passion, nor poison, nor vengeance, nor murder.  Laurence represents in it the romantic and sentimental element; she—­my darling girl—­will become a heroine of the assizes; it is she who will attract the readers of the Police Gazette; the reporters will tell when she blushes and when she weeps; they will rival each other in describing her toilet and bearing.  Then there will be the photographers besieging her, and if she refuses to sit, portraits of some hussy of the street will be sold as hers.  She will yearn to hide herself—­ but where?  Can a few locks and bars shelter her from eager curiosity?  She will become famous.  What shame and misery!  If she is to be saved, Monsieur Lecoq, her name must not be spoken.  I ask of you, is it possible?  Answer me.”