Q—­For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?

A.—­Yes, all.

Q.—­Except the one of the crime?

A.—­Unfortunately.

Q.—­Then your betrothed must have wondered at your absence?

A.—­No:  I had written to her.’”

“Do you hear, Jacques?” cried M. Magloire.  “Notice that M. Galpin takes care not to insist.  He does not wish to rouse your suspicions.  He has got you to confess, and that is enough for him.”

But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper.

“In your sixth examination,” he went on, “I have noticed this,—­

“’Q.—­You left your house with your gun on your shoulder, without any definite aim?

A.—­I shall explain that when I have consulted with counsel.

Q.—­You need no consultation to tell the truth.

A.—­I shall not change my resolution.

Q.—­Then you will not tell me where you were between eight and midnight?

A.—­I shall answer that question at the same time with the other.

Q.—­You must have had very strong reasons to keep you out, as you were expected by your betrothed, Miss Chandore?

A.—­I had written to her not to expect me.’”

“Ah!  M. Galpin is a clever fellow,” growled M. Magloire.

“Finally,” said M. Folgat, “here is a passage from your last but one examination,—­

“’Q.—­When you wanted to send anybody to Sauveterre, whom did you usually employ?

A.—­The son of one of my tenants, Michael.

Q.—­It was he, I suppose, who, on the evening of the crime, carried the letter to Miss Chandore, in which you told her not to expect you?

A.—­Yes.

Q.—­You pretended you would be kept by some important business?

A.—­That is the usual pretext.

Q.—­But in your case it was no pretext.  Where had you to go? and where did you go?

A.—­As long as I have not seen counsel I shall say nothing.

Q.—­Have a care:  the system of negation and concealment is dangerous.

A.—­I know it, and I accept the consequences.’”

Jacques was dumfounded.  And necessarily every accused person is equally surprised when he hears what he has stated in the examination.  There is not one who does not exclaim,—­

“What, I said that?  Never!”

He has said it, and there is no denying it; for there it is written, and signed by himself.  How could he ever say so?

Ah! that is the point.  However clever a man may be, he cannot for many months keep all his faculties on the stretch, and all his energy up to its full power.  He has his hours of prostration and his hours of hope, his attacks of despair and his moments of courage; and the impassive magistrate takes advantage of them all.  Innocent or guilty, no prisoner can cope with him.  However powerful his memory may be, how can he recall an answer which he may have given weeks and weeks before?  The magistrate, however, remembers it; and twenty times, if need be, he brings it up again.  And as the small snowflake may become an irresistible avalanche, so an insignificant word, uttered at haphazard, forgotten, then recalled, commented upon, and enlarged may become crushing evidence.