The Will to Live (Les Roquevillard) by Henry Bordeaux

AT the trial, in obedience to her father's instructions, Margaret Roquevillard gave evidence, under the head of information, as to the money from her trousseau funds which she had lent to Maurice the evening of his departure for Italy, as well as what she had sent to him at Orta. Her testimony over, she had gone home in all haste, as if the fuss made about her generosity filled her with shame. In a feeble way she was to have been of use in the defence of Maurice, and she reproached herself with having shown so much weakness, with having replied so timidly to the interrogations of the presiding judge. Her courage was of the inner kind, and ill adjusted itself to public show. She deplored her modesty now, for to herself it seemed like cowardice, and she was afraid of having impaired the force of her statements by the hesitating way in which she made them.

What had taken place in the court-room before she was led in and after her flight? She could not have told anything about it; she was only conscious of an invincible fear from her first brief contact with justice. She had been shut up in a room with the other witnesses, and had heard the bailiff's voice calling them one by one, and had seen them go out, her great-uncle Stephen and her Aunt Thérèse just before her. Her turn came last, and she had been conducted to the bar trembling like a new recruit pushed out before the footlights. She had seen a great crowd facing her as she came in, upstairs and down on the floor and in the balcony, a multitude of eyes staring at her, wounding and overwhelming her. All Chambéry was there, spying pitilessly on a young girl's fear, as they had spied eagerly of late on her family's death agony. She found herself at last before three magistrates in their red robes, with the rows of jurors on their right. She had thought she should faint when she gave her name, but her father's voice had caught her ears, that firm, warm voice which she knew so well. It had fortified her instantly, like a cordial. The old advocate was standing erect in front of Maurice, whom he seemed to be protecting, and his presence was so calm that she was at once surprised and quieted by the contagion of it. He put in quite simple terms the questions to be put to her. She had made barely audible replies, and then had fled like a poor bird fluttering off into the brushwood.

"Father will be displeased with me," she thought in self-reproach. "What a command he has over himself! How he controls himself, and how they all fear him! He stood up twice, and each time I felt a deeper silence in the room. His eyes flashed fire. He seemed young again. He is our whole strength and will."

At half-past twelve Mr. Roquevillard came home for lunch.

"Serve us quickly, Melanie," he called out from the doorway. "I've not much time."

The look of battle was in his eyes, a frown on his brow, his gaze direct and piercing. The muscles of his face were taut, and his recent sorrow and anxiety had made him look much older; but his commanding will checked for the time being the ravages of age and fatigue and trouble.

"Well, father? " inquired Margaret piteously.

He reassured her in a few words.

"The hearing reopens in two hours."

"It's not over yet?"

"No, no."

"What's happened?"

"Didn't you see anything of it, little girl?"

"Oh, no, father. I came away. Tell me every thing. See, I'm still trembling."

"You mustn't tremble, Margaret. Be brave."

At table, while he ate his lunch rapidly, but with no appetite, he went over the arguments for her.

"You didn't understand very much, no doubt," he said, "about the selection of the jury, the administering of the oath to them, the challenging, and the calling of the witnesses."

"I was near you in the hall, father. When I heard my name I rose, and they led me into a room, where I found Uncle Stephen and Aunt Thérèse."

"The room where the witnesses wait," said her father. "Then the depositions began, after the reading of the bill of accusations and the written report made by the police commissioner, stating the theft of one hundred thousand francs. Then came the examination of Maurice. He declared his innocence, but all the time refused to accuse any one else, in spite of the president's insistence. Of the witnesses for the prosecution, the chief clerk at the Frasne office was the most obstinate against us. He's the one named Philippeaux, who must hate us, I don't know why. He testified with a perfect mania for denouncing and compromising Maurice. He tried to make incontrovertible proofs out of presumptions which he inverted and perverted wickedly."

"What presumptions, father?"