me to speak. Although they say that it is contrary to the interests of justice, because it may assist you in preparing your defence. M. Julien you are a good fellow at heart, and you will be very glad to learn that madame de Rênal is better."
"What! she is not dead?" exclaimed Julien, beside himself.
"What, you know nothing?" said the gaoler, with a stupid air which soon turned into exultant cupidity. "It would be very proper, monsieur, for you to give something to the surgeon, who, so far as law and justice go, ought not to have spoken. But in order to please you, monsieur, I went to him, and he told me everything."
"Anyway, the wound is not mortal," said Julien to him impatiently, "you answer for it on your life?"
The gaoler, who was a giant six feet tall, was frightened and retired towards the door. Julien saw that he was adopting bad tactics for getting at the truth. He sat down again and flung a napoleon to M. Noiraud.
As the man's story proved to Julien more and more conclusively that madame de Rênal's wound was not mortal, he felt himself overcome by tears. "Leave me," he said brusquely.
The gaoler obeyed. Scarcely had the door shut, than Julien exclaimed: "Great God, she is not dead," and he fell on his knees, shedding hot tears.
In this supreme moment he was a believer. What mattered the hypocrisies of the priests? Could they abate one whit of the truth and sublimity of the idea of God?
It was only then that Julien began to repent of the crime that he had committed. By a coincidence, which prevented him falling into despair, it was only at the present moment that the condition of physical irritation and semi-madness, in which he had been plunged since his departure from Paris for Verrières came to an end.
His tears had a generous source. He had no doubt about the condemnation which awaited him.
"So she will live," he said to himself. "She will live to forgive me and love me."
Very late the next morning the gaoler woke him up and said, "You must have a famous spirit, M. Julien. I have
