The Will to Live (Les Roquevillard) by Henry Bordeaux

BEFORE the court sits, the barristers and attorneys customarily meet and chat a few moments amongst themselves in the lobby. It is the place where all the town news is subjected to the test. To-day Mr. Roquevillard, famous for his good humour and redoubtable sallies, took his robe from its hook in the cloak-room and went directly to his place at the bar. His colleagues eyed him from a distance, with ill-natured curiosity, while they made merry over the escapade of young Maurice, which for the matter of that they treated lightly, and as a revenge upon the constraints of country manners. As Mr. Roquevillard was apparently absorbed in the preparation of his plea, a court attendant came to his bench and touched him on the shoulder.

"Sir, you are wanted in the prosecutor's office."

He rose at once, respectfully.

"I'll come," he said. It happened every day that the prosecutor took advantage of the presence of some lawyer at the sessions to consult with him on some point of penal business. Mr. Roquevillard, nevertheless, was not without some anxiety. His encounter with Mr. Frasne at the entrance to the court-house made him speculate:

"Will he be so foolish as to enter a complaint of adultery?"

Legally adultery remains a misdemeanour in France. A husband, but not a wife, has the right to enter a complaint, but it is a privilege seldom exercised. But the notary's face was so difficult to make out -- --

The prosecutor, Mr. Vallerois, had held the office in Chambéry for several years, and had had time to appreciate Mr. Roquevillard's professional probity, character and talent. People talked, it is true, of his possible candidacy at the next election, and the opposition would find in him, should he accept, its most energetic and acknowledged chief. Mr. Frasne's accusation fatally destroyed this political danger. Ambitious office-holder that he was, Mr. Vallerois was considering this aspect of things without displeasure when Mr. Roquevillard entered the room.

But he thought less of this when he began his obligatory talk with him, and it was to his credit that in the lawyer facing him he saw only an honest man in trouble. He held out his hand to him and began:

"I have a disagreeable duty to take up with you."

He stopped and hesitated. Mr. Roquevillard's moral force showed to best advantage in difficult circumstances. He appreciated the delicacy of the prosecutor, but he went straight to the point himself.

"It concerns my son?"

"Yes."

"In the matter of a divorce in which his name is involved? A complaint of adultery?"

"No, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

The word could scarcely have any significance. In a firm but muffled voice, Mr. Roquevillard demanded: "Does it concern an accident? A suicide?"

"No, no. Reassure yourself," cried Mr. Vallerois, realising the error that he had provoked. "He eloped last night with Mrs. Frasne: the whole town knows it. But what is more serious is that Mr. Frasne, who has just been here, has placed in my hands a complaint of abuse of confidence against him."

In spite of his self-possession, the old lawyer, red to his forehead, grew indignant.

"Abuse of confidence? I know my son. It's impossible."

The prosecutor let him read the accusation which the notary had signed, together with the examinations made by the commissioner of police. Mr. Roquevillard read them through attentively and without interruption. It might be, it was, the foundering of his family, the disgrace of his name. Master of him self, but stricken to his heart, he said at last: