All language subtitles for L.Ange.Noir.1994.FRENCH.576p.BDRip.x264.AC3-zitoune69-English

THE BLACK ANGEL

Home out
on the arm of shadows,

I am at the bottom
of the shadows, alone.

Wait.

Come on.

Police.

- I just killed a man.
- Your name?

Stephane Feuvrier.

Where did it happen?

- At our home, the Château Marbuzet.
- Don't touch a thing.

Hello, Madame Feuvrier.

Please tell my husband

I've just killed a man.
Here, at the chateau.

I'll tell him immediately.

Your Honor,
I address your impartiality.

Prosecution's unfounded declarations,

of my client's guilt

will influence the jury unfavorably.

It seems to me that
you have every occasion...

A message from your wife.

Court is adjourned.

We will resume tomorrow at 2 p.m.

Stephane

has just killed a man.

Who?

Wadek Aslanian.

Where?

At the house.

- Why was he there?
- I don't know.

Had you met him before?

No.

And Stephane?

She visited prisons...

Would you like me to drive?

- Where is Madame?
- In her room.

The police will soon be here.

Go wait for them.

I want you
to accept to defend her.

Thank you for coming, Paul.

Tell me what happened.

He tried to rape me.

What was he doing here?

The police are on their way.
Why was he here?

How did you get to know Aslanian?

You know of my work
with a charitable organization.

Last year,
some of us were invited...

to a show given at a prison.
A play.

There were other guests?

Yes, there were even
two movie stars.

The play was well-received.

I had no idea
he'd written and directed it.

Afterwards, with the others,

I congratulated him.
We spoke a little.

I returned to see him
at his request.

He told me his story.

According to him,
the police conspired against him.

Why?

They hated him.

Our association has a lawyer.
We asked him to study his file.

Our lawyer concluded
that Aslanian was probably right.

Anyway,
there was room for doubt.

This doubt

helped to clear him.
But I was no longer involved.

I learned he was pardoned
and set free a few months ago.

I met him by chance
one day at the association.

He thanked me.

I was told he needed help.
We did what we could.

I saw him several times.

A little while ago, he called me
in a panic, insisting that I see him.

I hesitated.

I shouldn't have said yes.

He came here two hours ago.

You couldn't see him elsewhere?
Like at the association?

He was calling from nearby.
It seemed so urgent...

Cecile and Madeleine
had just left.

Could he have seen them leave?

Maybe.

He came in.

I noticed immediately

he was drunk.
He began circling round me.

He tried to kiss me,
to grab my hand, my waist...

I told him to leave.
He refused to do so.

I began to get scared.
Iran to the phone. He pulled it away.

I tried to run away.
I shouted.

That made him laugh.
I screamed.

He jumped on me.

He gagged me,
dragged me into the bedroom.

He beat me. With his fists.

He threw me on the bed.
Then he tried to rape me.

If ought back. It was useless.

I remembered the revolver
in the drawer of the night table.

I managed to get it.

I shot him.

You fired every bullet.

You blew his brains out

after he was already dead.

I didn't know
what I was doing.

You changed your clothes?

I felt too dirty in the others.

Were you wearing stockings,
a slip, undergarments?

I nearly burnt them,
they disgusted me so much.

I have bruises

on my thighs,
my stomach, my breasts.

Shall I show you?

Was the rape completed?
Was there penetration?

I managed to kill him in time.
Should I have waited?

Paul must prove
that your action was

proportionate to the violence
of which you were victim.

Forgive me.

Don't move.
Don't touch anything.

- Hello, Detective.
- Is he dead?

An immediate death
due to bullet wounds.

I am sorry to see you again
under such painful circumstances.

Madame.

Hey, Chief...

come see who it is.

That sleazeball Aslanian.

You said on the phone
that you killed this man.

Yes.

Take some clothing.

Are you putting me in prison?

First there'll be interrogation.
Then you'll be kept in custody.

And then?

That depends on the inspector
or on his deputy.

Can my lawyer, Mr. Delorme, come?

Not at this stage.

Will you handcuff me?

That won't be necessary.

He tried to rape your mother.
Please take her to her room.

Come, Cecile.

You just have to wait.

Spend whatever is necessary.

Fix your fees accordingly.

Do everything you must
to obtain a rapid acquittal.

For once the family fortune
will serve a purpose.

Your name?

Stephane Marie-Paula Feuvrier.
Née Perrier. Born in Paris.

I was an orphan
very early on.

I was raised by my grandmother
in the Rue de Charonne.

Schooling?

After receiving my baccalaureate,
I studied law.

My grandmother left me some money,

but I had to work
to pay for my studies.

How did you meet your husband?

His brother is a surgeon.
I'd had a car accident.

By chance, he operated on me.
He pieced me together.

I met his brother

George at the hospital.

We fell in love. That's it.

You have a daughter?

Cecile. She is 16.

She is in her last year
at Sainte Marie.

Where did you first meet Aslanian?

In prison.

Which you got him out of.

It was our association's lawyer who did.

Madame,

without knowing it,

you were an instrument in the war
Aslanian led against us.

We should hate you.
We did hate you.

Despite our deep respect
for your husband.

But because of what you did,
much, very much...

will be forgiven you.

Hello, Ma'am.

I am sorry to meet you
in such terrible circumstances.

Wadek Aslanian is dead.

The outlaw who shared his loot
with the poor,

considered by some as

Public Enemy Number 1,
by others as a modem-day Robin Hood,

ended his career
with a final, provocative bang.

He was killed yesterday
by a woman he tried to rape.

Ironically, this woman,
the wife of a judge,

helped release him from prison.

He has allegedly committed

robberies
all throughout France,

including the casino in Nice
and the mail plane in Strasbourg.

This lone thief,
at war against policeman and judges,

skillfully pitted...

Act formal in the office.

Don't forget.

Possessing a mastery

of the judicial system...

You have a few messages.

Miss,

I need to review things
with Christophe.

Bring me the files,
both current and pending.

Hello.

Mr. Zaoui wants to thank you
and invite you out to dinner.

Send it through to my desk.

A minute.

No, thank you. Listen, Zaoui:
I may defend gangsters

and take their money,
but I don't dine with them.

The fees he paid
will get us through 6 months.

Don't worry. We won't lose him.

And Aslanian?

They found
a lot of alcohol in him.

Proving Stephane right.

Aslanian drank a lot.

Except when he was preparing a heist.

Any bruises on him?

Very few. But there was skin
under his nails. Madame Feuvrier's.

Perfect.

Women loved Aslanian.
So did men.

Did he have a mistress?

As many as he wanted.

Any special one, or ones,

since his release?

Aslanian was a loner...

Who rarely left prison.

He fell in love with Madame Feuvrier.
She refused, so he tried to rape her.

He probably considered it
a provocation of some sort.

She's a very beautiful woman.

But no longer the kind you rape.

What do you know?

The day she married George,
you could hear teeth gritting.

Was she very popular?

Everyone in the courthouse adored her.

When she and George met,
it was love at first sight.

She met him at court every clay
and attended all his trials.

She searched him out in corridors,
at restaurants. She was everywhere.

We were all used to her presence.

We were younger.

I prepared a little montage.

It starts with last year.

The cops framed me
for a job I didn't do.

I fell into their trap
like a kid.

Congratulations, officers.

Go tell your masters
their dogs are well-trained.

But the war's not over.
I'll get my revenge.

Here's an interview he gave

before his arrest.

What do you think of laws?

Oh, laws!

History is made up of laws
that the cowardice

of men has conditioned.

Society isn't composed of the just

and the unjust, as philosophers
and idiots want us to believe,

but of masters and slaves.

The high priests
are the capitalists,

and their bankers.
The propagandists

are the media, like you,
and the teachers.

The watchdogs are the cops

and the judges...

You share your loot with the poor.
What are your links

with socialism?

None! None whatsoever!

Any form of socialism
is Christianity

that's been perverted
and disguised.

Instead of Paradise,
they preach a Brand New World.

In fact, there is birth,

the black hole at the end,
and the tragedy of life in between.

Allow me to read a sentence
I've kept aside for you:

"The precariousness of existence
is but a veil

in comparison with
the fundamental tragedy".

I thought that one over.
I wrote it in prison.

And your giving to the poor...
is that all hype?

No.

I want to be attached
to nothing.

Nothing... never.

And I like to side
with the victims.

That's why he inspired
leftist sympathy a few years ago.

There is something else.

An anonymous letter.

IF THE TRUTH ABOUT STEPHANE FEUVRIER
INTERESTS YOU,

START WITH GERARD DUMAS,
23 RUE D'ALSACE, ST-ESTEPHE

He's a retired criminal judge.

You won't go?

If we start believing
anonymous letters...

But they're usually sent
to the police or to judges,

never to lawyers.

Miss, could you please
call Mr. Feuvrier?

Tell him I'm coming by
for a picture of Madame Feuvrier.

Hello, Madeleine.

Mr. Delorme,
Monsieur went to see Madame in prison.

Did he mention a photo?

Yes.

We have only one.
Monsieur is very attached to it.

Isn't that Madame's room?

Monsieur and Madame sleep upstairs.

This is a guest room.

Where were you during the murder?

At Saint-Estephe.

So you saw nothing?

No, I arrived afterwards.

Could Aslanian have seen you leave?

I don't know.

Maybe.

And Cecile?

I'd driven her to her cousins.

So she saw nothing either.

Tell me, Madeleine,
did you know Aslanian personally?

What is your job here?

I am a sort of governess.

I take care of Miss Cecile,
and especially of Madame.

Who hired you?

Madame.

Long ago?

Over 16 years ago,
before Miss Cecile was born.

You were young then?

Yes.

You never wanted to work elsewhere
or to do something different?

Are you married?

Do you have any children?

A boyfriend?

No, I'll get the picture.

I'll join you.

Please do.

Here.

Be careful with it.

Goodbye.

Hello, Cecile.

You don't have
your usual Sunday smile.

Maybe not.
But is today Sunday?

May I ask you a few questions?

You want me to speak of her?

No. I want you
to speak of yourself.

I doubt that will be
either interesting or useful.

When I was young, my mother sent me
to Sainte Marie's boarding school.

It is a very strict place

where girls from good families
receive excellent educations.

I spent my entire childhood there,

and my vacations in England,

the United States or Germany.

I speak several languages fluently.

As a young girl of high society,
raised as such,

that is, very well,

I have learned never to display
any vulgar emotions,

especially that of suffering.

How horrible to inflict that
on people of breeding.

Besides,
can a young girl like me suffer?

Do you love your mother?

Does she need to be loved?

She suffocated my life
and took away my father.

I've always been alone.
For my own good.

I hate her.

But as everyone hates
in our circles:

very politely,
with a smile and with distinction.

Madame Dumas?

Yes, what do you want?

I'm a lawyer.
May I speak with your husband?

Please, Your Honor,
don't get up.

Your Honor?
I've been off the bench for 10 years.

You're here for the Feuvrier case?

I'm her lawyer.

Please have a seat.

What can I do for you?

Did you know Wadek Aslanian?

If I'd known
you'd bring that stuff up again!

- Calm down.
- What stuff?

It was 14 years ago.

He'd received a 10-year sentence.
He wasn't well-known yet.

His lawyer requested parole
after he'd served a few months.

The file was on my desk. Pending.

The next day, it arrived at the prison
with my signature on it.

His parole was granted.

He immediately pulled off two thefts
and told the press.

Everyone blamed me
because I'd given him parole.

In fact

he never signed it!

This is true.

I never signed that document.

Now I'm sure of it.

So?

Who did it?

You know the courts. Anyone could have
passed by while I was out of my office,

gone inside,
found the file and signed my name.

An attendant, a clerk,
or a mere passer-by.

So this person
took the file from your desk,

signed it,
and sent it to the prison?

He just had to take it
from one pile

and put it with the outgoing files.

And your signature?

Everyone in the courthouse

knew it.

Did you know the Feuvriers?

Who didn't know them?

He was always deeply respected
for his integrity.

And she...

She was a ray of sunshine

in a courthouse needing that.

It was wonderful
to be there with her.

She'll be released soon.

I don't know.

That woman always sent
a chill clown my spine.

THE CARETAKER
IS AT THE GARBAGE BINS

- Excuse-me...

One second.

Wadek, you're dead!

That's enough!

Stop this racket or I'll tell them
in the office! Beat it!

Are you the caretaker here?

I'm quitting.
The immigrants are taking over.

And the office lets them.

The office?

The social workers.

I'm looking for Marcel Pitot.
Does he live here?

Since forever.

Why do you want him?
You're a cop?

I have something to ask him.

What is it? I'm Marcel Pitot.

Do you know Stephane Feuvrier?

Never heard of her.

Have you ever seen the blond?

Do I look like
I know people like her?

Neither of them rings a bell?

Not at all.

Sorry, but I have work to do.

Mister...

What do you want?

You have to read this.

Me?

Who gave you this?

A lady.

Can you describe her?

Old.

How old?

Old like her?

No,

that's a grandma.
Older than my brother.

How old is he?

Fifteen.

Was she pretty?

But she had on sunglasses.

How was she dressed?

I have to go now.

Tell me how she was dressed.

YOU'RE NOT VERY BRIGHT.
I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU.

GO SEE SUZANNE PITOT, FIRST FLOOR
ON THE LEFT. SHE'LL LET YOU IN.

Hold on... I'm coming.

Madame Pitot?

What do you want, young man?

I'm a lawyer, and...

Come in.
Tell me about it inside.

May I?

No, I have to manage
to walk by myself.

My son wouldn't like it.
He's the caretaker. He lives next door.

He takes care of me.

Or what's left of me.

You'd best not grow old.

So, young man,

what do you want?

To charm me?

I am a lawyer.
My name is Paul Delorme.

I am defending Madame Feuvrier...

Aslanian's murderer.

I was told
perhaps you knew her.

No, but they're always
saying her name on TV.

This woman?

Even with my glasses,
I can't recognize faces.

I am almost blind.

When I watch TV,
I see quivering pictures.

But I imagine a lot,
thanks to the voices.

I'm afraid I can't help you.

Have you had judiciary problems?

Did you know Wadek Aslanian?

I'd have liked to.
He was a ray of hope

for people like us.

I cut out a picture of him
from the paper.

Can you hand me my album?

It's a fat red book.
Can you see it?

There. Thank you.

He's towards the end.

Who is the girl
on the second page?

My daughter Zoe.

My baby.

She's cute.

She is beautiful.
What happened to her?

She was a difficult child.

Very hard.

One day,
she left without any warning.

We never saw her again.

The police never found
a trace of her.

Leave my mother alone. Get out!

Is that you, Marcel?
What's got into you?

This man is kind and polite.

I enjoy speaking with him.
More than with you.

Don't worry about this, Mom.

Get the hell out of here.

Do you have other photos
of your daughter?

She hated being photographed.
She ripped them all up.

Could you lend me this one?

But it's all I have left of her.

I'll make a double
and return the original.

If you promise to give it back.

I promise.

How could it help you?

Why does she interest you?

You have news of her,
don't you?

If you don't leave,

I'll kill you.

I'll return it soon, ma'am.

Do you swear?

Yes, I swear.

Thank you.

Try to come back
before I die.

Give me the picture.

She's your sister, right?

What happened?

Why did she leave?

So?

For us, she's dead.

Hit me. Send me to prison.
It won't change a thing.

At 12, she was stealing from stores.
Motorbikes too.

At 15, it was cars.

At night, she went out
to rob churches and schools.

With her friends. Sometimes,
they just vandalized everything.

Then the robberies
got bigger and bigger.

You know why she did it?

Not for the money.
She didn't care about that.

She was just full of hate.

She had devil-blood.

When our father found out,
he beat her to a pulp.

But she didn't cry. He did.

The next day,
she started up again.

After she disappeared
without a trace,

he was grieving so bad
he got sick.

It finally killed him.

The old lady was no better.

So I'll tell you again:
for us, she's dead.

She doesn't exist.

Not even a grain of sand.

If you keep bothering us,

if my mother gets false hopes,
and cries, and it starts over...

I'll kill you with my two hands.
I swear I will.

So leave now.

Take your fucking picture,
and stay away.

ONE FINAL CLUE...

THE PHOTO IS A DOUBLE. TO FIND
THE MAN, NOT ASLANIAN, THE OTHER ONE

GO SEE ROMAIN BOUSQUET.
YOU'LL FIND HIM AT ARTMEDIA.

Stephane.

Madeleine.

Aslanian.

Come in.

Mr. Delorme.

Good afternoon.

Hello.

Be a doll
and hold all my calls.

What can I do for you?

Do you know her?

She's charged with Aslanian's murder.
I'm defending her.

So...

Stephane Feuvrier...

is her?

She married a distinguished judge.

What a strange career
she's had.

Where did you meet her?

In a whorehouse.

A deluxe one.

Only for politicians,
men of society, judges...

and certain members of the Church.

The merchandise was all under-age,
both the girls and the boys...

How did she fall so low?

They'd picked her up, drugged her
and beat her to a pulp.

That's when we met. I was her client.
I loved her madly.

Once she asked me for a gun.

After I got her one,

she went and found her pimp.

She made him kneel down,
then lie on his back.

She shot him once in the balls.

She let him bleed
then she blew his brains out.

Her friend in the photo...

Madeleine?

That wasn't her name
back then.

As for her pimp,

Zoe... I mean Stephane,

castrated him with a knife.

Then they both poured acid
on his face.

I can still hear his shrieks.

I had to go on tour,
so I took her with me.

Her friend followed us.

For a while,

I was in seventh heaven.

She was beautiful.

A princess.

She was 15 or 16, maybe less.

Aslanian was preparing a heist
in the city we were playing.

All he had to do
was lay his hands on her.

She left you?

I was desperate to keep her.
I gave them my bed.

That lasted five years.

They did their hold-ups
like two beasts living on hatred.

Then they left,
knowing I was too scared to tell a soul.

Why did they choose you?

I was their cover.

And she wanted to learn to act.
She had the makings of a star.

But that wasn't her thing.

What was?

The destruction of the social order.

A day doesn't go by
when I don't think of her.

You never saw her again?

Yes... once.

She came to see me.

Since, I'd begun managing
the careers of big stars.

I thought she came
for old time's sake.

What a blow to my pride!

What did she want?

To know how to work the press.

What reporters liked. Names.

I was happy to see her again.

I suddenly forgot
everything she'd done.

Can I help you any more?

Will you need my testimony?

For her defense?

I'd prefer never
to hear about her again.

Her husband loves her,
doesn't he?

Yes.

- And you?
- Me?

Good luck.

It's best that you see her
in her cell.

Aslanian had admirers here,
maybe even friends.

And some of the people
Mr. Feuvrier convicted are still here.

That's why she's in solitary.

Fortunately,
she'll soon be released on bail.

When you're finished,
knock for the guard.

Okay. Thank you.

Hello, Paul.

Everyone here is very good to me.

My contact with the others is kept
down to a minimum.

How is George?

I'm scared mostly for him.

He never dealt well
with being separated from me.

And Cecile?

Is something wrong?

Do you know a certain Zoe Pitot?

Should I?

Yes, she looks like me.

Look at the man behind.

Aslanian!

What's wrong?

You don't have one picture
from back then?

No I.D.? No souvenir of your first
communion, to compare them?

I've always hated
images of myself.

So you claim
you're not Zoe Pitot?

I do.

And that this girl is not you.

Yes.

This will be sent to the prosecution.

They'll check
whether it's authentic.

They'll nose around
both your maid's past and yours.

You'll face witnesses
I myself met.

Madame Pitot, her son Marcel.

251 Rue Marcadet.

Romain Bousquet.
Do they sound familiar?

We can easily prove it's a fake.

Look.

Look at this photograph.

Is that girl a fake too?

Obviously.
Or else we look alike.

Her too?

This case is becoming

too troubling for me.

Paul...

the pictures are genuine.

So it's true.
You were that thief's mistress.

His accomplice too.

And I worshipped you like a goddess!
I barely dared think of you!

You fucked him.
You loved his caresses.

As for George,
you never loved him, of course.

Thugs have more appeal.
More panache.

Your love for George was just an act.
Did you fake orgasm?

It's true that with your past...

Why did you kill him?

If ell in love with him.
I was 17.

We were separated
after his first arrest.

I wanted to kill myself.

I drove full-speed
into a wall.

Chance had it that I survived.

And no one,
no administration or authority,

realized or suspected
you were living with fake papers?

You're an excellent actress.

You seduced George and moved freely
within the courthouse.

You slipped into that judge's office
and forged his signature?

When Aslanian was freed,
why didn't you run off together?

He felt I was more useful
as a judge's wife. I could advise him.

For example, about pitting
the police against the courts.

For example.

And the best contacts with the press.
How to market himself.

That too.

You saw each other often?

Whenever we could.

How?

We had a code.

Where did you meet?

Sleazy hotels. Tiny apartments.

Why such sordid places?
By preference?

No.

He wanted
to be slave to nothing.

And you killed him.

Did he betray you?

But you betrayed others.

Did he cheat on you?

What does that mean coming from you?
Did he sleep around?

It wasn't the first time.

So?

He came to thank me
for helping him get out.

And to tell me he'd been mistaken
all his life.

That he'd fallen in love
and was getting married.

"Getting married".

At first I laughed.

Then I felt
my life caved in

in one fell swoop.

You can't kill an old lover
in a fit of passion.

Not when you've slept with another
for years.

What do you know?

Nothing. You're right.

What will you do?

Sir, I need to speak with you.

An important client has just sought
representation in my person.

This client wishes to associate

with the prosecution
in the Feuvrier case.

Aslanian had no family.

And you can't do it
if you work for me.

I am referring to the woman
Aslanian intended to marry.

They were...

truly in love with each other.

The law forbids me to defend her.

But I can counsel her,
unofficially.

If you keep quiet,

we have a lot to win.
This woman knows many things:

Aslanian confided in her.

As you know, Madame Feuvrier's past
is not as clear as she claims.

My client is distressed by the death
of the person she loved most.

She will testify.

Tell everything she knows.

I've advised her
to remain anonymous.

Our past, and my debt to you,

have led me to believe
that a transaction

could resolve many things
and avoid scandal,

which would sully all parties concerned,
including the magistrate.

Although money can neither
indemnify pain

nor soothe a resentment
bordering on hatred...

This sum corresponds to
Mr. Feuvrier's estimated fortune,

to be made available in several clays.
Not the house, of course.

In exchange, you will be given
the negatives of the photographs

and the promise
of my client's silence.

How much is your commission?

15 percent.

Your client has full proxy
for her husband's fortune.

One last thing before I go.

My client wishes to receive
the check or checks directly

from Madame Feuvrier.
We'll decide where.

You will then be able
to meet my client.

What is the guarantee
of her silence?

Her own word,

of which I am guarantor.

I removed my belongings
from the office.

I truly enjoyed working for you.
You taught me a great deal.

Madame Feuvrier did too, in fact.
Give her my regards.

I think it's best to pay.

Do you know
what you're asking me to do?

I understand.
You hate me too much for that.

My feelings are not the issue.

Listen,
do what you think best.

Just bear in mind
that I'll always be grateful.

Deep down,
I've always been a woman alone.

Get me a loaded gun.

Cecile, come join us.

You never visited me in prison.

Why not?

Papa didn't want me to.

He was right.

Did everyone ask you about me?

Who do you mean?

I don't know...
your friends, your boyfriend...

I have no friends, no boyfriend.
I never liked the girls

at Sainte Marie.

From outside, you know what
your prison reminded me of?

A convent.

The high, insurmountable walls

which protect you from the world.
The long corridors.

Cells and silence.

You try to search for God there.
You never find him.

Sometimes, you learn
He doesn't exist.

That life is just a long,
comic tragedy.

You find liberty in your prison
and laugh out loud.

But you're free now,

if they agree to legitimate defence.

Are you suffering?

Talk to me.
You never tell me about yourself.

Tell me about your past.

About life in a whorehouse.

Never mention that again.

And Aslanian?
Can I mention him?

You're just a kid.

You and your Wadek.
What did you think?

That you'd change the world?

What was he after?

Not to be a slave?
To be a free man?

He spent half his life in prison,
the rest on the I am.

His revolt against social order
was tacky romantic fluff.

In two years,
he'll be forgotten.

People stole before him
and will steal after.

That won't change society.
On the contrary...

What were you thinking?

What was going on
in both your heads?

You want to know?

Nothing.

What will you do with it?

Look at me.

True, justice has always favored
the rich more than the poor.

I'm just there to scare people.

Delinquents, of course, but especially
those who have to work hard.

I think I've lost the desire to judge.

My friend,

come into the private sector.

You've always refused.

In my firm, you'll make 30 times

your salary.

My family fortune is enough.

So, Stephane,

what is it like
to kill a man?

Let's step into the other room
for coffee.

We have to tell him.

Stephane?

They're waiting.

George,
we have to talk.

It can wait.

It can't.
I'd like Paul to stay here too.

Is it serious?

It could be.

Tell me.

A long time ago,
Aslanian was photographed at a show.

By pure chance,
I was sitting near him.

- Did you know him?
- No, it's a fluke.

So what?

Someone contacted Paul and threatened
to make the picture public.

One might infer
she and Aslanian were friends...

and accomplices.

But she killed him.

Exactly. Because of his character

and his media image, I think
we should suppress the document.

Bribe a witness?
Suppress a piece of evidence?

It may influence the jury
unfavorably.

That's all the witness wants.

Doing nothing
is a great risk.

Do what's best.

It will be expensive.

Do what's best. I'll inform the bank.
You have proxy.

Did you bring the check?

May I?

Miss Cecile wishes you
to give her the check personally.

One other thing:

all monetary requests
must now be addressed to Miss Cecile.

Particularly major purchases:
travel, dresses...

It also concerns
any important decisions.

You will remain
at Monsieur Feuvrier's side.

Or rather,
you will as long as he loves you.

You can go now.

Wait.

Do you want to?

Yes.

Tell me you love me.

I love you.

Louder.

I love you.

Louder.

I love you.

I love you too.

Tell me no other woman
has ever mattered to you.

Only me.

No one has ever mattered to me.
Only you.

Tell me no other woman
has ever mattered to you. Only me.

No other woman
has ever mattered to me. Only you.

No other man has ever mattered to me.
Only you.

What do I mean to you?

Before you, I wasn't alive.

I simply existed.

Say it again.

Before you I wasn't alive,
I existed.

That's all.

Before you, I wasn't alive.
I existed, and I didn't know it.

I love you.

I'm scared.

Come here.

Take me.

I love you.

Do you know howl met him?

Almost by accident. A day you missed
one of your trysts with him.

Your Honor,

ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

with this trial, we are witnesses
to a tragedy of injustice.

The world is out of joint.
My client, by charity, visited prisons.

This noble woman,
a devoted mother and a perfect wife,

with an exemplary history,
is here on trial

because a notorious bandit
tried to rape her.

What was her choice?

Let herself be raped?

A rape victim
is humiliated for life.

Think of the consequences
of such a humiliation.

Understand
how human dignity is trampled.

Feel that degradation,
then think of your daughters,

your wives, your mothers,

when your consciences judge

the weight of her gesture:
her act of self-defence.

The defendant may rise.

The jury has deliberated.
The answer to the question:

"Is the defendant guilty
of the murder of Wadek Aslanian"

is:

"No".

Madame Stephane Feuvrier,
you are free.

- Mr. Prosecutor.
- Madame...

How are you this evening?

What girl are you sleeping with
these days?

How is your new wife?

He loves only money.

It was so hard on his first wife,
she killed herself.

Those long weeks in prison
must have been

hell.

Less than living with you.
Here, it never ends.

Besides, I was guilty.

Wadek never tried to rape me.

On the other hand,
I killed, I stole, so did he.

But less than all of you.

At least he did it honestly.

You use the law and lawyers.

Isn't that so, Paul?

Who will you fuck
now that I won't be around?

Poor George, you had no luck.

You're the only honest man
here tonight.

You're crazy about me.

You had to pick me.

What a shame.

Goodbye.

Let me come with you.

Them, all this...
it's nothing.

Wait.

Cecile, a minor,
was tried in camera.

The judges, psychologists
and psychiatrists found her intelligent,

well-balanced.

They considered her
the unfortunate victim

of two monsters.

So as not to make her future
any worse,

she was given a suspended sentence.

Her shattered father
wasted away. She took control

of their estate.

Madeleine disappeared
and was never heard of again.

Paul was disbarred

and became counselor
to one of the Feuvriers' friends.