The result of this incident was a fresh triumph for the Trappist.  No one seemed to notice that, as the witnesses had displayed so much candour, it was difficult to believe that they had not really seen another Trappist.  At this moment I remembered that, at the time of the abbe’s first interview with John Mauprat at the spring at Fougeres, the latter had let fall a few words about a friar of the same order who was travelling with him, and had passed the night at the Goulets farm.  I thought it advisable to mention this fact to my counsel.  He discussed it in a low voice with the abbe, who was sitting among the witnesses.  The latter remembered the circumstance quite clearly, but was unable to add any further details.

When it came to the abbe’s turn to give evidence he looked at me with an expression of agony; his eyes filled with tears, and he answered the formal questions with difficulty, and in an almost inaudible voice.  He made a great effort to master himself, and finally he gave his evidence in these words: 

“I was driving in the woods when M. le Chevalier Hubert de Mauprat requested me to alight, and see what had become of his daughter, Edmee, who had been missing from the field long enough to cause him uneasiness.  I ran for some distance, and when I was about thirty yards from Gazeau Tower I found M. Bernard de Mauprat in a state of great agitation.  I had just heard a gun fired.  I noticed that he was no longer carrying his carbine; he had thrown it down (discharged, as has been proved), a few yards away.  We both hastened to Mademoiselle de Mauprat, whom we found lying on the ground with two bullets in her.  Another man had reached her before us and was standing near her at this moment.  He alone can make known the words he heard from her lips.  She was unconscious when I saw her.”

“But you heard the exact words from this individual,” said the president; “for rumour has it that there is a close friendship between yourself and the learned peasant known as Patience.”

The abbe hesitated, and asked if the laws of conscience were not in this case at variance with the laws of the land; and if the judges had a right to ask a man to reveal a secret intrusted to his honour, and to make him break his word.

“You have taken an oath here in the name of Christ to tell the truth, the whole truth,” was the reply.  “It is for you to judge whether this oath is not more solemn than any you may have made previously.”

“But, if I had received this secret under the seal of the confessional,” said the abbe, “you certainly would not urge me to reveal it.”

“I believe, Monsieur l’Abbe,” said the president, “that it is some time since you confessed any one.”

At this unbecoming remark I noticed an expression of mirth on John Mauprat’s face—­a fiendish mirth, which brought back to me the man as I knew him of old, convulsed with laughter at the sight of suffering and tears.