Original subtitles

Do you sometimes go to the Italiens theater, sir?

Rarely, I must admit. In other words, never.

That's too bad.

You'd have recognized in this text

a quote of Mr. de Boissy's cited in full.

THE RUE FRANCS-BOURGEOIS CASE

"Shiver, unfortunate,

"you betrayed me by aligning your colleagues against me,

"and I now declare a war to the death."

Thank you.

"You and yours will perish in succession

"as my hate is so strong

Part Two

"your death alone will not suffice."

What can you tell me about the handwriting?

Yes, the writing,

it attracted my attention right away as it's familiar.

It's from a public scribe who, for a small fee,

will write for those who don't know how.

Or don't want to.

What's the writer's name, please?

He's known as Vilard.

Allow me...

"I won't sign, seek... my name among your numerous victims."

You don't seem very hungry?

Maybe you fear a new poisoning?

This feast comes from the kitchen of Mr. Noblecourt.

and was sent here without your knowledge upon my orders.

The food was guarded and then served on your plates.

You can eat.

The food and drink is guaranteed safe.

Please, drink up.

Moreover, if you allow me, sir,

there's no such thing as a mansion without rats.

Have some caught and caged.

Since the killer seems to be fond of poison,

you can have the food and drink tested by them.

Please eat, Madam.

Eat.

Eat, you're hungry.

Monsignor, I noticed that the footman,

St-Jean wished to speak with you earlier.

It seemed urgent and you agreed to his request.

What did he wish to speak to you about, Monsignor?

Ordinary things about the running of the household.

But why did you take your stole?

It's a confession garment, no?

Please be more lively and unrelenting, sir.

More lively and unrelenting in what, Madam?

In your investigation.

You're supposed to be a policeman of the first order.

Can you imagine a mother's distress and sorrow?

The torment of a mother stripped of the fruit of her entrails.

Not from your entrails, Madam.

Father, I will retire.

Did your hear the footman St-Jean's confession, Monsignor?

I have a letter authorizing me to imprison you.

Henri de Montault, Bishop of Tarbes,

in the name of the King, I order you to follow me.

Sir? Monsignor!

Bravo, the family's decimated,

a child kidnapped under your nose, a bishop sent to heaven.

Only fitting for a bishop.

The situation's serious.

Though you know his Majesty's interest,

you're not getting anywhere.

You're watching the music and the train pass.

Soon you'll find yourself lost and alone,

- with nothing left to see! - Not quite.

The adversary strikes quickly.

Though unpredictable, his blows seem unstoppable.

However, I believe I've found conclusive evidence.

- Which? - The child.

For a reason I've yet to elucidate,

it seems to be the key to this case.

Am I to understand, Nicolas,

that the kidnapping of the child is your doing?

But to serve you.

You needn't have improvised.

Wouldn't it have been better

to arrest and roundly question the footman, St-Jean?

That shifty servant, instead of running after shadows?

They both disappeared, with their belongings,

shortly before the bishop's demise.

Once again, bravo!

Commissioner!

- Where are you going? - Downstairs.

To determine the Monsignor's cause of death.

His demise is not the least natural.

The heart is not vigorous, it's too large and fatty.

The arteries are hard, to be sure...

...however that's not the cause of death.

I found this under the middle finger.

A lanthanum thorn.

Common in Palestine, the plant doesn't grow in our climate.

Certain traces on the glove drew my attention

and I soaked it to extract the sap.

Look here.

That rodent will soon expire if my speculation proves founded.

See for yourself.

Well, Nicolas, what do you think of that?

Father, what terrible torture...

What awful punishment...

What terrible retribution...

My faults must be grave indeed...

For the Lord to decide to crucify me to such a degree...

What fault could you have committed, Hortense?

To deserve such punishment?

I don't know.

Like I don't know my baby's fate.

I know nothing of his fate.

One can accept death, but not knowing...

I hear your plea.

Maybe there's a way I could help relieve such a torture?

You could?

You could.

Father...

My father...

The writing drew his attention immediately.

It's from a fellow named Vilard, the public scribe.

His office is near Les Innocents.

I sent two examples to confirm it's his.

Very good.

The text is that of Mr. de Boissy, a playwright.

It was a dramatic monologue.

Shiver...

Shiver, unfortunate...

I won't sign,

seek my name among your numerous victims.

I will be very difficult to detect.

Yes, gentlemen, I'm a public scribe.

My aborted law studies prevented a professional career.

Do you recall who requested this note?

Without any doubt, sir. His name was St-Jean.

- Mr. de Montault's footman? - Yes.

How can you be sure?

People confide in writers.

My lowly job makes me privy to many secrets.

What else do you know?

Nothing, except his name is Fauvelle, formerly Lalouette,

and he's currently known as St-Jean.

Commissioner, there's a letter for you.

We absolutely need to find the footman St-Jean.

And the servant, Célestine.

Make the necessary inquiries about St-Jean, Lalouette...

I've been summoned.

I want my grandson returned immediately, Commissioner.

We didn't agree on that. What's your motive?

My right to ensure his state of health,

as well as the state of his existence.

Both are perfect, sir,

I believe you should take me on my word.

Get in, sir, or I'll reveal your ruse to all.

My grandson is heir to the Montault name,

fortune, and I hope, office.

I want to personally ensure his security.

I well understand why you personally want to ensure

your grandson's security.

However, I'd bet you're acting upon orders.

Young impertinent, upon whose orders, I ask you?

Those of the tender, lovely Hortense de Vartelle, sir.

Sir, if not for your functions and mine,

I'd challenge your insult immediately.

You seem very taken with her.

Thank you for letting reason prevail, sir.

Now, listen carefully.

You will amend your will.

Considering the baleful events that have happened in my home,

considering that the disposal of my worldly goods

is fully mine to determine, I, Charles Édouard de Montault,

Minister Counselor to the Paris parliament,

in criminal matters, have sought the assistance

of Mr. Grégoire Lefrasque, parliamentary notary,

as well as the Marquis de Ranreuil,

acting for the Châtelet commission,

under the patronymic, Le Floch.

My sister, Héloïse de Montault, widow of Louis-Charles Évrard,

declares by the attached document

that she agrees and awaits my conclusions.

Fearing a violent death and not wanting to be caught unawares,

I agree to share my property and wealth

in equal parts between the orphan Exupère,

and young Ambroise, Madam de Vartelle's first son.

In the event one child precedes the other in death,

the other will inherit. In the event of my demise,

this will's execution

will fall to the virtuous and lovely Madam de Vartelle,

who will be their tutor in all regards

until the age of majority.

Father...

I acknowledge and approve of your generosity.

But why weigh me with that heavy burden?

Because duty dictates it, Madam.

Did you expect such a quick reaction, Nicolas?

The adversary is strangely impatient.

What if things slowed down?

They won't.

Thank you for placing my son Ambroise on equal footing

with young Exupère.

Not everyone would have been so magnanimous,

and shown such leniency.

Thank you.

Thank you for keeping my mistake quiet.

Wait here, someone just went out.

Did you run into trouble?

- Did the woman return? - Yes, I was going to tell you.

- Can you describe her? - Unfortunately not.

Sorry!

- You didn't notice anything? - No...

After you left, Mr. de Montault went to his office,

and hasn't left it since.

Yes, a woman appeared at the window several times.

Come with me!

Madam!

Hortense?

Hortense...

Call the doctor!

There's no point, sir. I'll take care of her.

Commissioner?

The poor soul is dead.

I was coming to see you for consolation.

As I opened the door,

it flung back in my face.

I'm so glad you're safe.

Who's behind the mortal deceit of these blows?

Do you have any idea?

None.

- Does Commissioner le Floch? - I fear he has none either.

Madam...

Are you hiding something from me?

Nothing you don't already know.

Are you cold?

It's a cluster grenade, known as a bunch of grapes.

It decimated the English troops in the battle of Fontenoy,

slowly repelling them.

I didn't know you knew weapons and history?

Do you see those lead balls,

like a bunch of grapes?

When the powder detonates, they are propelled

and destroy everything in their path.

Bourdeau, that's enough.

It's lucky the second bomb didn't go off.

Lucky or opportune?

Mr. de Montault...

Does the name Fauvelle mean anything to you?

A nasty business with a coachman,

which we thought a certain Fauvelle orchestrated.

I was a young magistrate at the time, and very impetuous.

Fauvelle was brought to trial.

And though he continued to maintain his innocence,

he was condemned.

His death was one of the most awful I ever witnessed.

And the nickname Lalouette?

Lalouette?

Lalouette was his young son who witnessed the punishment.

Sir,

Fauvelle, known as Lalouette is none other than St-Jean.

St-Jean?

That's impossible.

Sir, could you be trying to hide certain facts from justice?

- Nothing, sir. - ...About Madam de Vartelle.

I trust Madam Hortense de Vartelle as much as myself.

How far does that trust go?

As far as revealing the odious ruse you devised,

as well as the place where baby Exupère is held.

I order the baby given to his adoptive mother.

You don't order anything, sir.

As for the baby's return,

pray your blunder doesn't make it forever impossible.

Return to Mr. de Montault's

and make sure Madam de Vartelle is there.

- What if she wants to go out? - You must stop her.

Look out!

Do what you want with him.

But make sure you take her alive,

so we can amuse ourselves.

Get the baby.

Don't make me jump to conclusions.

Your sword, please.

Before I blow your brains out.

My master is the bastard son of the Count of Toulouse,

who is himself the bastard son of King Louis XIV,

which makes Chevalier d'Arcq the direct cousin of the King.

I'm sure when Louis knows of my presence here

he will be very displeased.

Then you'd have to be imprisoned under your true identity.

Let's imagine I don't know your name.

That's strange, Mr. Policeman.

Are you so arrogant you don't fear the wrath of your rulers?

Come now, my friend.

Be realistic. Inform the Chevalier.

How can you be so pretentious?

Is that due to your nice stolen uniform?

Imprison the fellow.

Tell the executioner Sanson to await the sentence.

- What sentence? - Take him away.

He's our top priority.

Le Floch!

Le Floch...

What do you want to know?

You wanted to kill the child for Madam de Vartelle,

under orders from Chevalier d'Arcq,

so why bow to her wishes unless you had to?

Would you be open to an exchange?

The woman for the trooper.

My confession for a conviction.

Miss de Vartelle was young and appealing

when she fell for the Chevalier.

He had his way.

However, the novelty soon wore off.

The Chevalier moved on to other lovers.

The hussy remained very keen.

However, when we noticed she was with child,

to avoid scandal he had to hastily marry her off.

Was the Chevalier the father?

I was usually tasked

with trying out the wench to make sure she's randy.

Don't be put off, it's common.

To the extent that we could not determine whose child it is.

Only that it's not the husband's.

Quick, give us a hand!

Come, St-Jean.

Up you get.

Here we go, St-Jean...

Help him.

A rich widow,

free of any attachment...

We'll need to make a record of your declaration.

We didn't agree to a record.

To hell with agreements.

- Where's Commissioner Le Floch? - Inside.

- Open up. - He ordered me not to.

Open that door!

Move aside!

Sir!

We found St-Jean. The poor wretch is dying.

He was poisoned in Montault's house too.

How's he?

Captain Richter got a good knock, sir. Come.

St-Jean wants to spill secrets, sir. He's waiting for you.

Take care of the captain.

Out of the way!

I entered the gentleman's employ with vengeance in mind.

But time passed

and the master's rectitude,

the futility of vengeance,

led to abandoning the regrettable plan,

but she saw through it.

Under threat, she made me her miserable accessory,

her awful accomplice.

It's Hortense de Vartelle.

I can tell you where she hides her poisons,

the apothecary who made them,

the plants he used...

I can tell you everything, sir.

That's all lies, sir.

It's a vile conspiracy to sully my name and reputation.

The fact is...

And to prevent me from my motherly duty.

The fact is that the allegations were made

by an officer of the dragoons and the footman, St-Jean,

both unseemly characters who could be the guilty parties.

There's this evidence, sir.

Which was planted in my rooms to destroy me.

The argument stands, Nicolas.

Do you think me so stupid as to poison myself

along with poor Geoffroy de Montault and his family?

Precisely, Madam.

That raised my suspicions from the start.

Your lucky resurrection.

That rescue would be miraculous if it wasn't the doing

of the most brilliant miracle worker imaginable.

The greatest conjurer too.

I used this threat to convince the Count

that you'd like his advice on some private matters.

You what?

This matter will soon be cleared up.

Proceed.

Yes... I don't know where to begin.

A silly joke, a few pranks,

but in a spirit of fun and teasing...

A man of quality honored to be my friend

asked me on behalf of a woman he regarded highly

to make for her

a few poisons and their antidotes.

In a way, to provide the dose and the antidote.

Which you then found?

It was presented to me as a joke on a wayward husband.

It sounded like fun.

Liar!

All that's just lies.

I admire you, Madam.

You show as much sudden sincerity in anger as in agony.

Madam, I accuse you of pretending to be a victim

of the crime committed in Mr. de Montault's office.

I'm sure you show no signs of shock, no bruises,

and no marks due to the explosion.

Would you like me to check, Madam?

Sir, your position in the police gives you no authority.

What a pity innocence isn't measured by force of denial.

- You want to frame me. - Who wants to frame you?

That doesn't matter.

I agree, despite your protestations,

too many presumptions point to guilt.

Commissioner, ensure that Madam Hortense de Vartelle

is temporarily detained on our premises.

You want to frame me!

In order not to prejudice the investigation,

ensure she is detained in complete secrecy.

Take Madam away.

Commissioner, don't imagine the case is won.

I don't imagine anything I can't prove.

That's what I refer to. I'll give you two days.

After that, Madam Hortense de Vartelle should be

either charged or freed.

I'd like, Madam, before you leave us,

to try a simple experiment. Sir?

Make it quick, Commissioner.

Gentlemen, excuse us please.

Madam, would you please put this on?

And if I refuse, sir?

Why would you refuse, Madam?

Did you hurt yourself?

You were pricked.

With a nettle thorn.

Common in Palestine, the plant doesn't grow in our climate.

However, I found some in your rooms.

On this crucifix.

You fell in the trap that took the life of your brother-in-law,

the Bishop of Tarbes.

You'll die by your own hand, Madam.

Go to hell, sir!

Why such hate?

Why?

Do you know, sir,

what it is to love? And not be loved in return?

I'm dying.

Don't expect a confession.

I don't have one.

I'll soon be in hell. I'll see you all there.

You'll be first!

And you too...

Don't hope for a demise to deliver you, Madam,

the thorn that pricked you was free of poison.

What's waiting for you Madam, is the leper colony,

condemned to rot for the rest of your miserable life,

forgotten,

waiting to die.

forever...

Take her away.

- Could she be guilty? - She is. Don't doubt it.

You know how Madam de Vartelle's son was conceived.

Indeed, I know everything.

Including the shame that made her

exile her son Ambroise in the country.

Thus, Exupère is your sole heir.

Your henchman is dead, Chevalier.

Aren't we all mortal, we soldiers first?

Life or death, what's the difference?

As long as your life's not too eventful.

It seems you were very close to Madam de Vartelle.

Very close? No...

I knew her at the beginning of her career.

My brother, Count St-Germain, told me what he confided in you.

I've nothing to add.

Except, more in a spirit of playfulness than calculation,

being rather short on funds at the time,

I promised to marry the woman if she became immensely wealthy.

Marrying down has a price, and mine was costly.

I'd wager that the crime would have paid.

Tell me, did she almost succeed?

Just a needle away.

Would you have married her if...?

Never.

In the meantime, I got used to being penniless.

Why didn't you say anything, Madam?

Or ask me anything?

You know I love you.

I'd have given you everything.

You love me?

You'd have given me everything?

Your fortune?

Your name?

Yes, Madam.

Your daughter,

would you have given her up too?

If I'd had to...

Yes, Madam.

You knew?

By instinct, yes.

I think so.

Although I wanted with all my heart to believe you innocent.

I can spare you your terrible fate.

I can use my influence with the King.

Don't do anything, sir.

Why?

Because in neither life nor death do I want to owe you.

Why, Hortense? Why?

Why?

For the simplest of reasons,

because I don't love you.

Because I love another who doesn't love me.

Because this is the destiny the Lord chose for me,

because...

Although...

maybe it's you, my father,

who owed me something,

for awakening passion in your guts and your loveless heart.

For prettying up your house and life.

Without me,

do you think you would've ever experienced desire, Counselor?

You owe me, Montault...

That can be done, Madam.

You love me?

More than anything in the world.

Then prove it.

Prove it.

Prove it.

I'll see you in hell, dear.

Bad news?

Madam de Vartelle is dead.

My God.

By the hand of Mr. de Montault.

I liked her.

Though she didn't seem to like me.

Which should lessen my sadness.

Still, I cry for her.

Even you seem troubled.

I can't help but see criminals as their own victims.

Translation: Épilogue