The Beast Within - Emile Zola [82]
Madame Bonnehon, remaining perfectly relaxed, smiled pleasantly and began to answer the magistrate, as if she were merely engaging in a friendly chat.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I hadn’t written to my brother. I was expecting him and I knew that he intended to come, but no date had been arranged. He usually just turned up without warning, nearly always by the night train. He stayed in a cottage in the grounds with a private lane leading to it, so we didn’t even hear him arrive. He would hire a carriage at Barentin, and no one saw anything of him till the following day, sometimes quite late on. It was like having a neighbour who had moved away and who came back for the occasional flying visit. The reason I was expecting him this time was that he had promised to bring me ten thousand francs, which was money he owed me from a business transaction. I know for certain that he had the ten thousand francs in his possession, which is why I’ve always thought that the reason he was killed was purely and simply to steal his money.’
The magistrate remained silent for a moment or two. Then, looking her straight in the eyes, he said:
‘What is your opinion of Madame Roubaud and her husband?’
Madame Bonnehon protested vehemently.
‘My dear Monsieur Denizet,’ she exclaimed, ‘can we please not waste our time discussing the Roubauds! They are a perfectly decent couple! Séverine was a lovely girl, very quiet and well behaved, and extremely pretty what’s more, which is no bad thing. In my opinion, since you insist on hearing it again, both she and her husband are quite incapable of a criminal act.’
Monsieur Denizet nodded approvingly. He looked triumphantly at Madame Lachesnaye, who, feeling wounded to the quick by this last remark from Madame Bonnehon, could not refrain from intervening.
‘Dearest Aunt,’ she said, ‘I think you are very easily pleased.’
Madame Bonnehon contented herself by replying in her usual, plain-spoken manner.
‘I think you have said enough, Berthe; we must agree to differ. Séverine was a very happy child, always laughing, and what harm is there in that, for goodness’ sake? I know exactly what you and your husband think of her, but it’s only money that makes you so upset about your father leaving her the house at La Croix-de-Maufras. He left it to Séverine because he was very fond of her ... he brought her up and provided her with a dowry. Why shouldn’t he include her in his will? Good heavens, he thought of her as if she were his own daughter! Money is not everything, my dear Berthe!’
For Madame Bonnehon, of course, having always been a person of considerable means, money was of little concern. Indeed, being the attractive and much-admired woman she was, she liked to think that the only things worth living for were love and beauty.
‘It was Roubaud who mentioned the telegram,’ observed Monsieur de Lachesnaye curtly. ‘If there was no telegram, the President wouldn’t have told him he’d received one. Why did Roubaud lie?’
‘It is quite possible,’ exclaimed Monsieur Denizet heatedly, ‘that the President himself invented the telegram as a way of explaining his sudden departure to the Roubauds. According to them, he had said he wouldn’t be leaving till the next day; when he then found himself on the same train as them, he needed to invent some excuse in order to hide the real reason for his journey, which, incidentally, no one knows ... This is of no importance. It is leading us nowhere.’
There was another silence. When the magistrate resumed, he spoke more calmly and chose his words carefully: ‘Madame, I now come to a particularly delicate issue; I trust that you will forgive the nature of my questions. No one respects the memory of your brother more than I ... However, there were rumours, were there not, that he entertained a number of mistresses.’
Madame Bonnehon smiled, appearing not in the least disturbed by the question.
‘Really, my dear sir, at his age!’ she replied. ‘My brother lost his wife in the early years of his marriage, and I have never presumed to find fault with the way he chose to enjoy himself. He lived