"No," replied Renine, "but I have told only the first version of the story.
There is another which is infinitely more serious ... and more probable,
one to which a more thorough investigation would be sure to lead."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this. It may not be a matter of a husband taking the law into his
own hands, as I charitably supposed. It may be a matter of a ruined man who
covets his friend's money and his friend's wife and who, with this object
in view, to secure his freedom, to get rid of his friend and of his own
wife, draws them into a trap, suggests to them that they should visit that
lonely tower and kills them by shooting them from a distance safely under
cover."

"No, no," the count protested. "No, all that is untrue."

"I don't say it isn't. I am basing my accusation on proofs, but also on
intuitions and arguments which up to now have been extremely accurate. All
the same, I admit that the second version may be incorrect. But, if so, why
feel any remorse? One does not feel remorse for punishing guilty people."

"One does for taking life. It is a crushing burden to bear."

"Was it to give himself greater strength to bear this burden that M.
d'Aigleroche afterwards married his victim's widow? For that, sir, is
the crux of the question. What was the motive of that marriage? Was M.
d'Aigleroche penniless? Was the woman he was taking as his second wife
rich? Or were they both in love with each other and did M. d'Aigleroche
plan with her to kill his first wife and the husband of his second wife?