Mauprat
the confessional," said the abbé, "you certainly would not urge me to reveal it."
"I believe, Monsieur l'Abbé," 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.
The annoyance which the abbé felt at this little personal attack gave him the courage which might otherwise have been wanting. He remained for a few moments with downcast eyes. They thought that he was humiliated; but, as soon as he raised his head, they saw his eyes flashing with the malicious obstinacy of the priest.
"All things considered," he said, in the most gentle tone, "I think that my conscience bids me keep this secret; I shall keep it."
"Aubert," said the King's advocate, angrily, "you are apparently unaware of the penalties which the law inflicts on witnesses who behave as you are doing."
"I am aware of them," replied the abbé, in a still milder tone.
"Doubtless, then, you do not intend to defy them?"
"I will undergo them if necessary," rejoined the abbé, with an imperceptible smile of pride, and such a dignified bearing that all the women were touched.
Women are excellent judges of things that are delicately beautiful.
"Very good," replied the public prosecutor. "Do you intend to persist in this course of silence?"
"Perhaps," replied the abbé.
"Will you tell us whether, during the days that fol-
354
