The list of the woman’s offenses was not exhausted, but M. Segmuller thought it useless to continue.  “Such is your past,” he resumed.  “At the present time your wine-shop is the resort of rogues and criminals.  Your son is undergoing his fourth term of imprisonment; and it has been clearly proved that you abetted and assisted him in his evil deeds.  Your daughter-in-law, by some miracle, has remained honest and industrious, hence you have tormented and abused her to such an extent that the authorities have been obliged to interfere.  When she left your house you tried to keep her child—­no doubt meaning to bring it up after the same fashion as its father.”

“This,” thought the Widow Chupin, “is the right moment to try and soften the magistrate’s heart.”  Accordingly, she drew one of her new handkerchiefs from her pocket, and, by dint of rubbing her eyes, endeavored to extract a tear.  “Oh, unhappy me,” she groaned.  “How can any one imagine that I would harm my grandson, my poor little Toto!  Why, I should be worse than a wild beast to try and bring my own flesh and blood to perdition.”

She soon perceived, however, that her lamentations did not much affect M. Segmuller, hence, suddenly changing both her tone and manner, she began her justification.  She did not positively deny her past; but she threw all the blame on the injustice of destiny, which, while favoring a few, generally the less deserving, showed no mercy to others.  Alas! she was one of those who had had no luck in life, having always been persecuted, despite her innocence.  In this last affair, for instance, how was she to blame?  A triple murder had stained her shop with blood; but the most respectable establishments are not exempt from similar catastrophes.  During her solitary confinement, she had, said she, dived down into the deepest recesses of her conscience, and she was still unable to discover what blame could justly be laid at her door.

“I can tell you,” interrupted the magistrate.  “You are accused of impeding the action of the law.”

“Good heavens!  Is it possible?”

“And of seeking to defeat justice.  This is equivalent to complicity, Widow Chupin; take care.  When the police entered your cabin, after this crime had been committed, you refused to answer their questions.”

“I told them all that I knew.”

“Very well, then, you must repeat what you told them to me.”

M. Segmuller had reason to feel satisfied.  He had conducted the examination in such a way that the Widow Chupin would now have to initiate a narrative of the tragedy.  This excellent point gained; for this shrewd old woman, possessed of all her coolness, would naturally have been on her guard against any direct questions.  Now, it was essential that she should not suspect either what the magistrate knew of the affair, or what he was ignorant of.  By leaving her to her own devices she might, in the course of the version which she proposed to substitute for