"
"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.
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