In the present instance, however, the prisoner was prodigal of words. He
did not seem to think that there was any danger of his being the medium
of accomplishing his own decapitation. He did not hesitate like those
who are afraid of misplacing a word of the romance they are substituting
for the truth. Under other circumstances, this fact would have been a
strong argument in his favor.
"You may tell your own story, then," said M. Segmuller in answer to the
prisoner's indirect request.
The presumed murderer did not try to hide the satisfaction he
experienced at thus being allowed to plead his own cause, in his own
way. His eyes sparkled and his nostrils dilated as if with pleasure. He
sat himself dawn, threw his head back, passed his tongue over his lips
as if to moisten them, and said: "Am I to understand that you wish to
hear my history?"
"Yes."
"Then you must know that one day about forty-five years ago, Father
Tringlot, the manager of a traveling acrobatic company, was going
from Guingamp to Saint Brieuc, in Brittany. He had with him two large
vehicles containing his wife, the necessary theatrical paraphernalia,
and the members of the company. Well, soon after passing Chatelaudren,
he perceived something white lying by the roadside, near the edge of a
ditch. 'I must go and see what that is,' he said to his wife. He stopped
the horses, alighted from the vehicle he was in, went to the ditch,
picked up the object he had noticed, and uttered a cry of surprise.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167