Part 165 (1/2)

”Second wedge,” said the judge, coldly.

The words of Caboche explained all to Coconnas. The worthy executioner had rendered his friend the greatest service in his power: he was sparing him not only pain, but more, the shame of confession, by driving in wedges of leather, the upper part of which was covered with wood, instead of oak wedges. In this way he was leaving him all his strength to face the scaffold.

”Ah! kind, kind Caboche,” murmured Coconnas, ”fear nothing; I will cry out since you ask me to, and if you are not satisfied it will be because you are hard to please.”

Meanwhile Caboche had introduced between the planks the end of a wedge larger than the first.

”Strike,” cried the judge.

At this word Caboche struck as if with a single blow he would demolish the entire prison of Vincennes.

”Ah! ah! Stop! stop!” cried Coconnas; ”a thousand devils! you are breaking my bones! Take care!”

”Ah!” said the judge, smiling, ”the second seems to take effect; that surprises me.”

Coconnas panted like a pair of bellows.

”What were you doing in the forest?” asked the judge.

”By Heaven! I have already told you. I was enjoying the fresh air.”

”Proceed,” said the judge.

”Confess,” whispered Caboche.

”What?”

”Anything you wish, but something.”

And he dealt a second blow no less light than the former.

Coconnas thought he would strangle himself in his efforts to cry out.

”Oh! oh!” said he; ”what is it you want to know, monsieur? By whose order I was in the forest?”

”Yes.”

”I was there by order of Monsieur d'Alencon.”

”Write,” said the judge.

”If I committed a crime in setting a trap for the King of Navarre,”

continued Coconnas, ”I was only an instrument, monsieur, and I was obeying my master.”

The clerk began to write.

”Oh! you denounced me, pale-face!” murmured the victim; ”but just wait!”

And he related the visit of Francois to the King of Navarre, the interviews between De Mouy and Monsieur d'Alencon, the story of the red cloak, all as though he were just remembering them between the blows of the hammer.

At length he had given such precise, terrible, uncontestable evidence against D'Alencon, making it seem as though it was extorted from him only by the pain,--he grimaced, roared, and yelled so naturally, and in so many different tones of voice,--that the judge himself became terrified at having to record details so compromising to a son of France.