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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Within an Inch of His Life, by Emile Gaboriau
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Within an Inch of His Life
+
+Author: Emile Gaboriau
+
+Release Date: April 6, 2006 [EBook #3336]
+Last Updated: September 24, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE
+
+by Emile Gaboriau
+
+     PREPARER’S NOTE
+
+     This text was prepared from a 1913 edition, published by Charles
+     Scribner’s Sons, New York.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST PART--FIRE AT VALPINSON
+
+
+
+These were the facts:--
+
+
+
+I.
+
+In the night from the 22nd to the 23rd of June, 1871, towards one
+o’clock in the morning, the Paris suburb of Sauveterre, the principal
+and most densely populated suburb of that pretty town, was startled by
+the furious gallop of a horse on its ill-paved streets.
+
+A number of peaceful citizens rushed to the windows.
+
+The dark night allowed these only to see a peasant in his shirt sleeves,
+and bareheaded, who belabored a large gray mare, on which he rode
+bareback, with his heels and a huge stick.
+
+This man, after having passed the suburbs, turned into National Street,
+formerly Imperial Street, crossed New-Market Square, and stopped at last
+before the fine house which stands at the corner of Castle Street.
+
+This was the house of the mayor of Sauveterre, M. Seneschal, a former
+lawyer, and now a member of the general council.
+
+Having alighted, the peasant seized the bell-knob, and began to ring so
+furiously, that, in a few moments, the whole house was in an uproar.
+
+A minute later, a big, stout servant-man, his eyes heavy with sleep,
+came and opened the door, and then cried out in an angry voice,--
+
+“Who are you, my man? What do you want? Have you taken too much wine?
+Don’t you know at whose house you are making such a row?”
+
+“I wish to see the mayor,” replied the peasant instantly. “Wake him up!”
+
+M. Seneschal was wide awake.
+
+Dressed in a large dressing-gown of gray flannel, a candlestick in his
+hand, troubled, and unable to disguise his trouble, he had just come
+down into the hall, and heard all that was said.
+
+“Here is the mayor,” he said in an ill-satisfied tone. “What do you want
+of him at this hour, when all honest people are in bed?”
+
+Pushing the servant aside, the peasant came up to him, and said, making
+not the slightest attempt at politeness,--
+
+“I come to tell you to send the fire-engine.”
+
+“The engine!”
+
+“Yes; at once. Make haste!”
+
+The mayor shook his head.
+
+“Hm!” he said, according to a habit he had when he was at a loss what to
+do; “hm, hm!”
+
+And who would not have been embarrassed in his place?
+
+To get the engine out, and to assemble the firemen, he had to rouse the
+whole town; and to do this in the middle of the night was nothing less
+than to frighten the poor people of Sauveterre, who had heard the drums
+beating the alarm but too often during the war with the Germans, and
+then again during the reign of the Commune. Therefore M. Seneschal
+asked,--
+
+“Is it a serious fire?”
+
+“Serious!” exclaimed the peasant. “How could it be otherwise with such a
+wind as this,--a wind that would blow off the horns of our oxen.”
+
+“Hm!” uttered the mayor again. “Hm, hm!”
+
+It was not exactly the first time, since he was mayor of Sauveterre,
+that he was thus roused by a peasant, who came and cried under his
+window, “Help! Fire, fire!”
+
+At first, filled with compassion, he had hastily called out the firemen,
+put himself at their head, and hurried to the fire.
+
+And when they reached it, out of breath, and perspiring, after having
+made two or three miles at double-quick, they found what? A wretched
+heap of straw, worth about ten dollars, and almost consumed by the fire.
+They had had their trouble for nothing.
+
+The peasants in the neighborhood had cried, “Wolf!” so often, when there
+was no reason for it, that, even when the wolf really was there, the
+townspeople were slow in believing it.
+
+“Let us see,” said M. Seneschal: “what is burning?”
+
+The peasant seemed to be furious at all these delays, and bit his long
+whip.
+
+“Must I tell you again and again,” he said, “that every thing is on
+fire,--barns, outhouses, haystacks, the houses, the old castle, and
+every thing? If you wait much longer, you won’t find one stone upon
+another in Valpinson.”
+
+The effect produced by this name was prodigious.
+
+“What?” asked the mayor in a half-stifled voice, “Valpinson is on fire?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“At Count Claudieuse’s?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“Fool! Why did you not say so at once?” exclaimed the mayor.
+
+He hesitated no longer.
+
+“Quick!” he said to his servant, “go and get me my clothes. Wait, no!
+my wife can help me. There is no time to be lost. You run to Bolton, the
+drummer, you know, and tell him from me to beat the alarm instantly all
+over town. Then you run to Capt. Parenteau’s, and explain
+to him what you have heard. Ask him to get the keys of the
+engine-house.--Wait!--when you have done that, come back and put the
+horse in.--Fire at Valpinson! I shall go with the engine. Go, run,
+knock at every door, cry, ‘Fire! Fire!’ Tell everybody to come to the
+New-Market Square.”
+
+When the servant had run off as fast as he could, the mayor turned to
+the peasant, and said,--
+
+“And you, my good man, you get on your horse, and reassure the count.
+Tell them all to take courage, not to give up; we are coming to help
+them.”
+
+But the peasant did not move.
+
+“Before going back to Valpinson,” he said, “I have another commission to
+attend to in town.”
+
+“Why? What is it?”
+
+“I am to get the doctor to go back with me.”
+
+“The doctor! Why? Has anybody been hurt?”
+
+“Yes, master, Count Claudieuse.”
+
+“How imprudent! I suppose he rushed into danger as usually.”
+
+“Oh, no! He has been shot twice!”
+
+The mayor of Sauveterre nearly dropped his candlestick.
+
+“Shot! Twice!” he said. “Where? When? By whom?”
+
+“Ah! I don’t know.”
+
+“But”--
+
+“All I can tell you is this. They have carried him into a little barn
+that was not on fire yet. There I saw him myself lying on the straw,
+pale like a linen sheet, his eyes closed, and bloody all over.”
+
+“Great God! They have not killed him?”
+
+“He was not dead when I left.”
+
+“And the countess?”
+
+“Our lady,” replied the peasant with an accent of profound veneration,
+“was in the barn on her knees by the count’s side, washing his wounds
+with fresh water. The two little ladies were there too.”
+
+M. Seneschal trembled with excitement.
+
+“It is a crime that has been committed, I suppose.”
+
+“Why, of course!”
+
+“But who did it? What was the motive?”
+
+“Ah! that is the question.”
+
+“The count is very passionate, to be sure, quite violent, in fact; but
+still he is the best and fairest of men, everybody knows that.”
+
+“Everybody knows it.”
+
+“He never did any harm to anybody.”
+
+“That is what all say.”
+
+“As for the countess”--
+
+“Oh!” said the peasant eagerly, “she is the saint of saints.”
+
+The mayor tried to come to some conclusion.
+
+“The criminal, therefore, must be a stranger. We are overrun with
+vagabonds and beggars on the tramp. There is not a day on which a lot of
+ill-looking fellows do not appear at my office, asking for help to get
+away.”
+
+The peasant nodded his head, and said,--
+
+“That is what I think. And the proof of it is, that, as I came along, I
+made up my mind I would first get the doctor, and then report the crime
+at the police office.”
+
+“Never mind,” said the mayor. “I will do that myself. In ten minutes
+I shall see the attorney of the Commonwealth. Now go. Don’t spare your
+horse, and tell your mistress that we are all coming after you.”
+
+In his whole official career M. Seneschal had never been so terribly
+shocked. He lost his head, just as he did on that unlucky day, when, all
+of a sudden, nine hundred militia-men fell upon him, and asked to be
+fed and lodged. Without his wife’s help he would never have been able to
+dress himself. Still he was ready when his servant returned.
+
+The good fellow had done all he had been told to do, and at that moment
+the beat of the drum was heard in the upper part of the town.
+
+“Now, put the horse in,” said M. Seneschal: “let me find the carriage at
+the door when I come back.”
+
+In the streets he found all in an uproar. At every window a head popped
+out, full of curiosity or terror; on all sides house doors were opened,
+and promptly closed again.
+
+“Great God!” he thought, “I hope I shall find Daubigeon at home!” M.
+Daubigeon, who had been first in the service of the empire, and then in
+the service of the republic, was one of M. Seneschal’s best friends.
+He was a man of about forty years, with a cunning look in his eye, a
+permanent smile on his face, and a confirmed bachelor, with no small
+pride in his consistency. The good people of Sauveterre thought he did
+not look stern and solemn enough for his profession. To be sure he was
+very highly esteemed; but his optimism was not popular; they reproached
+him for being too kind-hearted, too reluctant to press criminals whom he
+had to prosecute, and thus prone to encourage evil-doers.
+
+He accused himself of not being inspired with the “holy fire,” and, as
+he expressed it in his own way, “of robbing Themis of all the time he
+could, to devote it to the friendly Muses.” He was a passionate lover of
+fine books, rare editions, costly bindings, and fine illustrations; and
+much the larger part of his annual income of about ten thousand francs
+went to buying books. A scholar of the old-fashioned type, he professed
+boundless admiration for Virgil and Juvenal, but, above all, for Horace,
+and proved his devotion by constant quotations.
+
+Roused, like everybody else in the midst of his slumbers, this excellent
+man hastened to put on his clothes, when his old housekeeper came in,
+quite excited, and told him that M. Seneschal was there, and wanted to
+see him.
+
+“Show him in!” he said, “show him in!”
+
+And, as soon as the mayor entered, he continued:--
+
+“For you will be able to tell me the meaning of all this noise, this
+beating of drums,--
+
+“‘Clamorque, virum, clangorque tubarum.’”
+
+“A terrible misfortune has happened,” answered the mayor. From the tone
+of his voice one might have imagined it was he himself who had been
+afflicted; and the lawyer was so strongly impressed in this way, that he
+said,--
+
+“My dear friend, what is the matter? _Quid?_ Courage, my friend, keep
+cool! Remember that the poet advises us, in misfortune never to lose our
+balance of mind:--
+
+     “‘AEquam, memento, rebus in arduis,
+     Sevare mentem.’”
+
+“Incendiaries have set Valpinson on fire!” broke in the mayor.
+
+“You do not say so? Great God!
+
+     “‘Jupiter,
+     Quod verbum audio.’”
+
+“More than that. Count Claudieuse has been shot, and by this time he is
+probably dead.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“You hear the drummer is beating the alarm. I am going to the fire; and
+I have only come here to report the matter officially to you, and to ask
+you to see to it that justice be done promptly and energetically.”
+
+There was no need of such a serious appeal to stop at once all the
+lawyer’s quotations.
+
+“Enough!” he said eagerly. “Come, let us take measures to catch the
+wretches.”
+
+When they reached National Street, it was as full as at mid-day; for
+Sauveterre is one of those rare provincial towns in which an excitement
+is too rare a treat to be neglected. The sad event had by this time
+become fully known everywhere. At first the news had been doubted; but
+when the doctor’s cab had passed the crowd at full speed, escorted by
+a peasant on horseback, the reports were believed. Nor had the firemen
+lost time. As soon as the mayor and M. Daubigeon appeared on New-Market
+Square, Capt. Parenteau rushed up to them, and, touching his helmet with
+a military salute, said,--
+
+“My men are ready.”
+
+“All?”
+
+“There are hardly ten absentees. When they heard that Count and Countess
+Claudieuse were in need--great heavens!--you know, they all were ready
+in a moment.”
+
+“Well, then, start and make haste,” commanded M. Seneschal. “We shall
+overtake you on the way: M. Daubigeon and I are going to pick up M.
+Galpin, the magistrate.”
+
+They had not far to go.
+
+The magistrate had already been looking for them all over town: he was
+just appearing on the Square, and saw them at once.
+
+In striking contrast with the commonwealth attorney, M. Galpin was a
+professional man in the full sense of the word, and perhaps a little
+more. He was the magistrate all over, from head to foot, and from the
+gaiters on his ankles to the light blonde whiskers on his face. Although
+he was quite young, yet no one had ever seen him smile, or heard him
+make a joke. He was so very stiff that M. Daubigeon suggested he had
+been impaled alive on the sword of justice.
+
+At Sauveterre M. Galpin was looked upon as a superior man. He certainly
+believed it himself: hence he was very impatient at being confined to so
+narrow a sphere of action, and thought his brilliant ability wasted
+upon the prosecution of a chicken-thief or a poacher. But his
+almost desperate efforts to secure a better office had always been
+unsuccessful. In vain he had enlisted a host of friends in his behalf.
+In vain he had thrown himself into politics, ready to serve any party
+that would serve him.
+
+But M. Galpin’s ambition was not easily discouraged, and lately after a
+journey to Paris, he had thrown out hints at a great match, which would
+shortly procure him that influence in high places which so far he had
+been unable to obtain. When he joined M. Daubigeon and the mayor, he
+said,--
+
+“Well, this is a horrible affair! It will make a tremendous noise.” The
+mayor began to give him the details, but he said,--
+
+“Don’t trouble yourself. I know all you know. I met the peasant who had
+been sent in, and I have examined him.”
+
+Then, turning to the commonwealth attorney, he added,--
+
+“I think we ought to proceed at once to the place where the crime has
+been committed.”
+
+“I was going to suggest it to you,” replied M. Daubigeon.
+
+“The gendarmes ought to be notified.”
+
+“M. Seneschal has just sent them word.”
+
+The magistrate was so much excited, that his cold impassiveness actually
+threatened to give way for once.
+
+“There has been an attempt at murder.”
+
+“Evidently.”
+
+“Then we can act in concert, and side by side, each one in his own line
+of duty, you examining, and I preparing for the trial.”
+
+An ironical smile passed over the lips of the commonwealth attorney.
+
+“You ought to know me well enough,” he said, “to be sure that I have
+never interfered with your duties and privileges. I am nothing but a
+good old fellow, a friend of peace and of studies.
+
+“‘Sum piger et senior, Pieridumque comes.’”
+
+“Then,” exclaimed M. Seneschal, “nothing keeps us here any longer. I am
+impatient to be off; my carriage is ready; let us go!”
+
+
+
+II.
+
+In a straight line it is only a mile from Sauveterre to Valpinson; but
+that mile is as long as two elsewhere. M. Seneschal, however, had a good
+horse, “the best perhaps in the county,” he said, as he got into his
+carriage. In ten minutes they had overtaken the firemen, who had left
+some time before them. And yet these good people, all of them master
+workmen of Sauveterre, masons, carpenters, and tilers, hurried along as
+fast as they could. They had half a dozen smoking torches with them to
+light them on the way: they walked, puffing and groaning, on the bad
+road, and pulling the two engines, together with the heavy cart on which
+they had piled up their ladders and other tools.
+
+“Keep up, my friends!” said the mayor as he passed them,--“keep up!”
+ Three minutes farther on, a peasant on horseback appeared in the dark,
+riding along like a forlorn knight in a romance. M. Daubigeon ordered
+him to halt. He stopped.
+
+“You come from Valpinson?” asked M. Seneschal.
+
+“Yes,” replied the peasant.
+
+“How is the count?”
+
+“He has come to at last.”
+
+“What does the doctor say?”
+
+“He says he will live. I am going to the druggist to get some
+medicines.” M. Galpin, to hear better, was leaning out of the carriage.
+He asked,--
+
+“Do they accuse any one?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“And the fire?”
+
+“They have water enough,” replied the peasant, “but no engines: so what
+can they do? And the wind is rising again! Oh, what a misfortune!”
+
+He rode off as fast as he could, while M. Seneschal was whipping his
+poor horse, which, unaccustomed as it was to such treatment, instead
+of going any faster, only reared, and jumped from side to side. The
+excellent man was in despair. He looked upon this crime as if it had
+been committed on purpose to disgrace him, and to do the greatest
+possible injury to his administration.
+
+“For after all,” he said, for the tenth time to his companions, “is it
+natural, I ask you, is it sensible, that a man should think of attacking
+the Count and the Countess Claudieuse, the most distinguished and the
+most esteemed people in the whole county, and especially a lady whose
+name is synonymous with virtue and charity?”
+
+And, without minding the ruts and the stones in the road, M. Seneschal
+went on repeating all he knew about the owners of Valpinson.
+
+Count Trivulce Claudieuse was the last scion of one of the oldest
+families of the county. At sixteen, about 1829, he had entered the navy
+as an ensign, and for many years he had appeared at Sauveterre only
+rarely, and at long intervals. In 1859 he had become a captain, and was
+on the point of being made admiral, when he had all of a sudden sent in
+his resignation, and taken up his residence at the Castle of Valpinson,
+although the house had nothing to show of its former splendor but two
+towers falling to pieces, and an immense mass of ruin and rubbish. For
+two years he had lived here alone, busy with building up the old house
+as well as it could be done, and by great energy and incessant labor
+restoring it to some of its former splendor. It was thought he would
+finish his days in this way, when one day the report arose that he was
+going to be married. The report, for once, proved true.
+
+One fine day Count Claudieuse had left for Paris; and, a few days later,
+his friends had been informed by letter that he had married the daughter
+of one of his former colleagues, Miss Genevieve de Tassar. The amazement
+had been universal. The count looked like a gentleman, and was very well
+preserved; but he was at least forty-seven years old, and Miss Genevieve
+was hardly twenty. Now, if the bride had been poor, they would have
+understood the match, and approved it: it is but natural that a poor
+girl should sacrifice her heart to her daily bread. But here it was not
+so. The Marquis de Tassar was considered wealthy; and report said that
+his daughter had brought her husband fifty thousand dollars.
+
+Next they had it that the bride was fearfully ugly, infirm, or at least
+hunchback, perhaps idiotic, or, at all events, of frightful temper.
+
+By no means. She had come down; and everybody was amazed at her noble,
+quiet beauty. She had conversed with them, and charmed everybody.
+
+Was it really a love-match, as people called it at Sauveterre? Perhaps
+so. Nevertheless there was no lack of old ladies who shook their heads,
+and said twenty-seven years difference between husband and wife was too
+much, and such a match could not turn out well.
+
+All these dark forebodings came to nought. The fact was, that, for miles
+and miles around, there was not a happier couple to be found than the
+Count and the Countess Claudieuse; and two children, girls, who had
+appeared at an interval of four years, seemed to have secured the
+happiness of the house forever.
+
+It is true the count retained somewhat of the haughty manners, the
+reserve, and the imperious tone, which he had acquired during the time
+that he controlled the destinies of certain important colonies. He was,
+moreover, naturally so passionate, that the slightest excitement made
+him turn purple in his face. But the countess was as gentle and as
+sweet as he was violent; and as she never failed to step in between her
+husband and the object of his wrath, as both he and she were naturally
+just, kind to excess, and generous to all, they were beloved by
+everybody. There was only one point on which the count was rather
+unmanageable, and that was the game laws. He was passionately fond of
+hunting, and watched all the year round with almost painful restlessness
+over his preserves, employing a number of keepers, and prosecuting
+poachers with such energy, that people said he would rather miss a
+hundred napoleons than a single bird.
+
+The count and the countess lived quite retired, and gave their whole
+time, he to agricultural pursuits, and she to the education of her
+children. They entertained but little, and did not come to Sauveterre
+more than four times a year, to visit the Misses Lavarande, or the old
+Baron de Chandore. Every summer, towards the end of July, they went to
+Royan, where they had a cottage. When the season opened, and the count
+went hunting, the countess paid a visit to her relatives in Paris, with
+whom she usually stayed a few weeks.
+
+It required a storm like that of 1870 to overthrow so peaceful an
+existence. When the old captain heard that the Prussians were on French
+soil, he felt all the instincts of the soldier and the Frenchman awake
+in his heart. He could not be kept at home, and went to headquarters.
+Although a royalist at heart, he did not hesitate a moment to offer
+his sword to Gambetta, whom he detested. They made him colonel of a
+regiment; and he fought like a lion, from the first day to the last,
+when he was thrown down and trod under foot in one of those fearful
+routs in which a part of Chanzy’s army was utterly destroyed. When the
+armistice was signed, he returned to Valpinson; but no one except his
+wife ever succeeded in making him say a word about the campaign. He was
+asked to become a candidate for the assembly, and would have certainly
+been elected; but he refused, saying that he knew how to fight, but not
+how to talk.
+
+The commonwealth attorney and the magistrate listened but very
+carelessly to these details, with which they were perfectly familiar.
+Suddenly M. Galpin asked,--
+
+“Are we not getting near? I look and look; but I see no trace of a
+fire.”
+
+“We are in a deep valley,” replied the mayor. “But we are quite near
+now, and, at the top of that hill before us, you will see enough.”
+
+This hill is well known in the whole province, and is frequently called
+the Sauveterre Mountain. It is so steep, and consists of such hard
+granite, that the engineers who laid out the great turnpike turned miles
+out of their way to avoid it. It overlooks the whole country; and, when
+M. Seneschal and his companions had reached the top, they could not
+control their excitement.
+
+“Horresco!” murmured the attorney.
+
+The burning house itself was hid by high trees; but columns of fire rose
+high above the tops, and illumined the whole region with their sombre
+light. The whole country was in a state of excitement. The short, square
+tower of Brechy sent the alarm from its big bell; and in the deep shade
+on all sides was heard the strange sound of the huge shells which
+the people here use for signals, and for the summoning of laborers at
+mealtimes. Hurried steps were heard on all the high-roads and by-roads;
+and peasants were continuously rushing by, with a bucket in each hand.
+
+“It is too late for help,” said M. Galpin.
+
+“Such a fine property!” said the mayor, “and so well managed!” And
+regardless of danger, he dashed forward, down the hill; for Valpinson
+lies in a deep valley, half a mile from the river. Here all was terror,
+disorder, and confusion; and yet there was no lack of hands or of
+good-will. At the first alarm, all the people of the neighborhood had
+hurried up, and there were more coming every moment; but there was no
+one there to assume the command. They were mainly engaged in saving the
+furniture. The boldest tried to get into the rooms, and in a kind of
+rage, threw every thing they could lay hold on out of the window. Thus
+the courtyard was already half full of beds and mattresses, chairs and
+tables, books, linen, and clothes.
+
+An immense clamor greeted the mayor and his companions.
+
+“Here comes the mayor!” cried the peasants, encouraged by his presence,
+and all ready to obey him.
+
+M. Seneschal took in the whole situation at a glance.
+
+“Yes, here I am, my friends,” he said, “and I thank you for your zeal.
+Now we must try not to waste our efforts. The farm buildings and
+the workshops are lost: we must give them up. Let us try to save the
+dwelling-house. The river is not far. We must form a chain. Everybody in
+line,--men and women! And now for water, water! Here come the engines!”
+
+They really came thundering up: the firemen appeared on the scene. Capt.
+Parenteau took the command. At last the mayor was at leisure to inquire
+after Count Claudieuse.
+
+“Master is down there,” replied an old woman, pointing at a little
+cottage with a thatched roof. “The doctor has had him carried there.”
+
+“Let us go and see how he is,” said the mayor to his two companions.
+They stopped at the door of the only room of the cottage. It was a large
+room with a floor of beaten clay; while overhead the blackened beams
+were full of working tools and parcels of seeds. Two beds with twisted
+columns and yellow curtains filled one side: on that on the left hand
+lay a little girl, four years old, fast asleep, and rolled up in a
+blanket, watched over by her sister, who was two or three years older.
+On the other bed, Count Claudieuse was lying, or rather sitting; for
+they had supported his back by all the pillows that had been saved from
+the fire. His chest was bare, and covered with blood; and a man, Dr.
+Seignebos, with his coat off, and his sleeves rolled up above the
+elbows, was bending over him, and holding a sponge in one hand and a
+probe in the other, seemed to be engaged in a delicate and dangerous
+operation.
+
+The countess, in a light muslin dress, was standing at the foot of her
+husband’s bed, pale but admirably composed and resigned. She was holding
+a lamp, and moved it to and fro as the doctor directed. In a corner two
+servant-women were sitting on a box, and crying, their aprons turned
+over their heads.
+
+At last the mayor of Sauveterre overcame his painful impressions, and
+entered the room. Count Claudieuse was the first to perceive him, and
+said,--
+
+“Ah, here is our good M. Seneschal. Come nearer, my friend; come nearer.
+You see the year 1871 is a fatal year. It will soon leave me nothing but
+a few handfuls of ashes of all I possessed.”
+
+“It is a great misfortune,” replied the excellent mayor; “but, after
+all, it is less than we apprehended. God be thanked, you are safe!”
+
+“Who knows? I am suffering terribly.”
+
+The countess trembled.
+
+“Trivulce!” she whispered in a tone of entreaty. “Trivulce!”
+
+Never did lover glance at his beloved with more tenderness than Count
+Claudieuse did at his wife.
+
+“Pardon me, my dear Genevieve, pardon me, if I show any want of
+courage.”
+
+A sudden nervous spasm seized him; and then he exclaimed in a loud
+voice, which sounded like a trumpet,--
+
+“Sir! But sir! Thunder and lightning! You kill me!”
+
+“I have some chloroform here,” replied the physician coldly.
+
+“I do not want any.”
+
+“Then you must make up your mind to suffer, and keep quiet now; for
+every motion adds to your pain.”
+
+Then sponging a jet of blood which spurted out from under his knife, he
+added,--
+
+“However, you shall have a few minutes rest now. My eyes and my hand are
+exhausted. I see I am no longer young.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos was sixty years old. He was a small, thin man, with a bald
+head and a bilious complexion, carelessly dressed, and spending his life
+in taking off, wiping, and putting back again his large gold spectacles.
+His reputation was widespread; and they told of wonderful cures which
+he had accomplished. Still he had not many friends. The common people
+disliked his bitterness; the peasants, his strictness in demanding his
+fees; and the townspeople, his political views.
+
+There was a story that one evening, at a public dinner, he had gotten up
+and said, “I drink to the memory of the only physician of whose pure and
+chaste renown I am envious,--the memory of my countryman, Dr. Guillotin
+of Saintes!”
+
+Had he really offered such a toast? The fact is, he pretended to be a
+fierce radical, and was certainly the soul and the oracle of the small
+socialistic clubs in the neighborhood. People looked aghast when he
+began to talk of the reforms which he thought necessary; and they
+trembled when he proclaimed his convictions, that “the sword and the
+torch ought to search the rotten foundations of society.”
+
+These opinions, certain utilitarian views of like eccentricity, and
+still stranger experiments which he openly carried on before the whole
+world, had led people more than once to doubt the soundness of his mind.
+The most charitable said, “He is an oddity.” This eccentric man had
+naturally no great fondness for M. Seneschal, the mayor, a former
+lawyer, and a legitimist. He did not think much of the commonwealth
+attorney, a useless bookworm. But he detested M. Galpin. Still he bowed
+to the three men; and, without minding his patient, he said to them,--
+
+“You see, gentlemen, Count Claudieuse is in a bad plight. He has been
+fired at with a gun loaded with small shot; and wounds made in that way
+are very puzzling. I trust no vital part has been injured; but I cannot
+answer for any thing. I have often in my practice seen very small
+injuries, wounds caused by a small-sized shot, which, nevertheless,
+proved fatal, and showed their true character only twelve or fifteen
+hours after the accident had happened.”
+
+He would have gone on in this way, if the magistrate had not suddenly
+interrupted him, saying,--
+
+“Doctor, you know I am here because a crime has been committed. The
+criminal has to be found out, and to be punished: hence I request your
+assistance, from this moment, in the name of the Law.”
+
+
+
+III.
+
+By this single phrase M. Galpin made himself master of the situation,
+and reduced the doctor to an inferior position, in which, it is true, he
+had the mayor and the commonwealth attorney to bear him company. There
+was nothing now to be thought of, but the crime that had been committed,
+and the judge who was to punish the author. But he tried in vain to
+assume all the rigidity of his official air and that contempt for human
+feelings which has made justice so hateful to thousands. His whole being
+was impregnated with intense satisfaction, up to his beard, cut and
+trimmed like the box-hedges of an old-fashioned garden.
+
+“Well, doctor,” he asked, “first of all, have you any objection to my
+questioning your patient?”
+
+“It would certainly be better for him to be left alone,” growled Dr.
+Seignebos. “I have made him suffer enough this last hour; and I shall
+directly begin again cutting out the small pieces of lead which have
+honeycombed his flesh. But if it must be”--
+
+“It must be.”
+
+“Well, then, make haste; for the fever will set in presently.”
+
+M. Daubigeon could not conceal his annoyance. He called out,--
+
+“Galpin, Galpin!”
+
+The other man paid no attention. Having taken a note-book and a pencil
+from his pocket, he drew up close to the sick man’s bed, and asked him
+in an undertone,--
+
+“Are you strong enough, count, to answer my questions?”
+
+“Oh, perfectly!”
+
+“Then, pray tell me all you know of the sad events of to-night.”
+
+With the aid of his wife and Dr. Seignebos, the count raised himself on
+his pillows, and began thus,--
+
+“Unfortunately, the little I know will be of no use in aiding justice to
+discover the guilty man. It may have been eleven o’clock, for I am not
+even quite sure of the hour, when I had gone to bed, and just blown out
+my candle: suddenly a bright light fell upon the window. I was amazed,
+and utterly confused; for I was in that state of sleepiness which is not
+yet sleep, but very much like it. I said to myself, ‘What can this be?’
+but I did not get up: I only was roused by a great noise, like the crash
+of a falling wall; and then I jumped out of bed, and said to myself,
+‘The house is on fire!’ What increased my anxiety was the fact, which
+I at once recollected, that there were in the courtyard, and all around
+the house, some sixteen thousand bundles of dry wood, which had been
+cut last year. Half dressed, I rushed downstairs. I was very much
+bewildered, I confess, and could hardly succeed in opening the outer
+door: still I did open it at last. But I had barely put my foot on
+the threshold, when I felt in my right side, a little above the hip, a
+fierce pain, and heard at the same time, quite close to me, a shot.”
+
+The magistrate interrupted him by a gesture.
+
+“Your statement, count, is certainly remarkably clear. But there is one
+point we must try to establish. Were you really fired at the moment you
+showed yourself at the door?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Then the murderer must have been quite near on the watch. He must have
+known that the fire would bring you out; and he was lying in wait for
+you.”
+
+“That was and still is my impression,” declared the count.
+
+M. Galpin turned to M. Daubigeon.
+
+“Then,” he said to him, “the murder is the principal fact with which we
+have to do; and the fire is only an aggravating circumstance,--the
+means which the criminal employed in order to succeed the better in
+perpetrating his crime.”
+
+Then, returning to the count, he said,--
+
+“Pray go on.”
+
+“When I felt I was wounded,” continued Count Claudieuse, “my first
+impulse was instinctively to rush forward to the place from which the
+gun seemed to have been fired at me. I had not proceeded three yards,
+when I felt the same pain once more in the shoulder and in the neck.
+This second wound was more serous than the first; for I lost my
+consciousness, my head began to swim and I fell.”
+
+“You had not seen the murderer?”
+
+“I beg your pardon. At the moment when I fell, I thought I saw a man
+rush forth from behind a pile of fagots, cross the courtyard, and
+disappear in the fields.”
+
+“Would you recognize him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But you saw how he was dressed: you can give me a description?”
+
+“No, I cannot. I felt as if there was a veil before my eyes; and he
+passed me like a shadow.”
+
+The magistrate could hardly conceal his disappointment.
+
+“Never mind,” he said, “we’ll find him out. But go on, sir.”
+
+The count shook his head.
+
+“I have nothing more to say,” he replied. “I had fainted; and when I
+recovered my consciousness, some hours later, I found myself here lying
+on this bed.”
+
+M. Galpin noted down the count’s answers with scrupulous exactness: when
+he had done, he asked again,--
+
+“We must return to the details of the attack, and examine them minutely.
+Now, however, it is important to know what happened after you fell. Who
+could tell us that?”
+
+“My wife, sir.”
+
+“I thought so. The countess, no doubt, got up when you rose.”
+
+“My wife had not gone to bed.”
+
+The magistrate turned suddenly to the countess; and at a glance he
+perceived that her costume was not that of a lady who had been suddenly
+roused from slumber by the burning of her house.
+
+“I see,” he said to himself.
+
+“Bertha,” the count went on to state, “our youngest daughter, who is
+lying there on that bed, under the blanket, has the measles, and is
+suffering terribly. My wife was sitting up with her. Unfortunately the
+windows of her room look upon the garden, on the side opposite to that
+where the fire broke out.”
+
+“How, then, did the countess become aware of the accident?” asked the
+magistrate.
+
+Without waiting for a more direct question, the countess came forward
+and said,--
+
+“As my husband has just told you, I was sitting up with my little
+Bertha. I was rather tired; for I had sat up the night before also, and
+I had begun to nod, when a sudden noise aroused me. I was not quite sure
+whether I had really heard such a noise; but just then a second shot
+was heard. I left the room more astonished than frightened. Ah, sir! The
+fire had already made such headway, that the staircase was as light as
+in broad day. I went down in great haste. The outer door was open. I
+went out; and there, some five or six yards from me, I saw, by the
+light of the flames, the body of my husband lying on the ground. I threw
+myself upon him; but he did not even hear me; his heart had ceased to
+beat. I thought he was dead; I called for help; I was in despair.”
+
+M. Seneschal and M. Daubigeon trembled with excitement.
+
+“Well, very well!” said M. Galpin, with an air of satisfaction,--“very
+well done!”
+
+“You know,” continued the countess, “how hard it is to rouse
+country-people. It seems to me I remained ever so long alone there,
+kneeling by the side of my husband. At last the brightness of the fire
+awakened some of the farm-hands, the workmen, and our servants. They
+rushed out, crying, ‘Fire!’ When they saw me, they ran up and helped
+me carry my husband to a place of safety; for the danger was increasing
+every minute. The fire was spreading with terrific violence, thanks to
+a furious wind. The barns were one vast mass of fire; the outbuildings
+were burning; the distillery was in a blaze; and the roof of the
+dwelling-house was flaming up in various places. And there was not one
+cool head among them all. I was so utterly bewildered, that I forgot all
+about my children; and their room was already in flames, when a brave,
+bold fellow rushed in, and snatched them from the very jaws of death. I
+did not come to myself till Dr. Seignebos arrived, and spoke to me words
+of hope. This fire will probably ruin us; but what matters that, so long
+as my husband and my children are safe?”
+
+Dr. Seignebos had more than once given utterance to his contemptuous
+impatience: he did not appreciate these preliminary steps. The others,
+however, the mayor, the attorney, and even the servants, had hardly
+been able to suppress their excitement. He shrugged his shoulders, and
+growled between his teeth,--
+
+“Mere formalities! How petty! How childish!”
+
+After having taken off his spectacles, wiped them and replaced them
+twenty times, he had sat down at the rickety table in the corner of the
+room, and amused himself with arranging the fifteen or twenty shot he
+had extracted from the count’s wounds, in long lines or small circles.
+But, when the countess uttered her last words, he rose, and, turning to
+M. Galpin, said in a curt tone,--
+
+“Now, sir, I hope you will let me have my patient again.”
+
+The magistrate was not a little incensed: there was reason enough,
+surely; and, frowning fiercely, he said,--
+
+“I appreciate, sir, the importance of your duties; but mine are, I
+think, by no means less solemn nor less urgent.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Consequently you will be pleased, sir, to grant me five minutes more.”
+
+“Ten, if it must be, sir. Only I warn you that every minute henceforth
+may endanger the life of my patient.”
+
+They had drawn near to each other, and were measuring each other with
+defiant looks, which betrayed the bitterest animosity. They would surely
+not quarrel at the bedside of a dying man? The countess seemed to fear
+such a thing; for she said reproachfully,--
+
+“Gentlemen, I pray, gentlemen”--
+
+Perhaps her intervention would have been of no avail, if M. Seneschal
+and M. Daubigeon had not stepped in, each addressing one of the two
+adversaries. M. Galpin was apparently the most obstinate of the two;
+for, in spite of all, he began once more to question the count, and
+said,--
+
+“I have only one more question to ask you, sir: Where and how were you
+standing, where and how do you think the murderer was standing, at the
+moment when the crime was committed?”
+
+“Sir,” replied the count, evidently with a great effort, “I was
+standing, as I told you, on the threshold of my door, facing the
+courtyard. The murderer must have been standing some twenty yards off,
+on my right, behind a pile of wood.”
+
+When he had written down the answer of the wounded man, the magistrate
+turned once more to the physician, and said,--
+
+“You heard what was said, sir. It is for you now to aid justice by
+telling us at what distance the murderer must have been when he fired.”
+
+“I don’t guess riddles,” replied the physician coarsely.
+
+“Ah, have a care, sir!” said M. Galpin. “Justice, whom I here represent,
+has the right and the means to enforce respect. You are a physician,
+sir; and your science is able to answer my question with almost
+mathematical accuracy.”
+
+The physician laughed, and said,--
+
+“Ah, indeed! Science has reached that point, has it? Which science?
+Medical jurisprudence, no doubt,--that part of our profession which is
+at the service of the courts, and obeys the judges’ behests.”
+
+“Sir!”
+
+But the doctor was not the man to allow himself to be defeated a second
+time. He went on coolly,--
+
+“I know what you are going to say; there is no handbook of medical
+jurisprudence which does not peremptorily settle the question you ask
+me. I have studied these handbooks, these formidable weapons which you
+gentlemen of the bar know so well how to handle. I know the opinions
+of a Devergie and an Orfila, I know even what Casper and Tardieu, and
+a host of others teach on that subject. I am fully aware that these
+gentlemen claim to be able to tell you by the inch at what distance
+a shot has been fired. But I am not so skilful. I am only a poor
+country-practitioner, a simple healer of diseases. And before I give an
+opinion which may cost a poor devil his life, innocent though he be, I
+must have time to reflect, to consult data, and to compare other cases
+in my practice.”
+
+He was so evidently right in reality, if not in form, that even M.
+Galpin gave way.
+
+“It is merely as a matter of information that I request your opinion,
+sir,” he replied. “Your real and carefully-considered professional
+opinion will, of course, be given in a special statement.”
+
+“Ah, if that is the case!”
+
+“Pray, inform me, then unofficially, what you think of the nature of the
+wounds of Count Claudieuse.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos settled his spectacles ceremoniously on his nose, and then
+replied,--
+
+“My impression, so far as I am now able to judge, is that the count has
+stated the facts precisely as they were. I am quite ready to believe
+that the murderer was lying in ambush behind one of the piles of wood,
+and at the distance which he has mentioned. I am also able to affirm
+that the two shots were fired at different distances,--one much nearer
+than the other. The proof of it lies in the nature of the wounds, one of
+which, near the hip may be scientifically called”--
+
+“But we know at what distance a ball is spent,” broke in M. Seneschal,
+whom the doctor’s dogmatic tone began to annoy.
+
+“Ah, do we know that, indeed? You know it, M. Seneschal? Well, I declare
+I do not know it. To be sure, I bear in mind, what you seem to forget,
+that we have no longer, as in former days, only three or four kinds
+of guns. Did you think of the immense variety of fire-arms, French and
+English, American and German, which are nowadays found in everybody’s
+hands? Do you not see, you who have been a lawyer and a magistrate, that
+the whole legal question will be based upon this grave and all-important
+point?”
+
+Thereupon the physician resumed his instruments, resolved to give no
+other answer, and was about to go to work once more when fearful
+cries were heard without; and the lawyers, the mayor, and the countess
+herself, rushed at once to the door.
+
+These cries were, unfortunately, not uttered without cause. The roof of
+the main building had just fallen in, burying under its ruins the
+poor drummer who had a few hours ago beaten the alarm, and one of the
+firemen, the most respected carpenter in Sauveterre, and a father of
+five children.
+
+Capt. Parenteau seemed to be maddened by this disaster; and all vied
+with each other in efforts to rescue the poor fellows, who were uttering
+shrieks of horror that rose high above the crash of falling timbers. But
+all their endeavors were unavailing. One of the gendarmes and a farmer,
+who had nearly succeeded in reaching the sufferers, barely escaped being
+burnt themselves, and were only rescued after having been dangerously
+injured. Then only it seemed as if all became fully aware of the
+abominable crime committed by the incendiary. Then only the clouds
+of smoke and the columns of fire, which rose high into the air, were
+accompanied by fierce cries of vengeance rising heavenwards.
+
+“Death to the incendiary! Death!”
+
+At the moment M. Seneschal felt himself inspired with a sudden thought.
+He knew how cautious peasants are, and how difficult it is to make them
+tell what they know. He climbed, therefore, upon a heap of fallen beams,
+and said in a clear, loud voice,--
+
+“Yes, my friends, you are right: death to the incendiary! Yes, the
+unfortunate victims of the basest of all crimes must be avenged. We must
+find out the incendiary; we must! You want it to be done, don’t you?
+Well, it depends only on you. There must be some one among you who knows
+something about this matter. Let him come forward and tell us what he
+has seen or heard. Remember that the smallest trifle may be a clew
+to the crime. You would be as bad as the incendiary himself, if you
+concealed him. Just think it over, consider.”
+
+Loud voices were heard in the crowd; then suddenly a voice said,--
+
+“There is one here who can tell.”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Cocoleu. He was there from the beginning. It was he who went and
+brought the children of the countess out of their room. What has become
+of him?--Cocoleu, Cocoleu!”
+
+One must have lived in the country, among these simple-minded peasants,
+to understand the excitement and the fury of all these men and women as
+they crowded around the ruins of Valpinson. People in town do not mind
+brigands, in general: they have their gas, their strong doors, and
+the police. They are generally little afraid of fire. They have their
+fire-alarms; and at the first spark the neighbor cries, “Fire!” The
+engines come racing up; and water comes forth as if by magic. But it
+is very different in the country: here every man is constantly under
+a sense of his isolation. A simple latch protects his door; and no one
+watches over his safety at night. If a murderer should attack him, his
+cries could bring no help. If fire should break out, his house would be
+burnt down before the neighbors could reach it; and he is happy who can
+save his own life and that of his family. Hence all these good people,
+whom the mayor’s words had deeply excited, were eager to find out the
+only man who knew anything about this calamity, Cocoleu.
+
+He was well known among them, and for many years.
+
+There was not one among them who had not given him a piece of bread, or
+a bowl of soup, when he was hungry; not one of them had ever refused
+him a night’s rest on the straw in his barn, when it was raining or
+freezing, and the poor fellow wanted a shelter.
+
+For Cocoleu was one of those unfortunate beings who labor under a
+grievous physical or moral deformity.
+
+Some twenty years ago, a wealthy land-owner in Brechy had sent to the
+nearest town for half a dozen painters, whom he kept at his house nearly
+a whole summer, painting and decorating his newly-built house. One of
+these men had seduced a girl in the neighborhood, whom he had bewitched
+by his long white blouse, his handsome brown mustache, his good spirits,
+gay songs, and flattering speeches. But, when the work was done, the
+tempter had flown away with the others, without thinking any more of the
+poor girl than of the last cigar which he had smoked.
+
+And yet she was expecting a child. When she could no longer conceal
+her condition, she was turned out of the house in which she had been
+employed; and her family, unable to support themselves, drove her away
+without mercy. Overcome with grief, shame, and remorse, poor Colette
+wandered from farm to farm, begging, insulted, laughed at, beaten even
+at times. Thus it came about, that in a dark wood, one dismal winter
+evening, she gave life to a male child. No one ever understood how
+mother and child managed to survive. But both lived; and for many a year
+they were seen in and around Sauveterre, covered with rags, and living
+upon the dear-bought generosity of the peasants.
+
+Then the mother died, utterly forsaken by human help, as she had lived.
+They found her body, one morning, in a ditch by the wayside.
+
+The child survived alone. He was then eight years old, quite strong
+and tall for his age. A farmer took pity on him, and took him home.
+The little wretch was not fit for anything: he could not even keep
+his master’s cows. During his mother’s lifetime, his silence, his wild
+looks, and his savage appearance, had been attributed to his wretched
+mode of life. But when people began to be interested in him, they found
+out that his intellect had never been aroused. He was an idiot, and,
+besides, subject to that terrible nervous affection which at times
+shakes the whole body and disfigures the face by the violence of
+uncontrollable convulsions. He was not a deaf-mute; but he could
+only stammer out with intense difficulty a few disjointed syllables.
+Sometimes the country people would say to him,--
+
+“Tell us your name, and you shall have a cent.”
+
+Then it took him five minutes’ hard work to utter, amid a thousand
+painful contortions, the name of his mother.
+
+“Co-co-co-lette.”
+
+Hence came his name Cocoleu. It had been ascertained that he was utterly
+unable to do anything; and people ceased to interest themselves in his
+behalf. The consequence was, that he became a vagabond as of old.
+
+It was about this time that Dr. Seignebos, on one of his visits, met him
+one day on the public road.
+
+This excellent man had, among other extraordinary notions, the
+conviction that idiocy is nothing more than a defective state of
+the brains, which may be remedied by the use of certain well-known
+substances, such as phosphorus, for instance. He lost no time in seizing
+upon this admirable opportunity to test his theory. Cocoleu was sent
+for, and installed in his house. He subjected him to a treatment which
+he kept secret; and only a druggist at Sauveterre, who was also
+well known as entertaining very extraordinary notions, knew what
+had happened. At the end of eighteen months, Cocoleu had fallen off
+terribly: he talked perhaps, a little more fluently; but his intellect
+had not been perceptibly improved.
+
+Dr. Seignebos was discouraged. He made up a parcel of things which he
+had given to his patient, put it into his hands, pushed him out of his
+door, and told him never to come back again.
+
+The doctor had rendered Cocoleu a sad service. The poor idiot had lost
+the habit of privation: he had forgotten how to go from door to door,
+asking for alms; and he would have perished, if his good fortune had not
+led him to knock at the door of the house at Valpinson.
+
+Count Claudieuse and his wife were touched by his wretchedness, and
+determined to take charge of him. They gave him a room and a bed at one
+of the farmhouses; but they could never induce him to stay there. He
+was by nature a vagabond; and the instinct was too strong for him. In
+winter, frost and snow kept him in for a little while; but as soon as
+the first leaves came out, he went wandering again through forest and
+field, remaining absent often for weeks altogether.
+
+At last, however, something seemed to have been aroused in him, which
+looked like the instinct of a domesticated animal. His attachment to
+the countess resembled that of a dog, even in the capers and cries with
+which he greeted her whenever he saw her. Often, when she went out, he
+accompanied her, running and frolicking around her just like a dog. He
+was also very fond of little girls, and seemed to resent it when he was
+kept from them: for people were afraid his nervous attacks might affect
+the children.
+
+With time he had also become capable of performing some simple service.
+He could be intrusted with certain messages: he could water the flowers,
+summon a servant, or even carry a letter to the post-office at Brechy.
+His progress in this respect was so marked, that some of the more
+cunning peasants began to suspect that Cocoleu was not so “innocent,”
+ after all, as he looked, and that he was cleverly playing the fool in
+order to enjoy life easily.
+
+“We have him at last,” cried several voices at once. “Here he is; here
+he is!”
+
+The crowd made way promptly; and almost immediately a young man
+appeared, led and pushed forward by several persons. Cocoleu’s clothes,
+all in disorder, showed clearly that he had offered a stout resistance.
+He was a youth of about eighteen years, very tall, quite beardless,
+excessively thin, and so loosely jointed, that he looked like a
+hunchback. A mass of reddish hair came down his low, retreating
+forehead. His small eyes, his enormous mouth bristling with sharp teeth,
+his broad flat nose, and his immense ears, gave to his face a strange
+idiotic expression, and to his whole appearance a most painful brutish
+air.
+
+“What must we do with him?” asked the peasants of the mayor.
+
+“We must take him before the magistrate, my friends,” replied M.
+Seneschal,--“down there in that cottage, where you have carried the
+count.”
+
+“And we’ll make him talk,” threatened his captors. “You hear! Go on,
+quick!”
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+M. Galpin and the doctor had both considered it a point of honor who
+should show the most perfect indifference; and thus they had betrayed
+by no sign their curiosity to know what was going on out doors. Dr.
+Seignebos was on the point of resuming the operation; and, as coolly as
+if he had been in his own rooms at home, he was washing the sponge which
+he had just used, and wiping his instruments. The magistrate, on the
+other hand, was standing in the centre of the room, his arms crossed,
+his eyes fixed upon the infinite, apparently. It may be he was thinking
+of his star which had at last brought him that famous criminal case for
+which he had ardently longed many a year.
+
+Count Claudieuse, however, was very far from sharing their reserve. He
+was tossing about on his bed; and as soon as the mayor and his friend
+reappeared, looking quite upset, he exclaimed,--
+
+“What does that uproar mean?”
+
+And, when he had heard of the calamity, he added,--
+
+“Great God! And I was complaining of my losses. Two men killed! That is
+a real misfortune. Poor men! to die because they were so brave,--Bolton
+hardly thirty years old; Guillebault, a father of a family, who leaves
+five children, and not a cent!”
+
+The countess, coming in at that moment, heard his last words.
+
+“As long as we have a mouthful of bread,” she said in a voice full of
+deep emotion, “neither Bolton’s mother, nor Guillebault’s children,
+shall ever know what want is.”
+
+She could not say another word; for at that moment the peasants crowded
+into the room, pushing the prisoner before them.
+
+“Where is the magistrate?” they asked. “Here is a witness!”
+
+“What, Cocoleu!” exclaimed the count.
+
+“Yes, he knows something: he said so himself. We want him to tell it to
+the magistrate. We want the incendiary to be caught.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos had frowned fiercely. He execrated Cocoleu, whose sight
+recalled to him that great failure which the good people of Sauveterre
+were not likely to forget soon.
+
+“You do not really mean to examine him?” he asked, turning to M. Galpin.
+
+“Why not?” answered the magistrate dryly.
+
+“Because he is an imbecile, sir, an idiot. Because he cannot possibly
+understand your questions, or the importance of his answers.”
+
+“He may give us a valuable hint, nevertheless.”
+
+“He? A man who has no sense? You don’t really think so. The law cannot
+attach any importance to the evidence of a fool.”
+
+M. Galpin betrayed his impatience by an increase of stiffness, as he
+replied,--
+
+“I know my duty, sir.”
+
+“And I,” replied the physician,--“I also know what I have to do. You
+have summoned me to assist you in this investigation. I obey; and I
+declare officially, that the mental condition of this unfortunate man
+makes his evidence utterly worthless. I appeal to the commonwealth
+attorney.”
+
+He had hoped for a word of encouragement from M. Daubigeon; but nothing
+came. Then he went on,--
+
+“Take care, sir, or you may get yourself into trouble. What would you do
+if this poor fellow should make a formal charge against any one? Could
+you attach any weight to his word?”
+
+The peasants were listening with open mouths. One of them said,--
+
+“Oh! Cocoleu is not so innocent as he looks.”
+
+“He can say very well what he wants to say, the scamp!” added another.
+
+“At all events, I am indebted to him for the life of my children,” said
+the count gently. “He thought of them when I was unconscious, and when
+no one else remembered them. Come, Cocoleu, come nearer, my friend,
+don’t be afraid: there is no one here to hurt you.”
+
+It was very well the count used such kind words; for Cocoleu was
+thoroughly terrified by the brutal treatment he had received, and was
+trembling in all his limbs.
+
+“I am--not--a--afraid,” he stammered out.
+
+“Once more I protest,” said the physician.
+
+He had found out that he stood not alone in his opinion. Count
+Claudieuse came to his assistance, saying,--
+
+“I really think it might be dangerous to question Cocoleu.”
+
+But the magistrate was master of the situation, and conscious of all the
+powers conferred upon him by the laws of France in such cases.
+
+“I must beg, gentlemen,” he said, in a tone which did not allow of any
+reply,--“I must beg to be permitted to act in my own way.”
+
+And sitting down, he asked Cocoleu,--
+
+“Come, my boy, listen to me, and try to understand what I say. Do you
+know what has happened at Valpinson?”
+
+“Fire,” replied the idiot.
+
+“Yes, my friend, fire, which burns down the house of your
+benefactor,--fire, which has killed two good men. But that is not all:
+they have tried to murder the count. Do you see him there in his bed,
+wounded, and covered with blood? Do you see the countess, how she
+suffers?”
+
+Did Cocoleu follow him? His distorted features betrayed nothing of what
+might be going on within him.
+
+“Nonsense!” growled the doctor, “what obstinacy! What folly!”
+
+M. Galpin heard him, and said angrily,--
+
+“Sir, do not force me to remind you that I have not far from here, men
+whose duty it is to see that my authority is respected here.”
+
+Then, turning again to the poor idiot, he went on,--
+
+“All these misfortunes are the work of a vile incendiary. You hate him,
+don’t you; you detest him, the rascal!”
+
+“Yes,” said Cocoleu.
+
+“You want him to be punished, don’t you?”
+
+“Yes, yes!”
+
+“Well, then you must help me to find him out, so that the gendarmes may
+catch him, and put him in jail. You know who it is; you have told these
+people and”--
+
+He paused, and after a moment, as Cocoleu kept silent, he asked,--
+
+“But, now I think of it, whom has this poor fellow talked to?”
+
+Not one of the peasants could tell. They inquired; but no answer came.
+Perhaps Cocoleu had never said what he was reported to have said.
+
+“The fact is,” said one of the tenants at Valpinson, “that the poor
+devil, so to say, never sleeps, and that he is roaming about all night
+around the house and the farm buildings.”
+
+This was a new light for M. Galpin; suddenly changing the form of his
+interrogatory, he asked Cocoleu,--
+
+“Where did you spend the night?”
+
+“In--in--the--court--yard.”
+
+“Were you asleep when the fire broke out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Did you see it commence?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did it commence?”
+
+The idiot looked fixedly at the Countess Claudieuse with the timid and
+abject expression of a dog who tries to read something in his master’s
+eyes.
+
+“Tell us, my friend,” said the Countess gently,--“tell us.”
+
+A flash of intelligence shone in Cocoleu’s eyes.
+
+“They--they set it on fire,” he stammered.
+
+“On purpose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“A gentleman.”
+
+There was not a person present at this extraordinary scene who did not
+anxiously hold his breath as the word was uttered. The doctor alone kept
+cool, and exclaimed,--
+
+“Such an examination is sheer folly!”
+
+But the magistrate did not seem to hear his words; and, turning to
+Cocoleu, he asked him, in a deeply agitated tone of voice--
+
+“Did you see the gentleman?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know who he is?”
+
+“Very--very--well.”
+
+“What is his name?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+“What is his name? Tell us.”
+
+Cocoleu’s features betrayed the fearful anguish of his mind.
+He hesitated, and at last he answered, making a violent
+effort,--“Bois--Bois--Boiscoran!”
+
+The name was received with murmurs of indignation and incredulous
+laughter. There was not a shadow of doubt or of suspicion. The peasants
+said,--
+
+“M. de Boiscoran an incendiary! Who does he think will believe that
+story?”
+
+“It is absurd!” said Count Claudieuse.
+
+“Nonsense!” repeated the mayor and his friend.
+
+Dr. Siegnebos had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them with an
+air of intense satisfaction.
+
+“What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “But the gentleman did not
+condescend to attach any importance to my suggestions.”
+
+The magistrate was by far the most excited man in the crowd. He had
+turned excessively pale, and made, visibly, the greatest efforts to
+preserve his equanimity. The commonwealth attorney leaned over towards
+him, and whispered,--
+
+“If I were in your place, I would stop here, and consider the answer as
+not given.”
+
+But M. Galpin was one of those men who are blinded by self-conceit,
+and who would rather be cut to pieces than admit that they have been
+mistaken. He answered,--
+
+“I shall go on.”
+
+Then turning once more to Cocoleu, in the midst of so deep a silence
+that the buzzing of a fly would have been distinctly heard, he asked,--
+
+“Do you know, my boy, what you say? Do you know that you are accusing a
+man of a horrible crime?”
+
+Whether Cocoleu understood, or not, he was evidently deeply agitated.
+Big drops of perspiration rolled slowly down his temples; and nervous
+shocks agitated his limbs, and convulsed his features.
+
+“I, I--am--telling the--truth!” he said at last.
+
+“M. de. Boiscoran has set Valpinson on fire?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did he do it?”
+
+Cocoleu’s restless eyes wandered incessantly from the count, who looked
+indignant, to the countess, who seemed to listen with painful surprise.
+The magistrate repeated,--
+
+“Speak!”
+
+After another moment’s hesitation, the idiot began to explain what
+he had seen; and it took him many minutes to state, amid countless
+contortions, and painful efforts to speak, that he had seen M. de
+Boiscoran pull out some papers from his pocket, light them with a
+match, put them under a rick of straw near by, and push the burning mass
+towards two enormous piles of wood which were in close contact with a
+vat full of spirits.
+
+“This is sheer nonsense!” cried the doctor, thus giving words to what
+they all seemed to feel.
+
+But M. Galpin had mastered his excitement. He said solemnly,--
+
+“At the first sign of applause or of displeasure, I shall send for the
+gendarmes, and have the room cleared.”
+
+Then, turning once more to Cocoleu, he said,--
+
+“Since you saw M. de Boiscoran so distinctly, tell us how he was
+dressed.”
+
+“He had light trousers on,” replied the idiot, stammering still most
+painfully, “a dark-brown shooting-jacket, and a big straw hat. His
+trousers were stuffed into his boots.”
+
+Two or three peasants looked at each other, as if they had at last hit
+upon a suspicious fact. The costume which Cocoleu had so accurately
+described was well known to them all.
+
+“And when he had kindled the fire,” said the magistrate again, “what did
+he do next?”
+
+“He hid behind the woodpile.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“He loaded his gun, and, when master came out, he fired.”
+
+Count Claudieuse was so indignant that he forgot the pain which his
+wounds caused him, and raised himself on his bed.
+
+“It is monstrous,” he exclaimed, “to allow an idiot to charge an
+honorable man with such a crime! If he really saw M. de Boiscoran set
+the house on fire, and hide himself in order to murder me, why did he
+not come and warn me?”
+
+Mr. Galpin repeated the question submissively, to the great amazement of
+the mayor and M. Daubigeon.
+
+“Why did you not give warning?” he asked Cocoleu.
+
+But the efforts which the unfortunate man had made during the last
+half-hour had exhausted his little strength. He broke out into stupid
+laughter; and almost instantly one of his fearful nervous attacks
+overcame him: he fell down yelling, and had to be carried away.
+
+The magistrate had risen, pale and deeply excited, but evidently
+meditating on what was to be done next. The commonwealth attorney asked
+him in an undertone what he was going to do; and the lawyer replied,--
+
+“Prosecute!”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Can I do otherwise in my position? God is my witness that I tried
+my best, by urging this poor idiot, to prove the absurdity of his
+accusation. But the result has disappointed me.”
+
+“And now?”
+
+“Now I can no longer hesitate. There have been ten witnesses present at
+the examination. My honor is at stake. I must establish either the guilt
+or the innocence of the man whom Cocoleu accuses.” Immediately, walking
+up to the count’s bed, he asked,--
+
+“Will you have the kindness, Count Claudieuse, to tell me what your
+relations are to M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+Surprise and indignation caused the wounded man to blush deeply.
+
+“Can it be possible, sir, that you believe the words of that idiot?”
+
+“I believe nothing,” answered the magistrate. “My duty is to unravel the
+truth; and I mean to do it.”
+
+“The doctor has told you what the state of Cocoleu’s mind is?”
+
+“Count, I beg you will answer my question.”
+
+Count Claudieuse looked angry; but he replied promptly,--
+
+“My relations with M. de Boiscoran are neither good nor bad. We have
+none.”
+
+“It is reported, I have heard it myself, that you are on bad terms.”
+
+“On no terms at all. I never leave Valpinson, and M. de Boiscoran spends
+nine months of the year in Paris. He has never called at my house, and I
+have never been in his.”
+
+“You have been overheard speaking of him in unmeasured terms.”
+
+“That may be. We are neither of the same age, nor have we the same
+tastes or the same opinions. He is young: I am old. He likes Paris and
+the great world: I am fond of solitude and hunting. I am a Legitimist:
+he used to be an Orleanist, and now he is a Republican. I believe that
+the descendant of our old kings alone can save the country; and he
+is convinced that the happiness of France is possible only under a
+Republic. But two men may be enemies, and yet esteem each other. M. de
+Boiscoran is an honorable man; he has done his duty bravely in the war,
+he has fought well, and has been wounded.”
+
+M. Galpin noted down these answers with extreme care. When he had done
+so, he continued,--
+
+“The question is not one of political opinions only. You have had
+personal difficulties with M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+“Of no importance.”
+
+“I beg pardon: you have been at law.”
+
+“Our estates adjoin each other. There is an unlucky brook between us,
+which is a source of constant trouble to the neighbors.”
+
+M. Galpin shook his head, and added,--
+
+“These are not the only difficulties you have had with each other.
+Everybody in the country knows that you have had violent altercations.”
+
+Count Claudieuse seemed to be in great distress.
+
+“It is true: we have used hard words. M. de Boiscoran had two wretched
+dogs that were continually escaping from his kennels, and came hunting
+in my fields. You cannot imagine how much game they destroyed.”
+
+“Exactly so. And one day you met M. de Boiscoran, and you warned him
+that you would shoot his dogs.”
+
+“I must confess I was furious. But I was wrong, a thousand times wrong:
+I did threaten”--
+
+“That is it. You were both of you armed. You threatened one another: he
+actually aimed at you. Don’t deny it. A number of persons have seen it;
+and I know it. He has told me so himself.”
+
+
+
+V.
+
+There was not a person in the whole district who did not know of what
+a fearful disease poor Cocoleu was suffering; and everybody knew, also,
+that it was perfectly useless to try and help him. The two men who had
+taken him out had therefore laid him simply on a pile of wet straw, and
+then they had left him to himself, eager as they were to see and hear
+what was going on.
+
+It must be said, in justice to the several hundred peasants who were
+crowding around the smoking ruins of Valpinson, that they treated the
+madman who had accused M. de Boiscoran of such a crime, neither with
+cruel jokes nor with fierce curses. Unfortunately, first impulses,
+which are apt to be good impulses, do not last long. One of those idle
+good-for-nothings, drunkards, envious scamps who are found in every
+community, in the country as well as in the city, cried out,--
+
+“And why not?”
+
+These few words opened at once a door to all kinds of bold guesses.
+
+Everybody had heard something about the quarrel between Count Claudieuse
+and M. de Boiscoran. It was well known, moreover, that the provocation
+had always come from the count, and that the latter had invariably given
+way in the end. Why, therefore, might not M. de Boiscoran, impatient at
+last, have resorted to such means in order to avenge himself on a man
+whom they thought he must needs hate, and whom he probably feared at the
+same time?
+
+“Perhaps he would not do it, because he is a nobleman, and because he is
+rich?” they added sneeringly.
+
+The next step was, of course, to look out for circumstances which might
+support such a theory; and the opportunity was not lacking. Groups were
+formed; and soon two men and a woman declared aloud that they could
+astonish the world if they chose to talk. They were urged to tell what
+they knew; and, of course, they refused. But they had said too much
+already. Willing or not willing, they were carried up to the house,
+where, at that very moment, M. Galpin was examining Count Claudieuse.
+The excited crowd made such a disturbance, that M. Seneschal, trembling
+at the idea of a new accident, rushed out to the door.
+
+“What is it now?” he asked.
+
+“More witnesses,” replied the peasants. “Here are some more witnesses.”
+
+The mayor turned round, and, after having exchanged glances with M.
+Daubigeon, he said to the magistrate,--
+
+“They are bringing you some more witnesses, sir.”
+
+No doubt M. Galpin was little pleased at the interruption; but he knew
+the people well enough to bear in mind, that, unless he took them at the
+moment when they were willing to talk, he might never be able to get any
+thing out of them at any other time.
+
+“We shall return some other time to our conversation,” he said to Count
+Claudieuse.
+
+Then, replying to M. Seneschal, he said,--
+
+“Let the witnesses come in, but one by one.”
+
+The first who entered was the only son of a well-to-do farmer in
+the village of Brechy, called Ribot. He was a young fellow of about
+twenty-five, broad-shouldered, with a very small head, a low brow, and
+formidable crimson ears. For twenty miles all around, he was reputed to
+be an irresistible beau,--a reputation of which he was very proud.
+After having asked him his name, his first names, and his age, M. Galpin
+said,--
+
+“What do you know?”
+
+The young man straightened himself, and with a marvellously conceited
+air, which set all the peasants a-laughing, he replied,--
+
+“I was out that night on some little private business of my own. I was
+on the other side of the chateau of Boiscoran. Somebody was waiting for
+me, and I was behind time: so I cut right across the marsh. I knew the
+rains of the last days would have filled all the ditches; but, when a
+man is out on such important business as mine was, he can always find
+his way”--
+
+“Spare us those tedious details,” said the magistrate coldly. The
+handsome fellow looked surprised, rather than offended, by the
+interruption, and then went on,--
+
+“As your Honor desires. Well, it was about eight o’clock, or a little
+more, and it was growing dark, when I reached the Seille swamps. They
+were overflowing; and the water was two inches above the stones of
+the canal. I asked myself how I should get across without spoiling my
+clothes, when I saw M. de Boiscoran coming towards me from the other
+side.”
+
+“Are you quite sure it was he?”
+
+“Why, I should think so! I talked to him. But stop, he was not afraid of
+getting wet. Without much ado, he rolled up his trousers, stuffed them
+into the tops of his tall boots, and went right through. Just then he
+saw me, and seemed to be surprised. I was as much so as he was. ‘Why,
+is it you, sir?’ I said. He replied ‘Yes: I have to see somebody at
+Brechy.’ That was very probably so; still I said again, ‘But you
+have chosen a queer way.’ He laughed. ‘I did not know the swamps were
+overflowed,’ he answered, ‘and I thought I would shoot some snipes.’ As
+he said this, he showed me his gun. At that moment I had nothing to say;
+but now, when I think it over, it looks queer to me.”
+
+M. Galpin had written down the statement as fast as it was given. Then
+he asked,--
+
+“How was M. de Boiscoran dressed?”
+
+“Stop. He had grayish trousers on, a shooting-jacket of brown velveteen,
+and a broad-brimmed panama hat.”
+
+The count and the countess looked distressed and almost overcome; nor
+did the mayor and his friend seem to be less troubled. One circumstance
+in Ribot’s evidence seemed to have struck them with peculiar force,--the
+fact that he had seen M. de Boiscoran push his trousers inside his
+boots.
+
+“You can go,” said M. Galpin to the young man. “Let another witness come
+in.”
+
+The next one was an old man of bad reputation, who lived alone in an old
+hut two miles from Valpinson. He was called Father Gaudry. Unlike young
+Ribot, who had shown great assurance, the old man looked humble and
+cringing in his dirty, ill-smelling rags. After having given his name,
+he said,--
+
+“It might have been eleven o’clock at night, and I was going through the
+forest of Rochepommier, along one of the little by-paths”--
+
+“You were stealing wood!” said the magistrate sternly.
+
+“Great God, what an idea!” cried the old man, raising his hands to
+heaven. “How can you say such a thing! I steal wood! No, my dear sir,
+I was very quietly going to sleep in the forest, so as to be up
+with daylight, and gather champignons and other mushrooms to sell at
+Sauveterre. Well, I was trotting along, when, all of a sudden, I hear
+footsteps behind me. Naturally, I was frightened.”
+
+“Because you were stealing!”
+
+“Oh, no! my dear sir; only, at night, you understand. Well, I hid behind
+a tree; and almost at the same moment I saw M. de Boiscoran pass by. I
+recognized him perfectly in spite of the dark; for he seemed to be in
+a great rage, talked loud to himself, swore, gesticulated, and tore
+handfuls of leaves from the branches.”
+
+“Did he have a gun?”
+
+“Yes, my dear sir; for that was the very thing that frightened me so. I
+thought he was a keeper.”
+
+The third and last witness was a good old woman, Mrs. Courtois, whose
+little farm lay on the other side of the forest of Rochepommier. When
+she was asked, she hesitated a moment, and then she said,--
+
+“I do not know much; but I will tell you all I do know. As we expected
+to have a house full of workmen a few days hence, and as I was going to
+bake bread to-morrow, I was going with my ass to the mill on Sauveterre
+Mountain to fetch flour. The miller had not any ready; but he told me,
+if I could wait, he would let me have some: and so I staid to supper.
+About ten o’clock, they gave me a bag full of flour. The boys put it
+on my ass, and I went home. I was about half-way, and it was, perhaps,
+eleven o’clock, when, just at the edge of the forest of Rochepommier, my
+ass stumbled, and the bag fell off. I had a great deal of trouble, for I
+was not strong enough to lift it alone; and just then a man came out
+of the woods, quite near me. I called to him, and he came. It was M. de
+Boiscoran: I ask him to help me; and at once, without losing a moment,
+he puts his gun down, lifts the bag from the ground, and puts it on my
+ass. I thank him. He says, ‘Welcome,’ and--that is all.”
+
+The mayor had been all this time standing in the door of the chamber,
+performing the humble duty of a doorkeeper, and barring the entrance to
+the eager and curious crowd outside. When Mrs. Courtois retired, quite
+bewildered by her own words, and regretting what she had said, he called
+out,--
+
+“Is there any one else who knows any thing?”
+
+As nobody appeared, he closed the door, and said curtly,--
+
+“Well, then, you can go home now, my friends. Let the law have free
+course.”
+
+The law, represented by the magistrate, was a prey at that moment to the
+most cruel perplexity. M. Galpin was utterly overcome by consternation.
+He sat at the little table, on which he had been writing, his head
+resting on his hands, thinking, apparently, how he could find a way out
+of this labyrinth.
+
+All of a sudden he rose, and forgetting, for a moment, his customary
+rigidity, he let his mask of icy impassiveness drop off his face, and
+said,--
+
+“Well?” as if, in his despair, he had hoped for some help or advice in
+his troubles,--“well?”
+
+No answer came.
+
+All the others were as much troubled as he was. They all tried to shake
+off the overwhelming impression made by this accumulation of evidence;
+but in vain. At last, after a moment’s silence, the magistrate said with
+strange bitterness,--
+
+“You see, gentlemen, I was right in examining Cocoleu. Oh! don’t attempt
+to deny it: you share my doubts and my suspicions, I see it. Is there
+one among you who would dare assert that the terrible excitement of this
+poor man has not restored to him for a time the use of his reason? When
+he told you that he had witnessed the crime, and when he gave the name
+of the criminal, you looked incredulous. But then other witnesses
+came; and their united evidence, corresponding without a missing link,
+constitutes a terrible presumption.”
+
+He became animated again. Professional habits, stronger than every thing
+else, obtained once more the mastery.
+
+“M. de Boiscoran was at Valpinson to-night: that is clearly established.
+Well, how did he get here? By concealing himself. Between his own house
+and Valpinson there are two public roads,--one by Brechy, and another
+around the swamps. Does M. de Boiscoran take either of the two? No.
+He cuts straight across the marshes, at the risk of sinking in, or of
+getting wet from head to foot. On his return he chooses, in spite of the
+darkness, the forest of Rochepommier, unmindful of the danger he runs to
+lose his way, and to wander about in it till daybreak. What was he doing
+this for? Evidently, in order not to be seen. And, in fact, whom does
+he meet?--a loose fellow, Ribot, who is himself in hiding on account
+of some love-intrigue; a wood-stealer, Gaudry, whose only anxiety is to
+avoid the gendarmes; an old woman, finally, Mrs. Courtois, who has
+been belated by an accident. All his precautions were well chosen; but
+Providence was watching.”
+
+“O Providence!” growled Dr. Seignebos,--“Providence!”
+
+But M. Galpin did not even hear the interruption. Speaking faster and
+faster, he went on,--
+
+“Would it at least be possible to plead in behalf of M. de Boiscoran a
+difference in time? No. At what time was he seen to come to this
+place? At nightfall. ‘It was half-past eight,’ says Ribot, ‘when M. de
+Boiscoran crossed the canal at the Seille swamps.’ He might, therefore,
+have easily reached Valpinson at half-past nine. At that hour the crime
+had not yet been committed. When was he seen returning home? Gaudry and
+the woman Courtois have told you the hour,--after eleven o’clock. At
+that time Count Claudieuse had been shot, and Valpinson was on fire. Do
+we know any thing of M. de Boiscoran’s temper at that time? Yes, we do.
+When he came this way he was quite cool. He is very much surprised at
+meeting Ribot; but he explains to him very fully how he happens to be at
+that place, and also why he has a gun.
+
+“He says he is on his way to meet somebody at Brechy, and he thought he
+would shoot some birds. Is that admissible? Is it even likely? However,
+let us look at him on his way back. Gaudry says he was walking very
+fast: he seemed to be furious, and was pulling handfuls of leaves from
+the branches. What does Mrs. Courtois say? Nothing. When she calls him,
+he does not venture to run; that would have been a confession, but he is
+in a great hurry to help her. And then? His way for a quarter of an hour
+is the same as the woman’s: does he keep her company? No. He leaves her
+hastily. He goes ahead, and hurries home; for he thinks Count Claudieuse
+is dead; he knows Valpinson is in flames; and he fears he will hear the
+bells ring, and see the fire raging.”
+
+It is not often that magistrates allow themselves such familiarity; for
+judges, and even lawyers, generally fancy they are too high above common
+mortals, on such occasions, to explain their views, to state their
+impressions, and to ask, as it were, for advice. Still, when the inquiry
+is only begun, there are, properly speaking, no fixed rules prescribed.
+As soon as a crime has been reported to a French magistrate, he is at
+liberty to do any thing he chooses in order to discover the guilty one.
+Absolutely master of the case, responsible only to his conscience, and
+endowed with extraordinary powers, he proceeds as he thinks best. But,
+in this affair at Valpinson, M. Galpin had been carried away by the
+rapidity of the events themselves. Since the first question addressed to
+Cocoleu, up to the present moment, he had not had time to consider.
+And his proceedings had been public; thus he felt naturally tempted to
+explain them.
+
+“And you call this a legal inquiry?” asked Dr. Seignebos.
+
+He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.
+
+“An inquiry founded upon what?” he went on with such vehemence that no
+one dared interrupt him,--“founded upon the evidence of an unfortunate
+creature, whom I, a physician, testify to be not responsible for what he
+says. Reason does not go out and become lighted again, like the gas in
+a street-lamp. A man is an idiot, or he is not an idiot. He has always
+been one; and he always will be one. But you say the other statements
+are conclusive. Say, rather, that you think they are. Why? Because you
+are prejudiced by Cocoleu’s accusation. But for it, you would never
+have troubled yourselves about what M. De Boiscoran did, or did not. He
+walked about the whole evening. He has a right to do so. He crossed the
+marsh. What hindered him? He went through the woods. Why should he not?
+He is met with by people. Is not that quite natural? But no: an idiot
+accuses him, and forthwith all he does looks suspicious. He talks. It is
+the insolence of a hardened criminal. He is silent. It is the remorse
+of a guilty man trembling with fear. Instead of naming M. de Boiscoran,
+Cocoleu might just as well have named me, Dr. Seignebos. At once, all
+my doings would have appeared suspicious; and I am quite sure a thousand
+evidences of my guilt would have been discovered. It would have been an
+easy matter. Are not my opinions more radical even than those of M. de
+Boiscoran? For there is the key to the whole matter. M. de Boiscoran is
+a Republican; M. de Boiscoran acknowledges no sovereignty but that of
+the people”--
+
+“Doctor,” broke in the commonwealth attorney,--“doctor, you are not
+thinking of what you say.”
+
+“I do think of it, I assure you”--
+
+But he was once more interrupted, and this time by Count Claudieuse, who
+said,--
+
+“For my part, I admit all the arguments brought up by the magistrate.
+But, above all probabilities, I put a fact,--the character of the
+accused. M. de Boiscoran is a man of honor and an excellent man. He is
+incapable of committing a mean and odious crime.”
+
+The others assented. M. Seneschal added,--
+
+“And I, I will tell you another thing. What would have been the purpose
+of such a crime? Ah, if M. de Boiscoran had nothing to lose! But do you
+know among all your friends a happier man than he is?--young, handsome,
+in excellent health, immensely wealthy, esteemed and popular with
+everybody. Finally, there is another fact, which is a family secret, but
+which I may tell you, and which will remove at once all suspicions,--M.
+de Boiscoran is desperately in love with Miss Dionysia de Chandore. She
+returns his love; and the day before yesterday the wedding-day was fixed
+on the 20th of the next month.”
+
+In the meantime the hours had sped on. It was half-past three by the
+clock of the church in Brechy. Day was breaking; and the light of the
+lamps was turning pale. The morning mists began to disappear; and the
+sunlight fell upon the window-panes. But no one noticed this: all these
+men gathered around the bed of the wounded man were too deeply excited.
+M. Galpin had listened to the objection made by the others, without a
+word or a gesture. He had so far recovered his self-control, that it
+would have been difficult to see what impressions they made upon his
+mind. At last, shaking his head gravely, he said,--
+
+“More than you, gentlemen, I feel a desire to believe M. de Boiscoran
+innocent. M. Daubigeon, who knows what I mean, will tell you so. In my
+heart I pleaded his cause long before you. But I am the representative
+of the law; and my duty is above my affections. Does it depend on me to
+set aside Cocoleu’s accusation, however stupid, however absurd, it
+may be? Can I undo the three statements made by the witnesses, and
+confirming so strongly the suspicions aroused by the first charge?”
+
+Count Claudieuse was distressed beyond expression. At last he said,--
+
+“The worst thing about it is, that M. de Boiscoran thinks I am his
+enemy. I should not wonder if he went and imagined that these charges
+and vile suspicions have been suggested by my wife or by myself. If I
+could only get up! At least, let M. de Boiscoran know distinctly that I
+am ready to answer for him, as I would answer for myself. Cocoleu, the
+wretched idiot! Ah, Genevieve, my darling wife! Why did you induce him
+to talk? If you had not insisted, he would have kept silent forever.”
+
+The countess succumbed at last to the anxieties of this terrible night.
+At first she had been supported by that exaltation which is apt to
+accompany a great crisis; but latterly she had felt exhausted. She had
+sunk upon a stool, near the bed on which her two daughters were lying;
+and, her head hid in the pillow, she seemed to sleep. But she was not
+asleep. When her husband reproached her thus, she rose, pale, with
+swollen eyes and distorted features, and said in a piercing voice,--
+
+“What? They have tried to kill my Trivulce; our children have been near
+unto death in the flames; and I should have allowed any means to be
+unused by which the guilty one may be found out? No! I have only done
+what it was my duty to do. Whatever may come of it, I regret nothing.”
+
+“But, Genevieve, M. de Boiscoran is not guilty: he cannot possibly be
+guilty. How could a man who has the happiness of being loved by Dionysia
+de Chandore, and who counts the days to his wedding,--how could he
+devise such a hideous crime?”
+
+“Let him prove his innocence,” replied the countess mercilessly.
+
+The doctor smacked his lips in the most impertinent manner.
+
+“There is a woman’s logic for you,” he murmured.
+
+“Certainly,” said M. Seneschal, “M. de Boiscoran’s innocence will be
+promptly established. Nevertheless, the suspicion will remain. And our
+people are so constituted, that this suspicion will overshadow his whole
+life. Twenty years hence, they will meet him, and they will say, ‘Oh,
+yes! the man who set Valpinson on fire!’”
+
+It was not M. Galpin this time who replied, but the commonwealth
+attorney. He said sadly,--
+
+“I cannot share your views; but that does not matter. After what has
+passed, our friend, M. Galpin cannot retrace his steps: his duty makes
+that impossible, and, even more so, what is due to the accused. What
+would all these people say, who have heard Cocoleu’s deposition, and the
+evidence given by the witnesses, if the inquiry were stopped? They
+would certainly say M. de Boiscoran was guilty, but that he was not held
+responsible because he was rich and noble. Upon my honor I believe him
+to be innocent. But precisely because this is my conviction, I maintain
+that his innocence must be clearly established. No doubt he has the
+means of doing so. When he met Ribot, he told him he was on his way to
+see somebody at Brechy.”
+
+“But suppose he never went there?” objected M. Seneschal. “Suppose he
+did not see anybody there? Suppose it was only a pretext to satisfy
+Ribot’s impertinent curiosity?”
+
+“Well, then, he would only have to tell the truth in court. And
+look! Here’s an important proof which almost by itself relieves M. de
+Boiscoran. Would he not have loaded his gun with a ball, if he should
+ever have really thought of murdering the count? But it was loaded with
+nothing but small-shot.”
+
+“And he would never have missed me at ten yards’ distance,” said the
+count.
+
+Suddenly somebody was heard knocking furiously at the door.
+
+“Come in!” cried M. Seneschal.
+
+The door opened and three peasants appeared, looking bewildered, but
+evidently well pleased.
+
+“We have just,” said one of them, “found something curious.”
+
+“What?” asked M. Galpin.
+
+“It looks very much like a case; but Pitard says it is the paper of a
+cartridge.”
+
+Count Claudieuse raised himself on his pillows, and said eagerly,--
+
+“Let me see! I have during these last days fired several times quite
+near to the house to frighten the birds away that eat my fruit. I want
+to see if the paper is mine.”
+
+The peasant gave it to him.
+
+It was a very thin lead form, such as contain the cartridges used
+in American breech-loading guns. What was singular was that it was
+blackened by burnt powder; but it had not been torn, nor had it blazed
+up in the discharge. It was so perfectly uninjured, that one could read
+the embossed letters of the name of the manufacturer, Clebb.
+
+“That cartridge never belonged to me,” said the count.
+
+But as he uttered these words he turned deadly pale, so pale, that his
+wife came close to him, and looked at him with a glance full of terrible
+anguish.
+
+“Well?”
+
+He made no reply.
+
+But at that moment such silence was so eloquent, that the countess felt
+sickened, and whispered to him,--
+
+“Then Cocoleu was right, after all!”
+
+Not one feature of this dramatic scene had escaped M. Galpin’s eye.
+He had seen on every face signs of a kind of terror; still he made no
+remark. He took the metal case from the count’s hands, knowing that it
+might become an important piece of evidence; and for nearly a minute he
+turned it round and round, looking at it from all sides, and examining
+it in the light with the utmost attention.
+
+Then turning to the peasants, who were standing respectfully and
+uncovered close by the door, he asked them,--
+
+“Where did you find this cartridge, my friends?”
+
+“Close by the old tower, where they keep the tools, and where the ivy is
+growing all over the old castle.”
+
+M. Seneschal had in the meantime succeeded in recovering his
+self-control, and said now,--
+
+“Surely the murderer cannot have fired from there. You cannot even see
+the door of the house from the old tower.”
+
+“That may be,” replied the magistrate; “but the cartridge-case does not
+necessarily fall to the ground at the place where the gun is discharged.
+It falls as soon as the gun is cocked to reload.”
+
+This was so true, that even Dr. Seignebos had nothing to say.
+
+“Now, my friends,” said M. Galpin, “which of you has found the
+cartridge-case?”
+
+“We were all together when we saw it, and picked it up.”
+
+“Well, then, all three of you must give me your names and your domicile,
+so that I can send for you when you are wanted.”
+
+This was done; and, when all formalities were attended to, they went
+off with numberless bows and doffings of hats. Just at that moment the
+furious gallop of a horse was heard approaching the house; the next
+moment the man who had been sent to Sauveterre for medicines came in. He
+was furious.
+
+“That rascal of a druggist!” he said. “I thought he would never open his
+shop!”
+
+Dr. Seignebos had eagerly seized the things that were sent him, then,
+bowing with mock respect to the magistrate, he said,--
+
+“I know very well, sir, how pressing the necessity is to have the head
+of the culprit cut off; but I think it is almost as pressing to save the
+life of the murdered man. I have probably delayed the binding up of the
+count’s wounds longer than I ought to have done; and I beg you will now
+leave me alone, so as to enable me to do my duty to him.”
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+There was nothing more to be done for the magistrate, the commonwealth
+attorney, or the mayor. The doctor might assuredly have used more polite
+language; but people were accustomed to his brutal ways; for it is
+surprising with what readiness men are tolerated in France, under the
+pretext that they are as they are, and that they must be taken as they
+are. The three gentlemen, therefore, left the room, after having bid
+farewell to the countess, and after having promised to send the count
+news of all that might be discovered.
+
+The fire was going out for want of fuel. A few hours had sufficed to
+destroy all that the hard work and incessant cares of many years had
+accomplished. This charming and much envied estate presented now nothing
+but a few half calcined walls, heaps of black and gray ashes, and still
+glowing timbers, from which columns of smoke were slowly rising upward.
+Thanks to Capt. Parenteau, all that they had been able to save had been
+carried to a distance, and safely stored away under the shelter of the
+ruins of the old castle. There, furniture and other articles were piled
+up pell-mell. There, carts and agricultural machines were standing
+about, empty casks, and sacks of oats and rye. There, also, the cattle
+were gathered, that had been drawn from their stalls with infinite
+labor, and at great risk of life,--horses, oxen, some sheep, and a
+dozen cows, who lowed piteously. Few of the people had left as yet. With
+greater zeal than ever the firemen, aided by the peasants, deluged the
+remains of the dwelling-house with water. They had nothing to fear
+from the fire; but they desired to keep the bodies of their unfortunate
+companions from being entirely consumed.
+
+“What a terrible scourge fire is!” said M. Seneschal.
+
+Neither M. Galpin nor the mayor made any answer. They also felt their
+hearts oppressed by the sad sight before them, in spite of all the
+intense excitement before; for a fire is nothing as long as the feverish
+excitement, and the hope of saving something, continue to keep us up,
+and as long as the red flames illumine the horizon; but the next day,
+when all is over, then we realize the extent of the misfortune.
+
+The firemen recognized the mayor, and greeted him with cheers. He went
+rapidly towards them; and, for the first time since the alarm had been
+raised, the magistrate and the attorney were alone. They were standing
+close by each other, and for a moment kept silent, while each one tried
+to read in the other’s eyes the secret of his thoughts. At last M.
+Daubigeon asked,--
+
+“Well?”
+
+M. Galpin trembled.
+
+“This is a fearful calamity,” he said.
+
+“What is your opinion?”
+
+“Ah! do I know it myself? I have lost my head: the whole thing looks to
+me like a nightmare.”
+
+“You cannot really believe that M. de Boiscoran is guilty?”
+
+“I believe nothing. My reason tells me he is innocent. I feel he must be
+innocent; and yet I see terrible evidence rising against him.”
+
+The attorney was overwhelmed.
+
+“Alas!” he said, “why did you, contrary to everybody’s opinion, insist
+upon examining Cocoleu, a poor idiotic wretch?”
+
+But the magistrate remonstrated--
+
+“You do not mean to reproach me, sir, for having followed the impulses
+of my conscience?”
+
+“I reproach you for nothing.”
+
+“A horrible crime has been committed; and my duty compelled me to do all
+that lies in the power of man to discover the culprit.”
+
+“Yes; and the man who is accused of the crime is your friend, and only
+yesterday you spoke of his friendship as your best chance of success in
+life.”
+
+“Sir?”
+
+“Are you surprised to find me so well informed? Ah, you do not know
+that nothing escapes the idle curiosity of a village. I know that your
+dearest hope was to become a member of M. de Boiscoran’s family, and
+that you counted upon him to back you in your efforts to obtain the hand
+of one of his cousins.”
+
+“I do not deny that.”
+
+“Unfortunately, you have been tempted by the prestige you might gain
+in a great and famous trial. You have laid aside all prudence; and your
+projects are forgotten. Whether M. de Boiscoran is innocent or guilty,
+his family will never forgive you your interference. If he is guilty,
+they will blame you for having handed him over to justice: if he is
+innocent, they will blame you even more for having suspected him.”
+
+M. Galpin hung his head as if to conceal his trouble. Then he asked,--
+
+“And what would you do in my place?”
+
+“I would withdraw from the case, although it is rather late.”
+
+“If I did so, I should risk my career.”
+
+“Even that would be better for you than to engage in an affair in which
+you cannot feel the calmness nor the impartiality which are the first
+and indispensable virtues of an upright magistrate.”
+
+The latter was becoming impatient. He exclaimed,--
+
+“Sir, do you think I am a man to be turned aside from my duty by
+considerations of friendship or personal interest?”
+
+“I said nothing of the kind.”
+
+“Did you not see just now how I carried on the inquiry? Did you see me
+start when Cocoleu first mentioned M. de Boiscoran’s name? If he had
+denounced any one else, I should probably have let the matter rest
+there. But precisely because M. de Boiscoran is a friend of mine,
+and because I have great expectations from him, I have insisted and
+persisted, and I do so still.”
+
+The commonwealth attorney shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“That is it exactly,” he said. “Because M. de Boiscoran is a friend of
+yours, you are afraid of being accused of weakness; and you are going
+to be hard, pitiless, unjust even, against him. Because you had great
+expectations from him, you will insist upon finding him guilty. And you
+call yourself impartial?”
+
+M. Galpin assumed all his usual rigidity, and said solemnly,--
+
+“I am sure of myself!”
+
+“Have a care!”
+
+“My mind is made up, sir.”
+
+It was time for M. Seneschal to join them again: he returned,
+accompanied by Capt. Parenteau.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” he asked, “what have you resolved?”
+
+“We are going to Boiscoran,” replied the magistrate.
+
+“What! Immediately?”
+
+“Yes: I wish to find M. de Boiscoran in bed. I am so anxious about it,
+that I shall do without my clerk.”
+
+Capt. Parenteau bowed, and said,--
+
+“Your clerk is here, sir: he was but just inquiring for you.” Thereupon
+he called out as loud as he could,--
+
+“Mechinet, Mechinet!”
+
+A small gray-haired man, jovial and cheerful, came running up, and at
+once proceeded to tell at full length how a neighbor had told him what
+had happened, and how the magistrate had left town, whereupon he, also,
+had started on foot, and come after him as fast as he could.
+
+“Now will you go to Boiscoran?” asked the mayor.
+
+“I do not know yet. Mechinet will have to look for some conveyance.”
+
+Quick like lightning, the clerk was starting off, when M. Seneschal held
+him back, saying,--
+
+“Don’t go. I place my horse and my carriage at your disposal. Any one of
+these peasants can drive you. Capt. Parenteau and I will get into some
+farmer’s wagon, and thus get back to Sauveterre; for we ought to be back
+as soon as possible. I have just heard alarming news. There may be some
+disorder. The peasant-women who attend the market have brought in most
+exciting reports, and exaggerated the calamities of last night. They
+have started reports that ten or twelve men have been killed, and that
+the incendiary, M. de Boiscoran, has been arrested. The crowd has gone
+to poor Guillebault’s widow; and there have been demonstrations before
+the houses of several of the principal inhabitants of Sauveterre.”
+
+In ordinary times, M. Seneschal would not have intrusted his famous
+horse, Caraby, for any thing in the world, to the hands of a stranger.
+He considered it the best horse in the province. But he was evidently
+terribly upset, and betrayed it in his manner, and by the very efforts
+he made to regain his official dignity and self-possession.
+
+He made a sign, and his carriage was brought up, all ready. But, when he
+asked for somebody to drive, no one came forward. All these good people
+who had spent the night abroad were in great haste to return home, where
+their cattle required their presence. When young Ribot saw the others
+hesitate, he said,--
+
+“Well, I’ll drive the justice.”
+
+And, taking hold of the whip and the reins, he took his seat on the
+front-bench, while the magistrate, the commonwealth attorney, and the
+clerk filled the vehicle.
+
+“Above all, take care of Caraby,” begged M. Seneschal, who at the last
+moment felt almost overcome with anxiety for his favorite.
+
+“Don’t be afraid, sir,” replied the young man, as he started the horse.
+“If I strike too hard, M. Mechinet will stop me.”
+
+This Mechinet, the magistrate’s clerk, was almost a power in Sauveterre;
+and the greatest personages there paid their court to him. His official
+duties were of very humble nature, and ill paid; but he knew how to eke
+out his income by other occupations, of which the court took no notice;
+and these added largely both to his importance in the community and to
+his modest income.
+
+As he was a skilful lithographer, he printed all the visiting-cards
+which the people of Sauveterre ordered at the principal printing-office
+of Sauveterre, where “The Independent” was published. An able
+accountant, he kept books and made up accounts for some of the
+principal merchants in town. Some of the country people who were fond of
+litigation came to him for legal advice; and he drew up all kinds of law
+papers. For many years now, he had been director of the firemen’s band,
+and manager of the Orpheon. He was a correspondent of certain Paris
+societies, and thus obtained free admission to the theatre not only, but
+also to the sacred precincts behind the scenes. Finally he was always
+ready to give writing-lessons, French lessons to little girls, or
+music-lessons on the flute and the horn, to amateurs.
+
+These varied talents had drawn upon him the hostility of all the other
+teachers and public servants of the community, especially that of the
+mayor’s clerk, and the clerks of the bank and great institutions of
+Sauveterre. But all these enemies he had gradually conquered by the
+unmistakable superiority of his ability; so that they fell in with the
+universal habit, and, when any thing special happened, said to each
+other,--
+
+“Let us go and consult Mechinet.”
+
+He himself concealed, under an appearance of imperturbable good nature,
+the ambition by which he was devoured: he wanted to become rich, and to
+rise in the world. In fact, Mechinet was a diplomat, working in secret,
+but as cunning as Talleyrand. He had succeeded already in making himself
+the one great personage of Sauveterre. The town was full of him; nothing
+was done without him; and yet he had not an enemy in the place.
+
+The fact is, people were afraid of him, and dreaded his terrible tongue.
+Not that he had ever injured anybody, he was too wise for that; but
+they knew the harm he might do, if he chose, as he was master of every
+important secret in Sauveterre, and the best informed man in town as
+regarded all their little intrigues, their private foibles, and their
+dark antecedents.
+
+This gave him quite an exceptional position. As he was unmarried,
+he lived with his sisters, the Misses Mechinet, who were the best
+dressmakers in town, and, moreover, devout members of all kinds of
+religious societies. Through them he heard all that was going on in
+society, and was able to compare the current gossip with what he heard
+in court, or at the newspaper office. Thus he could say pleasantly,--
+
+“How could any thing escape me, when I have the church and the press,
+the court and the theatre, to keep me informed?”
+
+Such a man would have considered himself disgraced if he had not known
+every detail of M. de Boiscoran’s private affairs. He did not hesitate,
+therefore, while the carriage was rolling along on an excellent road, in
+the fresh spring morning, to explain to his companions the “case,” as he
+called it, of the accused nobleman.
+
+M. de Boiscoran, called Jacques by his friends, was rarely on his
+estate, and then only staid a month or so there. He was living in Paris,
+where his family owned a comfortable house in University Street. His
+parents were still alive.
+
+His father, the Marquis de Boiscoran, the owner of a large landed
+estate, a deputy under Louis Philippe, a representative in 1848, had
+withdrawn from public life when the Second Empire was established,
+and spent, since that time, all his money, and all his energies, in
+collecting rare old books, and especially costly porcelain, on which he
+had written a monograph.
+
+His mother, a Chalusse by birth, had enjoyed the reputation of being one
+of the most beautiful and most gifted ladies at the court of the Citizen
+King. At a certain period in her life, unfortunately, slander had
+attacked her; and about 1845 or 1846, it was reported that she had had
+a remarkable affair with a young lawyer of distinction, who had since
+become one of the austerest and most renowned judges. As she grew old,
+the marchioness devoted herself more and more to politics, as other
+women become pious. While her husband boasted that he had not read
+a newspaper for ten years, she had made her _salon_ a kind of
+parliamentary centre, which had its influence on political affairs.
+
+Although Jacques de Boiscoran’s parents were still alive, he possessed
+a considerable fortune of his own--five or six thousand dollars a year.
+This fortune, which consisted of the Chateau of Boiscoran, the farms,
+meadows, and forests belonging to it, had been left to him by one of his
+uncles, the oldest brother of his father, who had died a widower, and
+childless, in 1868. M. de Boiscoran was at this moment about twenty-six
+or twenty-seven years old, dark complexion, tall, strong, well made, not
+exactly a handsome man, but having, what was worth more, one of those
+frank, intelligent faces which prepossess one at first sight.
+
+His character was less well known at Sauveterre than his person. Those
+who had had any business with him described him as an honorable, upright
+man: his companions spoke of him as cheerful and gay, fond of pleasure,
+and always in good humor. At the time of the Prussian invasion, he had
+been made a captain of one of the volunteer companies of the district.
+He had led his men bravely under fire, and conducted himself so well on
+the battlefield, that Gen. Chanzy had rewarded him, when wounded, with
+the cross of the legion of honor.
+
+“And such a man should have committed such a crime at Valpinson,” said
+M. Daubigeon to the magistrate. “No, it is impossible! And no doubt he
+will very easily scatter all our doubts to the four winds.”
+
+“And that will be done at once,” said young Ribot; “for here we are.”
+
+In many of the provinces of France the name of _chateau_ is given to
+almost any little country-house with a weathercock on its pointed roof.
+But Boiscoran was a real chateau. It had been built towards the end
+of the seventeenth century, in wretched taste, but massively, like a
+fortress. Its position is superb. It is surrounded on all sides by woods
+and forests; and at the foot of the sloping garden flows a little river,
+merrily splashing over its pebbly bed, and called the Magpie on account
+of its perpetual babbling.
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+It was seven o’clock when the carriage containing the justice drove into
+the courtyard at Boiscoran,--a vast court, planted with lime-trees, and
+surrounded by farm buildings. The chateau was wide awake. Before her
+house-door, the farmer’s wife was cleaning the huge caldron in which she
+had prepared the morning soup; the maids were going and coming; and at
+the stable a groom was rubbing down with great energy a thorough-bred
+horse.
+
+On the front-steps stood Master Anthony, M. de Boiscoran’s own man,
+smoking his cigar in the bright sunlight, and overlooking the farm
+operations. He was a man of nearly fifty, still very active, who had
+been bequeathed to his new master by his uncle, together with his
+possessions. He was a widower now; and his daughter was in the
+marchioness’ service.
+
+As he had been born in the family, and never left it afterwards, he
+looked upon himself as one of them, and saw no difference between his
+own interests and those of his master. In fact, he was treated less like
+a servant than like a friend; and he fancied he knew every thing about
+M. de Boiscoran’s affairs.
+
+When he saw the magistrate and the commonwealth attorney come up to the
+door, he threw away his cigar, came down quickly, and, bowing deeply,
+said to them with his most engaging smile,--
+
+“Ah, gentlemen! What a pleasant surprise! My master will be delighted.”
+
+With strangers, Anthony would not have allowed himself such familiarity,
+for he was very formal; but he had seen M. Daubigeon more than once at
+the chateau; and he knew the plans that had been discussed between
+M. Galpin and his master. Hence he was not a little amazed at the
+embarrassed stiffness of the two gentlemen, and at the tone of voice in
+which the magistrate asked him,--
+
+“Has M. de Boiscoran gotten up yet?”
+
+“Not yet,” he replied; “and I have orders not to wake him. He came home
+late last night, and wanted to make up this morning.”
+
+Instinctively the magistrate and the attorney looked away, each fearing
+to meet the other’s eyes.
+
+“Ah! M. de Boiscoran came home late last night?” repeated M. Galpin.
+
+“Towards midnight, rather after midnight than before.”
+
+“And when had he gone out?”
+
+“He left here about eight.”
+
+“How was he dressed?”
+
+“As usually. He had light gray trousers, a shooting-jacket of brown
+velveteen, and a large straw hat.”
+
+“Did he take his gun?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Do you know where he went?”
+
+But for the respect which he felt for his master’s friends, Anthony
+would not have answered these questions, which he thought were extremely
+impertinent. But this last question seemed to him to go beyond all fair
+limits. He replied, therefore, in a tone of injured self-respect,--
+
+“I am not in the habit of asking my master where he goes when he leaves
+the house, nor where he has been when he comes back.”
+
+M. Daubigeon understood perfectly well the honorable feelings
+which actuated the faithful servant. He said to him with an air of
+unmistakable kindness,--
+
+“Do not imagine, my friend, that I ask you these questions from idle
+curiosity. Tell me what you know; for your frankness may be more useful
+to your master than you imagine.”
+
+Anthony looked with an air of perfect stupefaction, by turns at the
+magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, at Mechinet, and finally at
+Ribot, who had taken the lines, and tied Caraby to a tree.
+
+“I assure you, gentlemen, I do not know where M. de Boiscoran has spent
+the evening.”
+
+“You have no suspicion?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Perhaps he went to Brechy to see a friend?”
+
+“I do not know that he has any friends in Brechy.”
+
+“What did he do after he came home?”
+
+The old servant showed evident signs of embarrassment.
+
+“Let me think,” he said. “My master went up to his bedroom, and remained
+there four or five minutes. Then he came down, ate a piece of a pie, and
+drank a glass of wine. Then he lit a cigar, and told me to go to bed,
+adding that he would take a little walk, and undress without my help.”
+
+“And then you went to bed?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“So that you do not know what your master may have done?”
+
+“I beg your pardon. I heard him open the garden door.”
+
+“He did not appear to you different from usual?”
+
+“No: he was as he always is,--quite cheerful: he was singing.”
+
+“Can you show me the gun he took with him?”
+
+“No. My master probably took it to his room.”
+
+M. Daubigeon was about to make a remark, when the magistrate stopped him
+by a gesture, and eagerly asked,--
+
+“How long is it since your master and Count Claudieuse have ceased
+seeing each other?”
+
+Anthony trembled, as if a dark presentiment had entered his mind. He
+replied,--
+
+“A long time: at least I think so.”
+
+“You are aware that they are on bad terms?”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“They have had great difficulties between them?”
+
+“Something unpleasant has happened, I know; but it was not much. As they
+do not visit each other, they cannot well hate each other. Besides,
+I have heard master say a hundred times, that he looked upon Count
+Claudieuse as one of the best and most honorable men; that he respected
+him highly, and”--
+
+For a minute or so M. Galpin kept silent, thinking whether he had
+forgotten any thing. Then he asked suddenly,--
+
+“How far is it from here to Valpinson?”
+
+“Three miles, sir,” replied Anthony.
+
+“If you were going there, what road would you take?”
+
+“The high road which passes Brechy.”
+
+“You would not go across the marsh?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because the Seille is out of its banks, and the ditches are full of
+water.”
+
+“Is not the way much shorter through the forest?”
+
+“Yes, the way is shorter; but it would take more time. The paths are
+very indistinct, and overgrown with briers.”
+
+The commonwealth attorney could hardly conceal his disappointment.
+Anthony’s answers seemed to become worse and worse.
+
+“Now,” said the magistrate again, “if fire should break out at
+Valpinson, would you see it from here?”
+
+“I think not, sir. There are hills and tall woods between.”
+
+“Can you hear the Brechy bells from here?”
+
+“When the wind is north, yes, sir.”
+
+“And last night, how was it?”
+
+“The wind was from the west, as it always is when we have a storm.”
+
+“So that you have heard nothing? You do not know what a terrible
+calamity”--
+
+“A calamity? I do not understand you, sir.”
+
+This conversation had taken place in the court-yard: and at this moment
+there appeared two gendarmes on horseback, whom M. Galpin had sent for
+just before he left Valpinson.
+
+When old Anthony saw them, he exclaimed,--
+
+“Great God! what is the meaning of this? I must wake master.”
+
+The magistrate stopped him, saying harshly,--
+
+“Not a step! Don’t say a word!”
+
+And pointing out Ribot to the gendarmes, he said,--
+
+“Keep that lad under your eyes, and let him have no communication with
+anybody.”
+
+Then, turning again to Anthony, he said,--
+
+“Now show us to M. de Boiscoran’s bedroom.”
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+In spite of its grand feudal air, the chateau at Boiscoran was, after
+all, little more than a bachelor’s modest home, and in a very bad state
+of preservation. Of the eighty or a hundred rooms which it contained,
+hardly more than eight or ten were furnished, and this only in the
+simplest possible manner,--a sitting-room, a dining-room, a few
+guest-chambers: this was all M. de Boiscoran required during his rare
+visits to the place. He himself used in the second story a small room,
+the door of which opened upon the great staircase.
+
+When they reached this door, guided by old Anthony, the magistrate said
+to the servant,--
+
+“Knock!”
+
+The man obeyed: and immediately a youthful, hearty voice replied from
+within,--
+
+“Who is there?”
+
+“It is I,” said the faithful servant. “I should like”--
+
+“Go to the devil!” broke in the voice.
+
+“But, sir”--
+
+“Let me sleep, rascal. I have not been able to close an eye till now.”
+ The magistrate, becoming impatient, pushed the servant aside, and,
+seizing the door-knob tried to open it; it was locked inside. But he
+lost no time in saying,--
+
+“It is I, M. de Boiscoran: open, if you please!”
+
+“Ah, dear M. Galpin!” replied the voice cheerfully.
+
+“I must speak to you.”
+
+“And I am at your service, illustrious jurist. Just give me time to veil
+my Apollonian form in a pair of trousers, and I appear.”
+
+Almost immediately, the door opened; and M. de Boiscoran presented
+himself, his hair dishevelled, his eyes heavy with sleep, but looking
+bright in his youth and full health, with smiling lips and open hands.
+
+“Upon my word!” he said. “That was a happy inspiration you had, my dear
+Galpin. You come to join me at breakfast?”
+
+And, bowing to M. Daubigeon, he added,--
+
+“Not to say how much I thank you for bringing our excellent commonwealth
+attorney with you. This is a veritable judicial visit”--
+
+But he paused, chilled as he was by M. Daubigeon’s icy face, and amazed
+at M. Galpin’s refusal to take his proffered hand.
+
+“Why,” he said, “what is the matter, my dear friend?”
+
+The magistrate had never been stiffer in his life, when he replied,--
+
+“We shall have to forget our relations, sir. It is not as a friend I
+come to-day, but as a magistrate.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran looked confounded; but not a shadow of trouble appeared
+on his frank and open face.
+
+“I’ll be hanged,” he said, “if I understand”--
+
+“Let us go in,” said M. Galpin.
+
+They went in; and, as they passed the door, Mechinet whispered into the
+attorney’s ear,--
+
+“Sir, that man is certainly innocent. A guilty man would never have
+received us thus.”
+
+“Silence, sir!” said the commonwealth attorney, however much he was
+probably of his clerk’s opinion. “Silence!”
+
+And grave and sad he went and stood in one of the window embrasures. M.
+Galpin remained standing in the centre of the room, trying to see every
+thing in it, and to fix it in his memory, down to the smallest details.
+The prevailing disorder showed clearly how hastily M. de Boiscoran had
+gone to bed the night before. His clothes, his boots, his shirt, his
+waistcoat, and his straw hat lay scattered about on the chairs and
+on the floor. He wore those light gray trousers, which had been
+succcessively seen and recognized by Cocoleu, by Ribot, by Gaudry, and
+by Mrs. Courtois.
+
+“Now, sir,” began M. de Boiscoran, with that slight angry tone of voice
+which shows that a man thinks a joke has been carried far enough, “will
+you please tell me what procures for me the honor of this early visit?”
+
+Not a muscle in M. Galpin’s face was moving. As if the question had been
+addressed to some one else, he said coldly,--
+
+“Will you please show us your hands, sir?”
+
+M. de Boiscoran’s cheeks turned crimson; and his eyes assumed an
+expression of strange perplexity.
+
+“If this is a joke,” he said, “it has perhaps lasted long enough.”
+
+He was evidently getting angry. M. Daubigeon thought it better to
+interfere, and thus he said,--
+
+“Unfortunately, sir, the question is a most serious one. Do what the
+magistrate desires.”
+
+More and more amazed, M. de Boiscoran looked rapidly around him. In the
+door stood Anthony, his faithful old servant, with anguish on his face.
+Near the fireplace, the clerk had improvised a table, and put his paper,
+his pens, and his horn inkstand in readiness. Then with a shrug of his
+shoulders, which showed that he failed to understand, M. de Boiscoran
+showed his hands.
+
+They were perfectly clean and white: the long nails were carefully
+cleaned also.
+
+“When did you last wash your hands?” asked M. Galpin, after having
+examined them minutely.
+
+At this question, M. de Boiscoran’s face brightened up; and, breaking
+out into a hearty laugh, he said,--
+
+“Upon my word! I confess you nearly caught me. I was on the point of
+getting angry. I almost feared”--
+
+“And there was good reason for fear,” said M. Galpin; “for a terrible
+charge has been brought against you. And it may be, that on your answer
+to my question, ridiculous as it seems to you, your honor may depend,
+and perhaps your liberty.”
+
+This time there was no mistake possible. M. de Boiscoran felt that kind
+of terror which the law inspires even in the best of men, when they find
+themselves suddenly accused of a crime. He turned pale, and then he said
+in a troubled voice,--
+
+“What! A charge has been brought against me, and you, M. Galpin, come to
+my house to examine me?”
+
+“I am a magistrate, sir.”
+
+“But you were also my friend. If anyone should have dared in my presence
+to accuse you of a crime, of a mean act, of something infamous, I should
+have defended you, sir, with all my energy, without hesitation, and
+without a doubt. I should have defended you till absolute, undeniable
+evidence should have been brought forward of your culpability; and even
+then I should have pitied you, remembering that I had esteemed you so
+highly as to favor your alliance with my family. But you--I am accused,
+I do not know of what, falsely, wrongly; and at once you hasten hither,
+you believe the charge, and consent to become my judge. Well, let it be
+so! I washed my hands last night after coming home.”
+
+M. Galpin had not boasted too much in praising his self-possession and
+his perfect control over himself. He did not move when the terrible
+words fell upon his ear; and he asked again in the same calm tone,--
+
+“What has become of the water you used for that purpose?”
+
+“It is probably still there, in my dressing-room.”
+
+The magistrate at once went in. On the marble table stood a basin full
+of water. That water was black and dirty. At the bottom lay particles
+of charcoal. On the top, mixed with the soapsuds, were swimming some
+extremely slight but unmistakable fragments of charred paper. With
+infinite care the magistrate carried the basin to the table at
+which Mechinet had taken a seat; and, pointing at it, he asked M. de
+Boiscoran,--
+
+“Is that the water in which you washed your hands last night after
+coming home?”
+
+“Yes,” replied the other with an air of careless indifference.
+
+“You had been handling charcoal, or some inflammable material.”
+
+“Don’t you see?”
+
+Standing face to face, the commonwealth attorney and clerk exchanged
+rapid glances. They had had the same feeling at that moment. If M.
+de Boiscoran was innocent, he was certainly a marvellously cool and
+energetic man, or he was carrying out a long-premeditated plan of
+action; for every one of his answers seemed to tighten the net in which
+he was taken. The magistrate himself seemed to be struck by this; but it
+was only for a moment, and then, turning to the clerk, he said,--
+
+“Write that down!”
+
+He dictated to him the whole evidence, most minutely and accurately,
+correcting himself every now and then to substitute a better word, or to
+improve his style. When he had read it over he said,--
+
+“Let us go on, sir. You were out last night?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Having left the house at eight, you returned only around midnight.”
+
+“After midnight.”
+
+“You took your gun?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Where is it?”
+
+With an air of indifference, M. de Boiscoran pointed at it in the corner
+of the fireplace, and said,--
+
+“There it is!”
+
+M. Galpin took it up quickly. It was a superb weapon, double-barrelled,
+of unusually fine make, and very elegant. On the beautifully carved
+woodwork the manufacturer’s name, Clebb, was engraven.
+
+“When did you last fire this gun?” asked the magistrate.
+
+“Some four or five days ago.”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“To shoot some rabbits who infested my woods.”
+
+M. Galpin raised and lowered the cock with all possible care: he noticed
+that it was the Remington patent. Then he opened the chamber, and found
+that the gun was loaded. Each barrel had a cartridge in it. Then he
+put the gun back in its place, and, pulling from his pocket the leaden
+cartridge-case which Pitard had found, he showed it to M. de Boiscoran,
+and asked him,--
+
+“Do you recognize this?”
+
+“Perfectly!” replied the other. “It is a case of one of the cartridges
+which I have probably thrown away as useless.”
+
+“Do you think you are the only one in this country who has a gun by this
+maker?”
+
+“I do not think it: I am quite sure of it.”
+
+“So that you must, as a matter of course, have been at a spot where such
+a cartridge-case as this has been found?”
+
+“Not necessarily. I have often seen children pick up these things, and
+play with them.”
+
+The clerk, while he made his pen fly across his paper, could not resist
+the temptation of making all kinds of faces. He was too well acquainted
+with lawyers’ tactics not to understand M. Galpin’s policy perfectly
+well, and to see how cunningly it was devised to make every fact
+strengthen the suspicion against M. de Boiscoran.
+
+“It is a close game,” he said to himself.
+
+The magistrate had taken a seat.
+
+“If that is so,” he began again, “I beg you will give me an account of
+how you spent the evening after eight o’clock: do not hurry, consider,
+take your time; for your answers are of the utmost importance.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran had so far remained quite cool; but his calmness
+betrayed one of those terrible storms within, which may break forth, no
+one knows when. This warning, and, even more so, the tone in which it
+was given, revolted him as a most hideous hypocrisy. And, breaking out
+all of a sudden, he cried,--
+
+“After all, sir, what do you want of me? What am I accused of?”
+
+M. Galpin did not stir. He replied,--
+
+“You will hear it at the proper time. First answer my question, and
+believe me in your own interest. Answer frankly. What did you do last
+night?”
+
+“How do I know? I walked about.”
+
+“That is no answer.”
+
+“Still it is so. I went out with no specific purpose: I walked at
+haphazard.”
+
+“Your gun on your shoulder?”
+
+“I always take my gun: my servant can tell you so.”
+
+“Did you cross the Seille marshes?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The magistrate shook his head gravely. He said,--
+
+“You are not telling the truth.”
+
+“Sir!”
+
+“Your boots there at the foot of the bed speak against you. Where does
+the mud come from with which they are covered?”
+
+“The meadows around Boiscoran are very wet.”
+
+“Do not attempt to deny it. You have been seen there.”
+
+“But”--
+
+“Young Ribot met you at the moment when you were crossing the canal.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran made no reply.
+
+“Where were you going?” asked the magistrate.
+
+For the first time a real embarrassment appeared in the features of the
+accused,--the embarrassment of a man who suddenly sees an abyss opening
+before him. He hesitated; and, seeing that it was useless to deny, he
+said,--
+
+“I was going to Brechy.”
+
+“To whom?”
+
+“To my wood-merchant, who has bought all this year’s wood. I did not
+find him at home, and came back on the high road.”
+
+M. Galpin stopped him by a gesture.
+
+“That is not so,” he said severely.
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“You never went to Brechy.”
+
+“I beg your pardon.”
+
+“And the proof is, that, about eleven o’clock, you were hurriedly
+crossing the forest of Rochepommier.”
+
+“I?”
+
+“Yes, you! And do not say No; for there are your trousers torn to pieces
+by the thorns and briers through which you must have made your way.”
+
+“There are briers elsewhere as well as in the forest.”
+
+“To be sure; but you were seen there.”
+
+“By whom?”
+
+“By Gaudry the poacher. And he saw so much of you, that he could tell
+us in what a bad humor you were. You were very angry. You were talking
+loud, and pulling the leaves from the trees.”
+
+As he said so, the magistrate got up and took the shooting-jacket, which
+was lying on a chair not far from him. He searched the pockets, and
+pulled out of one a handful of leaves.
+
+“Look here! you see, Gaudry has told the truth.”
+
+“There are leaves everywhere,” said M. de Boiscoran half aloud.
+
+“Yes; but a woman, Mrs. Courtois, saw you come out of the forest of
+Rochepommier. You helped her to put a sack of flour on her ass, which
+she could not lift alone. Do you deny it? No, you are right; for, look
+here! on the sleeve of your coat I see something white, which, no doubt,
+is flour from her bag.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran hung his head. The magistrate went on,--
+
+“You confess, then, that last night, between ten and eleven you were at
+Valpinson?”
+
+“No, sir, I do not.”
+
+“But this cartridge-case which I have just shown you was picked up at
+Valpinson, close by the ruins of the old castle.”
+
+“Well, sir, have I not told you before that I have seen a hundred times
+children pick up these cases to play with? Besides, if I had really been
+at Valpinson, why should I deny it?”
+
+M. Galpin rose to his full height, and said in the most solemn manner,--
+
+“I am going to tell you why! Last night, between ten and eleven,
+Valpinson was set on fire; and it has been burnt to the ground.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Last night Count Claudieuse was fired at twice.”
+
+“Great God!”
+
+“And it is thought, in fact there are strong reasons to think, that you,
+Jacques de Boiscoran, are the incendiary and the assassin.”
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+M. de Boiscoran looked around him like a man who has suddenly been
+seized with vertigo, pale, as if all his blood had rushed to his heart.
+
+He saw nothing but mournful, dismayed faces.
+
+Anthony, his old trusted servant, was leaning against the doorpost, as
+if he feared to fall. The clerk was mending his pen in the air, overcome
+with amazement. M. Daubigeon hung his head.
+
+“This is horrible!” he murmured: “this is horrible!”
+
+He fell heavily into a chair, pressing his hands on his heart, as if to
+keep down the sobs that threatened to rise. M. Galpin alone seemed to
+remain perfectly cool. The law, which he imagined he was representing in
+all its dignity, knows nothing of emotions. His thin lips even trembled
+a little, as if a slight smile was about to burst forth: it was the cold
+smile of the ambitious man, who thinks he has played his little part
+well.
+
+Did not every thing tend to prove that Jacques de Boiscoran was the
+guilty man, and that, in the alternative between a friend, and an
+opportunity of gaining high distinction, he had chosen well? After the
+silence of a minute, which seemed to be a century, he went and stood,
+with arms crossed on his chest, before the accused, and asked him,--
+
+“Do you confess?”
+
+M. de Boiscoran sprang up as if moved by a spring, and said,--
+
+“What? What do you want me to confess?”
+
+“That you have committed the crime at Valpinson.”
+
+The young man pressed his hands convulsively on his brow, and cried
+out,--
+
+“But I am mad! I should have committed such a fearful, cowardly crime?
+Is that possible? Is that likely? I might confess, and you would not
+believe me. No! I am sure you would not believe my own words.”
+
+He would have moved the marble on his mantelpiece sooner than M. Galpin.
+The latter replied in icy tones,--
+
+“I am not part of the question here. Why will you refer to relations
+which must be forgotten? It is no longer the friend who speaks to you,
+not even the man, but simply the magistrate. You were seen”--
+
+“Who is the wretch?”
+
+“Cocoleu!”
+
+M. de Boiscoran seemed to be overwhelmed. He stammered,--
+
+“Cocoleu? That poor epileptic idiot whom the Countess Claudieuse has
+picked up?”
+
+“The same.”
+
+“And upon the strength of the senseless words of a poor imbecile I am
+charged with incendiarism, with murder?”
+
+Never had the magistrate made such efforts to assume an air of impassive
+dignity and icy solemnity, as when he replied,--
+
+“For an hour, at least, poor Cocoleu has been in the full enjoyment of
+his faculties. The ways of Providence are inscrutable.”
+
+“But sir”--
+
+“And what does Cocoleu depose? He says he saw you kindle the fire with
+your own hands, then conceal yourself behind a pile of wood, and fire
+twice at Count Claudieuse.”
+
+“And all that appears quite natural to you?”
+
+“No! At first it shocked me as it shocked everybody. You seem to be
+far above all suspicion. But a moment afterwards they pick up the
+cartridge-case, which can only have belonged to you. Then, upon my
+arrival here, I surprise you in bed, and find the water in which you
+have washed your hands black with coal, and little pieces of charred
+paper swimming on top of it.”
+
+“Yes,” said M. de Boiscoran in an undertone: “it is fate.”
+
+“And that is not all,” continued the magistrate, raising his voice, “I
+examine you, and you admit having been out from eight o’clock till after
+midnight. I ask what you have been doing, and you refuse to tell me. I
+insist, and you tell a falsehood. In order to overwhelm you, I am forced
+to quote the evidence of young Ribot, of Gaudry, and Mrs. Courtois,
+who have seen you at the very places where you deny having been. That
+circumstance alone condemns you. Why should you not be willing to tell
+me what you have been doing during those four hours? You claim to be
+innocent. Help me, then, to establish your innocence. Speak, tell me
+what you were doing between eight and midnight.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran had no time to answer.
+
+For some time already, half-suppressed cries, and the sound of a large
+crowd, had come up from the courtyard. A gendarme came in quite excited;
+and, turning to the magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, he said,--
+
+“Gentlemen, there are several hundred peasants, men and women, in the
+yard, who clamor for M. de Boiscoran. They threaten to drag him down to
+the river. Some of the men are armed with pitchforks; but the women are
+the maddest. My comrade and I have done our best to keep them quiet.”
+
+And just then, as if to confirm what he said, the cries came nearer,
+growing louder and louder; and one could distinctly hear,--
+
+“Drown Boiscoran! Let us drown the incendiary!”
+
+The attorney rose, and told the gendarme,--
+
+“Go down and tell these people that the authorities are this moment
+examining the accused; that they interrupt us; and that, if they keep
+on, they will have to do with me.”
+
+The gendarme obeyed his orders. M. de Boiscoran had turned deadly pale.
+He said to himself,--
+
+“These unfortunate people believe my guilt!”
+
+“Yes,” said M. Galpin, who had overheard the words; “and you would
+comprehend their rage, for which there is good reason, if you knew all
+that has happened.”
+
+“What else?”
+
+“Two Sauveterre firemen, one the father of five children, have perished
+in the flames. Two other men, a farmer from Brechy, and a gendarme who
+tried to rescue them, have been so seriously burned that their lives are
+in danger.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran said nothing.
+
+“And it is you,” continued the magistrate, “who is charged with all
+these calamities. You see how important it is for you to exculpate
+yourself.”
+
+“Ah! how can I?”
+
+“If you are innocent, nothing is easier. Tell us how you employed
+yourself last night.”
+
+“I have told you all I can say.”
+
+The magistrate seemed to reflect for a full minute; then he said,--
+
+“Take care, M. de Boiscoran: I shall have to have you arrested.”
+
+“Do so.”
+
+“I shall be obliged to order your arrest at once, and to send you to
+jail in Sauveterre.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“Then you confess?”
+
+“I confess that I am the victim of an unheard-of combination of
+circumstances; I confess that you are right, and that certain fatalities
+can only be explained by the belief in Providence: but I swear by all
+that is holy in the world, I am innocent.”
+
+“Prove it.”
+
+“Ah! would I not do it if I could?”
+
+“Be good enough, then, to dress, sir, and to follow the gendarmes.”
+
+Without a word, M. de Boiscoran went into his dressing-room, followed
+by his servant, who carried him his clothes. M. Galpin was so busy
+dictating to the clerk the latter part of the examination, that he
+seemed to forget his prisoner. Old Anthony availed himself of this
+opportunity.
+
+“Sir,” he whispered into his master’s ear while helping him to put on
+his clothes.
+
+“What?”
+
+“Hush! Don’t speak so loud! The other window is open. It is only about
+twenty feet to the ground: the ground is soft. Close by is one of the
+cellar openings; and in there, you know, there is the old hiding-place.
+It is only five miles to the coast, and I will have a good horse ready
+for you to-night, at the park-gate.”
+
+A bitter smile rose on M. de Boiscoran’s lips, as he said,--
+
+“And you too, my old friend: you think I am guilty?”
+
+“I conjure you,” said Anthony, “I answer for any thing. It is barely
+twenty feet. In your mother’s name”--
+
+But, instead of answering him, M. de Boiscoran turned round, and called
+M. Galpin. When he had come in, he said to him, “Look at that window,
+sir! I have money, fast horses; and the sea is only five miles off. A
+guilty man would have escaped. I stay here; for I am innocent.”
+
+In one point, at least, M. de Boiscoran had been right. Nothing would
+have been easier for him than to escape, to get into the garden, and to
+reach the hiding-place which his servant had suggested to him. But after
+that? He had, to be sure, with old Anthony’s assistance, some chance of
+escaping altogether. But, after all, he might have been found out in his
+hiding-place, or he might have been overtaken in his ride to the coast.
+Even if he had succeeded, what would have become of him? His flight
+would necessarily have been looked upon as a confession of his guilt.
+
+Under such circumstances, to resist the temptation to escape, and to
+make this resistance well known, was in fact not so much an evidence
+of innocence as a proof of great cleverness. M. Galpin, at all events,
+looked upon it in that light; for he judged others by himself. Carefully
+and cunningly calculating every step he took in life, he did not believe
+in sudden inspirations. He said, therefore, with an ironical smile,
+which was to show that he was not so easily taken in,--
+
+“Very well, sir. This circumstance shall be mentioned, as well as the
+others, at the trial.”
+
+Very differently thought the commonwealth attorney and the clerk. If
+the magistrate had been too much engaged in his dictation to notice any
+thing, they had been perfectly able to notice the great excitement under
+which the accused had naturally labored. Perfectly amazed at first, and
+thinking, for a moment, that the whole was a joke, he had next become
+furiously angry; then fear and utter dejection had followed one another.
+But in precise proportion as the charges had accumulated, and the
+evidence had become overwhelming, he had, so far from becoming
+demoralized, seemed to recover his assurance.
+
+“There is something curious about it,” growled Mechinet. M. Daubigeon,
+on the other hand, said nothing; but when M. de Boiscoran came out of
+his dressing-room, fully dressed and ready, he said,--
+
+“One more question, sir.”
+
+The poor man bowed. He was pale, but calm and self-possessed.
+
+“I am ready to reply,” he said.
+
+“I’ll be brief. You seemed to be surprised and indignant at any one’s
+daring to accuse you. That was weakness. Justice is but the work of man,
+and must needs judge by appearances. If you reflect, you will see that
+the appearances are all against you.”
+
+“I see it but too clearly.”
+
+“If you were on a jury, you would not hesitate to pronounce a man guilty
+upon such evidence.”
+
+“No, sir, no!”
+
+The commonwealth attorney bounded from his chair. He said,--
+
+“You are not sincere!”
+
+M. de Boiscoran sadly shook his head, and replied,--
+
+“I speak to you without the slightest hope of convincing you, but in all
+sincerity. No, I should not condemn a man, as you say, if he asserted
+his innocence, and if I did not see any reason for his crime. For, after
+all, unless a man is mad, he does not commit a crime for nothing. Now I
+ask you, how could I, upon whom fortune has always smiled; I who am on
+the eve of marrying one whom I love passionately,--how could I have set
+Valpinson on fire, and tried to murder Count Claudieuse?”
+
+M. Galpin had scarcely been able to disguise his impatience, when he
+saw the attorney take part in the affair. Seizing, therefore, the
+opportunity to interfere, he said,--
+
+“Your reason, sir, was hatred. You hated the count and the countess
+mortally. Do not protest: it is of no use. Everybody knows it; and you
+yourself have told me so.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran looked as if he were growing still more pale, and then
+replied in a tone of crushing disdain,--
+
+“Even if that were so, I do not see what right you have to abuse the
+confidence of a friend, after having declared, upon your arrival here,
+that all friendship between us had ceased. But that is not so. I never
+told you any such thing. As my feelings have never changed, I can
+repeat literally what I have said. I have told you that the count was
+a troublesome neighbor, a stickler for his rights, and almost absurdly
+attached to his preserves. I have also told you, that, if he declared
+my public opinions to be abominable, I looked upon his as ridiculous and
+dangerous. As for the countess, I have simply said, half in jest, that
+so perfect a person was not to my taste; and that I should be very
+unhappy if my wife were a Madonna, who hardly ever deigned to put her
+foot upon the ground.”
+
+“And that was the only reason why you once pointed your gun at Count
+Claudieuse? A little more blood rushing to your head would have made you
+a murderer on that day.”
+
+A terrible spasm betrayed M. de Boiscoran’s fury; but he checked
+himself, and said,--
+
+“My passion was less fiery than it may have looked. I have the most
+profound respect for the count’s character. It is an additional grief to
+me that he should have accused me.”
+
+“But he has not accused you!” broke in M. Daubigeon. “On the contrary,
+he was the first and the most eager to defend you.”
+
+And, in spite of the signs which M. Galpin made, he continued,--
+
+“Unfortunately that has nothing to do with the force of the evidence
+against you. If you persist in keeping silence, you must look for a
+criminal trial for the galleys. If you are innocent, why not explain the
+matter? What do you wait for? What do you hope?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+Mechinet had, in the meantime, completed the official report.
+
+“We must go,” said M. Galpin
+
+“Am I at liberty,” asked M. de Boiscoran, “to write a few lines to my
+father and my mother? They are old: such an event may kill them.”
+
+“Impossible!” said the magistrate.
+
+Then, turning to Anthony, he said,--
+
+“I am going to put the seals on this room, and I shall leave it in the
+meanwhile in your keeping. You know your duty, and the penalties to
+which you would be subject, if, at the proper time, every thing is not
+found in the same condition in which it is left now. Now, how shall we
+get back to Sauveterre?”
+
+After mature deliberation it was decided that M. de Boiscoran should
+go in one of his own carriages, accompanied by one of the gendarmes.
+M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and the clerk would return in the
+mayor’s carriage, driven by Ribot, who was furious at being kept under
+surveillance.
+
+“Let us be off,” said the magistrate, when the last formalities had been
+fulfilled.
+
+M. de Boiscoran came down slowly. He knew the court was full of furious
+peasants; and he expected to be received with hootings. It was not so.
+The gendarme whom the attorney had sent down had done his duty so
+well, that not a cry was heard. But when he had taken his seat in the
+carriage, and the horse went off at a trot, fierce curses arose, and a
+shower of stones fell, one of which wounded a gendarme.
+
+“Upon my word, you bring ill luck, prisoner,” said the man, a friend of
+the other gendarme who had been so much injured at the fire.
+
+M. de Boiscoran made no reply. He sank back into the corner, and seemed
+to fall into a kind of stupor, from which he did not rouse himself till
+the carriage drove into the yard of the prison at Sauveterre. On the
+threshold stood Master Blangin, the jailer, smiling with delight at the
+idea of receiving so distinguished a prisoner.
+
+“I am going to give you my best room,” he said, “but first I have to
+give a receipt to the gendarme, and to enter you in my book.” Thereupon
+he took down his huge, greasy register, and wrote the name of Jacques
+de Boiscoran beneath that of Trumence Cheminot, a vagabond who had just
+been arrested for having broken into a garden.
+
+It was all over. Jacques de Boiscoran was a prisoner, to be kept in
+close confinement.
+
+
+
+
+SECOND PART--THE BOISCORAN TRIAL
+
+
+
+I.
+
+The Paris house of the Boiscoran family, No. 216 University Street, is
+a house of modest appearance. The yard in front is small; and the few
+square yards of damp soil in the rear hardly deserve the name of a
+garden. But appearances are deceptive. The inside is marvellously
+comfortable; careful and painstaking hands have made every provision for
+ease; and the rooms display that solid splendor for which our age has
+lost the taste. The vestibule contains a superb mosaic, brought home
+from Venice, in 1798, by one of the Boiscorans, who had degenerated, and
+followed the fortunes of Napoleon. The balusters of the great staircase
+are a masterpiece of iron work; and the wainscoting in the dining-room
+has no rival in Paris.
+
+All this, however, is a mere nothing in comparison with the marquis’s
+cabinet of curiosities. It fills the whole depth, and half the width, of
+the upper story; is lighted from above like a huge _atelier_; and would
+fill the heart of an artist with delight. Immense glass cases,
+which stand all around against the walls, hold the treasures of the
+marquis,--priceless collections of enamels, ivories, bronzes, unique
+manuscripts, matchless porcelains, and, above all, his _faiences_, his
+dear _faiences_, the pride and the torment of his old age.
+
+The owner was well worthy of such a setting.
+
+Though sixty-one years old at that time, the marquis was as straight
+as ever, and most aristocratically lean. He had a perfectly magnificent
+nose, which absorbed immense quantities of snuff; his mouth was large,
+but well furnished; and his brilliant eyes shone with that restless
+cunning which betrayed the amateur, who has continually to deal with
+sharp and eager dealers in curiosities and second-hand articles of
+_vertu_.
+
+In the year 1845 he had reached the summit of his renown by a great
+speech on the question of public meetings; but at that hour his watch
+seemed to have stopped. All his ideas were those of an Orleanist. His
+appearance, his costume, his high cravat, his whiskers, and the way he
+brushed his hair, all betrayed the admirer and friend of the citizen
+king. But for all that, he did not trouble himself about politics; in
+fact, he troubled himself about nothing at all. With the only condition
+that his inoffensive passion should be respected, the marchioness was
+allowed to rule supreme in the house, administering her large fortune,
+ruling her only son, and deciding all questions without the right of
+appeal. It was perfectly useless to ask the marquis any thing: his
+answer was invariably,--
+
+“Ask my wife.”
+
+The good man had, the evening before, purchased a little at haphazard,
+a large lot of _faiences_, representing scenes of the Revolution; and
+at about three o’clock, he was busy, magnifying-glass in hand, examining
+his dishes and plates, when the door was suddenly opened.
+
+The marchioness came in, holding a blue paper in her hand. Six or seven
+years younger than her husband, she was the very companion for such an
+idle, indolent man. In her walk, in her manner, and in her voice,
+she showed at once the woman who stands at the wheel, and means to be
+obeyed. Her once celebrated beauty had left remarkable traces enough
+to justify her pretensions. She denied having any claims to being
+considered handsome, since it was impossible to deny or conceal the
+ravages of time, and hence by far her best policy was to accept old age
+with good grace. Still, if the marchioness did not grow younger, she
+pretended to be older than she really was. She had her gray hair puffed
+out with considerable affectation, so as to contrast all the more
+forcibly with her ruddy, blooming cheeks, which a girl might have envied
+and she often thought of powdering her hair.
+
+She was so painfully excited, and almost undone, when she came into her
+husband’s cabinet, that even he, who for many a year had made it a rule
+of his life to show no emotion, was seriously troubled. Laying aside the
+dish which he was examining, he said with an anxious voice,--
+
+“What is the matter? What has happened?”
+
+“A terrible misfortune.”
+
+“Is Jacques dead?” cried the old collector.
+
+The marchioness shook her head.
+
+“No! It is something worse, perhaps”--
+
+The old man, who has risen at the sight of his wife, sank slowly back
+into his chair.
+
+“Tell me,” he stammered out,--“tell me. I have courage.”
+
+She handed him the blue paper which she had brought in, and said
+slowly,--
+
+“Here. A telegram which I have just received from old Anthony, our son’s
+valet.”
+
+With trembling hands the old marquis unfolded the paper, and read,--
+
+“Terrible misfortune! Master Jacques accused of having set the chateau
+at Valpinson on fire, and murdered Count Claudieuse. Terrible evidence
+against him. When examined, hardly any defence. Just arrested and
+carried to jail. In despair. What must I do?”
+
+The marchioness had feared lest the marquis should have been crushed
+by this despatch, which in its laconic terms betrayed Anthony’s abject
+terror. But it was not so. He put it back on the table in the calmest
+manner, and said, shrugging his shoulders,--
+
+“It is absurd!”
+
+His wife did not understand it. She began again,--
+
+“You have not read it carefully, my friend”--
+
+“I understand,” he broke in, “that our son is accused of a crime which
+he has not and can not have committed. You surely do not doubt his
+innocence? What a mother you would be! On my part, I assure you I am
+perfectly tranquil. Jacques an incendiary! Jacques a murderer! That is
+nonsense!”
+
+“Ah! you did not read the telegram,” exclaimed the marchioness.
+
+“I beg your pardon.”
+
+“You did not see that there was evidence against him.”
+
+“If there had been none, he could not have been arrested. Of course, the
+thing is disagreeable: it is painful.”
+
+“But he did not defend himself.”
+
+“Upon my word! Do you think that if to-morrow somebody accused me of
+having robbed the till of some shopkeeper, I would take the trouble to
+defend myself?”
+
+“But do you not see that Anthony evidently thinks our son is guilty?”
+
+“Anthony is an old fool!” declared the marquis.
+
+Then pulling out his snuffbox, and stuffing his nose full of snuff, he
+said,--
+
+“Besides, let us consider. Did you not tell me that Jacques is in love
+with that little Dionysia Chandore?”
+
+“Desperately. Like a real child.”
+
+“And she?”
+
+“She adores Jacques.”
+
+“Well. And did you not also tell me that the wedding-day was fixed?”
+
+“Yes, three days ago.”
+
+“Has Jacques written to you about the matter?”
+
+“An excellent letter.”
+
+“In which he tells you he is coming up?”
+
+“Yes: he wanted to purchase the wedding-presents himself.” With a
+gesture of magnificent indifference the marquis tapped the top of his
+snuffbox, and said,--
+
+“And you think a boy like our Jacques, a Boiscoran, in love, and
+beloved, who is about to be married, and has his head full of
+wedding-presents, could have committed such a horrible crime? Such
+things are not worth discussing, and, with your leave, I shall return to
+my occupation.”
+
+If doubt is contagious, confidence is still more so. Gradually the
+marchioness felt reassured by the perfect assurance of her husband. The
+blood came back to her cheeks; and smiles reappeared on pale lips. She
+said in a stronger voice,--
+
+“In fact, I may have been too easily frightened.”
+
+The marquis assented by a gesture.
+
+“Yes, much too easily, my dear. And, between us, I would not say much
+about it. How could the officers help accusing our Jacques if his own
+mother suspects him?”
+
+The marchioness had taken up the telegram, and was reading it over once
+more.
+
+“And yet,” she said, answering her own objections, “who in my place
+would not have been frightened? This name of Claudieuse especially”--
+
+“Why? It is the name of an excellent and most honorable gentleman,--the
+best man in the world, in spite of his sea-dog manners.”
+
+“Jacques hates him, my dear.”
+
+“Jacques does not mind him any more than that.”
+
+“They have repeatedly quarrelled.”
+
+“Of course. Claudieuse is a furious legitimist; and as such he always
+talks with the utmost contempt of all of us who have been attached to
+the Orleans family.”
+
+“Jacques has been at law with him.”
+
+“And he has done right, only he ought to have carried the matter
+through. Claudieuse has claims on the Magpie, which divides our
+lands,--absurd claims. He wants at all seasons, and according as he may
+desire, to direct the waters of the little stream into his own channels,
+and thus drown the meadows at Boiscoran, which are lower than his own.
+Even my brother, who was an angel in patience and gentleness, had his
+troubles with this tyrant.”
+
+But the marchioness was not convinced yet.
+
+“There was another trouble,” she said.
+
+“What?”
+
+“Ah! I should like to know myself.”
+
+“Has Jacques hinted at any thing?”
+
+“No. I only know this. Last year, at the Duchess of Champdoce’s, I met
+by chance the Countess Claudieuse and her children. The young woman is
+perfectly charming; and, as we were going to give a ball the week after,
+it occurred to me to invite her at once. She refused, and did so in such
+an icy, formal manner, that I did not insist.”
+
+“She probably does not like dancing,” growled the marquis.
+
+“That same evening I mentioned the matter to Jacques. He seemed to be
+very angry, and told me, in a manner that was hardly compatible with
+respect, that I had been very wrong, and that he had his reasons for not
+desiring to come in contact with those people.”
+
+The marquis felt so secure, that he only listened with partial
+attention, looking all the time aside at his precious _faiences_.
+
+“Well,” he said at last, “Jacques detests the Claudieuses. What does
+that prove? God be thanked, we do not murder all the people we detest!”
+
+His wife did not insist any longer. She only asked,--
+
+“Well, what must we do?”
+
+She was so little in the habit of consulting her husband, that he was
+quite surprised.
+
+“The first thing is to get Jacques out of jail. We must see--we ought to
+ask for advice.”
+
+At this moment a light knock was heard at the door.
+
+“Come in!” he said.
+
+A servant came in, bringing a large envelope, marked “Telegraphic
+Despatch. Private.”
+
+“Upon my word!” cried the marquis. “I thought so. Now we shall be all
+right again.”
+
+The servant had left the room. He tore open the envelope; but at the
+first glance at the contents the smile vanished, he turned pale, and
+just said,--
+
+“Great God!”
+
+Quick as lightning, the marchioness seized the fatal paper. She read at
+a glance,--
+
+“Come quick. Jacques in prison; close confinement; accused of horrible
+crime. The whole town says he is guilty, and that he has confessed.
+Infamous calumny! His judge is his former friend, Galpin, who was
+to marry his cousin Lavarande. Know nothing except that Jacques is
+innocent. Abominable intrigue! Grandpa Chandore and I will do what can
+be done. Your help indispensable. Come, come!
+
+“DIONYSIA CHANDORE.”
+
+“Ah, my son is lost!” cried the marchioness with tears in her eyes. The
+marquis, however, had recovered already from the shock.
+
+“And I--I say more than ever, with Dionysia, who is a brave girl,
+Jacques is innocent. But I see he is in danger. A criminal prosecution
+is always an ugly affair. A man in close confinement may be made to say
+any thing.”
+
+“We must do something,” said the mother, nearly mad with grief.
+
+“Yes, and without losing a minute. We have friends: let us see who among
+them can help us.”
+
+“I might write to M. Margeril.”
+
+The marquis, who had turned quite pale, became livid.
+
+“What!” he cried. “You dare utter that name in my presence?”
+
+“He is all powerful; and my son is in danger.”
+
+The marquis stopped her with a threatening gesture, and cried with an
+accent of bitter hatred,--
+
+“I would a thousand times rather my son should die innocent on the
+scaffold than owe his safety to that man!”
+
+His wife seemed to be on the point of fainting.
+
+“Great God! And yet you know very well that I was only a little
+indiscreet.”
+
+“No more!” said the marquis harshly.
+
+Then, recovering his self-control by a powerful effort, he went on,--
+
+“Before we attempt any thing, we must know how the matter stands. You
+will leave for Sauveterre this evening.”
+
+“Alone?”
+
+“No. I will find some able lawyer,--a reliable jurist, who is not a
+politician,--if such a one can be found nowadays. He will tell you what
+to do, and will write to me, so that I can do here whatever may be
+best. Dionysia is right. Jacques must be the victim of some abominable
+intrigue. Nevertheless, we shall save him; but we must keep cool,
+perfectly cool.”
+
+And as he said this he rang the bell so violently, that a number of
+servants came rushing in at once.
+
+“Quick,” he said; “send for my lawyer, Mr. Chapelain. Take a carriage.”
+
+The servant who took the order was so expeditious, that, in less than
+twenty minutes, M. Chapelain arrived.
+
+“Ah! we want all your experience, my friend,” said the marquis to him.
+“Look here. Read these telegrams.”
+
+Fortunately, the lawyer had such control over himself, that he did not
+betray what he felt; for he believed Jacques guilty, knowing as he did
+how reluctant courts generally are to order the arrest of a suspected
+person.
+
+“I know the man for the marchioness,” he said at last.
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“A young man whose modesty alone has kept him from distinguishing
+himself so far, although I know he is one of the best jurists at the
+bar, and an admirable speaker.”
+
+“What is his name?”
+
+“Manuel Folgat. I shall send him to you at once.”
+
+Two hours later, M. Chapelain’s _protégé_ appeared at the house of
+the Boiscorans. He was a man of thirty-one or thirty-two, with large,
+wide-open eyes, whose whole appearance was breathing intelligence and
+energy.
+
+The marquis was pleased with him, and after having told him all he knew
+about Jacques’s position, endeavored to inform him as to the people
+down at Sauveterre,--who would be likely to be friends, and who enemies,
+recommending to him, above all, to trust M. Seneschal, an old friend of
+the family, and a most influential man in that community.
+
+“Whatever is humanly possible shall be done, sir,” said the lawyer.
+
+That same evening, at fifteen minutes past eight, the Marchioness of
+Boiscoran and Manuel Folgat took their seats in the train for Orleans.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+The railway which connects Sauveterre with the Orleans line enjoys a
+certain celebrity on account of a series of utterly useless curves,
+which defy all common sense, and which would undoubtedly be the source
+of countless accidents, if the trains were not prohibited from going
+faster than eight or ten miles an hour.
+
+The depot has been built--no doubt for the greater convenience of
+travellers--at a distance of two miles from town, on a place where
+formerly the first banker of Sauveterre had his beautiful gardens.
+The pretty road which leads to it is lined on both sides with inns and
+taverns, on market-days full of peasants, who try to rob each other,
+glass in hand, and lips overflowing with protestations of honesty.
+On ordinary days even, the road is quite lively; for the walk to the
+railway has become a favorite promenade. People go out to see the
+trains start or come in, to examine the new arrivals, or to exchange
+confidences as to the reasons why Mr. or Mrs. So-and-so have made up
+their mind to travel.
+
+It was nine o’clock in the morning when the train which brought the
+marchioness and Manuel Folgat at last reached Sauveterre. The former
+was overcome by fatigue and anxiety, having spent the whole night
+in discussing the chances for her son’s safety, and was all the more
+exhausted as the lawyer had taken care not to encourage her hopes.
+
+For he also shared, in secret at least, M. Chapelain’s doubts. He, also,
+had said to himself, that a man like M. de Boiscoran is not apt to
+be arrested, unless there are strong reasons, and almost overwhelming
+proofs of his guilt in the hands of the authorities.
+
+The train was slackening speed.
+
+“If only Dionysia and her father,” sighed the marchioness, “have thought
+of sending a carriage to meet us.”
+
+“Why so?” asked Manuel Folgat.
+
+“Because I do not want all the world to see my grief and my tears.”
+
+The young lawyer shook his head, and said,--
+
+“You will certainly not do that, madame, if you are disposed to follow
+my advice.”
+
+She looked at him quite amazed; but he insisted.
+
+“I mean you must not look as if you wished not to be seen: that would be
+a great, almost irreparable mistake. What would they think if they saw
+you in tears and great distress? They would say you were sure of your
+son’s guilt; and the few who may still doubt will doubt no longer. You
+must control public opinion from the beginning; for it is absolute
+in these small communities, where everybody is under somebody else’s
+immediate influence. Public opinion is all powerful; and say what you
+will, it controls even the jurymen in their deliberations.”
+
+“That is true,” said the marchioness: “that is but too true.”
+
+“Therefore, madame, you must summon all your energy, conceal your
+maternal anxiety in your innermost heart, dry your tears, and show
+nothing but the most perfect confidence. Let everybody say, as he sees
+you, ‘No mother could look so who thinks her son guilty.’”
+
+The marchioness straightened herself, and said,--
+
+“You are right, sir; and I thank you. I must try to impress public
+opinion as you say; and, so far from wishing to find the station
+deserted, I shall be delighted to see it full of people. I will show you
+what a woman can do who thinks of her son’s life.”
+
+The Marchioness of Boiscoran was a woman of rare power.
+
+Drawing her comb from her dressing-case, she repaired the disorder of
+her coiffure; with a few skilful strokes she smoothed her dress; her
+features, by a supreme effort of will, resumed their usual serenity; she
+forced her lips to smile without betraying the effort it cost her; and
+then she said in a clear, firm voice,--
+
+“Look at me, sir. Can I show myself now?”
+
+The train stopped at the station. Manuel Folgat jumped out lightly; and,
+offering the marchioness his hand to assist her, he said,--
+
+“You will be pleased with yourself, madam. Your courage will not be
+useless. All Sauveterre seems to be here.”
+
+This was more than half true. Ever since the night before, a report had
+been current,--no one knew how it had started,--that the “murderer’s
+mother,” as they charitably called her, would arrive by the nine o’clock
+train; and everybody had determined to happen to be at the station at
+that hour. In a place where gossip lives for three days upon the last
+new dress from Paris, such an opportunity for a little excitement was
+not to be neglected. No one thought for a moment of what the poor old
+lady would probably feel upon being compelled thus to face a whole
+town; for at Sauveterre curiosity has at least the merit, that it is not
+hypocritical. Everybody is openly indiscreet, and by no means ashamed
+of it. They place themselves right in front of you, and look at you, and
+try to find out the secret of your joy or your grief.
+
+It must be borne in mind, however, that public opinion was running
+strongly against M. de Boiscoran. If there had been nothing against him
+but the fire at Valpinson, and the attempts upon Count Claudieuse,
+that would have been a small matter. But the fire had had terrible
+consequences. Two men had perished in it; and two others had been so
+severely wounded as to put their lives in jeopardy. Only the evening
+before, a sad procession had passed through the streets of Sauveterre.
+In a cart covered with a cloth, and followed by two priests, the almost
+carbonized remains of Bolton the drummer, and of poor Guillebault, had
+been brought home. The whole city had seen the widow go to the mayor’s
+office, holding in her arms her youngest child, while the four others
+clung to her dress.
+
+All these misfortunes were traced back to Jacques, who was loaded
+with curses; and the people now thought of receiving his mother, the
+marchioness, with fierce hootings.
+
+“There she is, there she is!” they said in the crowd, when she appeared
+in the station, leaning upon M. Folgat’s arm.
+
+But they did not say another word, so great was their surprise at her
+appearance. Immediately two parties were formed. “She puts a bold face
+on it,” said some; while others declared, “She is quite sure of her
+son’s innocence.”
+
+At all events, she had presence of mind enough to see what an impression
+she produced, and how well she had done to follow M. Folgat’s advice.
+It gave her additional strength. As she distinguished in the crowd some
+people whom she knew, she went up to them, and, smiling, said,--
+
+“Well, you know what has happened to us. It is unheard of! Here is the
+liberty of a man like my son at the mercy of the first foolish notion
+that enters the head of a magistrate. I heard the news yesterday by
+telegram, and came down at once with this gentleman, a friend of ours,
+and one of the first lawyers of Paris.”
+
+M. Folgat looked embarrassed: he would have liked more considerate
+words. Still he could not help supporting the marchioness in what she
+had said.
+
+“These gentlemen of the court,” he said in measured tones, “will perhaps
+be sorry for what they have done.”
+
+Fortunately a young man, whose whole livery consisted in a gold-laced
+cap, came up to them at this moment.
+
+“M. de Chandore’s carriage is here,” he said.
+
+“Very well,” replied the marchioness.
+
+And bowing to the good people of Sauveterre, who were quite dumfounded
+by her assurance, she said,--
+
+“Pardon me if I leave you so soon; but M. de Chandore expects us. I
+shall, however, be happy to call upon you soon, on my son’s arm.”
+
+The house of the Chandore family stands on the other side of the
+New-Market Place, at the very top of the street, which is hardly more
+than a line of steps, which the mayor persistently calls upon the
+municipal council to grade, and which the latter as persistently refuse
+to improve. The building is quite new, massive but ugly, and has at the
+side a pretentious little tower with a peaked roof, which Dr. Seignebos
+calls a perpetual menace of the feudal system.
+
+It is true the Chandores once upon a time were great feudal lords, and
+for a long time exhibited a profound contempt for all who could not
+boast of noble ancestors and a deep hatred of revolutionary ideas. But
+if they had ever been formidable, they had long since ceased to be so.
+Of the whole great family,--one of the most numerous and most powerful
+of the province,--only one member survived, the Baron de Chandore, and a
+girl, his granddaughter, betrothed to Jacques de Boiscoran. Dionysia was
+an orphan. She was barely three years old, when within five months, she
+lost her father, who fell in a duel, and her mother, who had not the
+strength to survive the man whom she had loved. This was certainly for
+the child a terrible misfortune; but she was not left uncared for nor
+unloved. Her grandfather bestowed all his affections upon her; and the
+two sisters of her mother, the Misses Lavarande, then already no longer
+young, determined never to marry, so as to devote themselves exclusively
+to their niece. From that day the two good ladies had wished to live
+in the baron’s house; but from the beginning he had utterly refused
+to listen to their propositions, asserting that he was perfectly able
+himself to watch over the child, and wanted to have her all to himself.
+All he would grant was, that the ladies might spend the day with
+Dionysia whenever they chose.
+
+Hence arose a certain rivalry between the aunts and the grandfather,
+which led both parties to most amazing exaggerations. Each one did what
+could be done to engage the affections of the little girl; each one was
+willing to pay any price for the most trifling caress. At five years
+Dionysia had every toy that had ever been invented. At ten she was
+dressed like the first lady of the land, and had jewelry in abundance.
+
+The grandfather, in the meantime, had been metamorphosed from head to
+foot. Rough, rigid, and severe, he had suddenly become a “love of a
+father.” The fierce look had vanished from his eyes, the scorn from his
+lips; and both had given way to soft glances and smooth words. He was
+seen daily trotting through the streets, and going from shop to shop
+on errands for his grandchild. He invited her little friends, arranged
+picnics for her, helped her drive her hoops, and if needs be, led in a
+cotillion.
+
+If Dionysia looked displeased, he trembled. If she coughed, he turned
+pale. Once she was sick: she had the measles. He staid up for twelve
+nights in succession, and sent to Paris for doctors, who laughed in his
+face.
+
+And yet the two old ladies found means to exceed his folly.
+
+If Dionysia learned any thing at all, it was only because she herself
+insisted upon it: otherwise the writing-master and the music-master
+would have been sent away at the slightest sign of weariness.
+
+Sauveterre saw it, and shrugged its shoulders.
+
+“What a wretched education!” the ladies said. “Such weakness is
+absolutely unheard of. They tender the child a sorry service.”
+
+There was no doubt that such almost incredible spoiling, such blind
+devotion, and perpetual worship, came very near making of Dionysia the
+most disagreeable little person that ever lived. But fortunately she had
+one of those happy dispositions which cannot be spoiled; and besides,
+she was perhaps saved from the danger by its very excess. As she grew
+older she would say with a laugh,--
+
+“Grandpapa Chandore, my aunts Lavarande, and I, we do just what we
+choose.”
+
+That was only a joke. Never did a young girl repay such sweet affection
+with rarer and nobler qualities.
+
+She was thus leading a happy life, free from all care, and was just
+seventeen years old, when the great event of her life took place. M. de
+Chandore one morning met Jacques de Boiscoran, whose uncle had been
+a friend of his, and invited him to dinner. Jacques accepted the
+invitation, and came. Dionysia saw him, and loved him.
+
+Now, for the first time in her life, she had a secret unknown to
+Grandpapa Chandore and to her aunts; and for two years the birds and the
+flowers were the only confidants of this love of hers, which grew up in
+her heart, sweet like a dream, idealized by absence, and fed by memory.
+
+For Jacques’s eyes remained blind for two years.
+
+But the day on which they were opened he felt that his fate was sealed.
+Nor did he hesitate a moment; and in less than a month after that, the
+Marquis de Boiscoran came down to Sauveterre, and in all form asked
+Dionysia’s hand for his son.
+
+Ah! that was a heavy blow for Grandpapa Chandore.
+
+He had, of course, often thought of the future marriage of his
+grandchild; he had even at times spoken of it, and told her that he
+was getting old, and should feel very much relieved when he should have
+found her a good husband. But he talked of it as a distant thing, very
+much as we speak of dying. M. de Boiscoran brought his true feelings
+out. He shuddered at the idea of giving up Dionysia, of seeing her
+prefer another man to himself, and of loving her children best of all.
+He was quite inclined to throw the ambassador out of the window.
+
+Still he checked his feelings, and replied that he could give no reply
+till he had consulted his granddaughter.
+
+Poor grandpapa! At the very first words he uttered, she exclaimed,--
+
+“Oh, I am so happy! But I expected it.”
+
+M. de Chandore bent his head to conceal a tear which burned in his eyes.
+Then he said very low,--
+
+“Then the thing is settled.”
+
+At once, rather comforted by the joy that was sparkling in his
+grandchild’s eyes, he began reproaching himself for his selfishness, and
+for being unhappy, when his Dionysia seemed to be so happy. Jacques had,
+of course, been allowed to visit the house as a lover; and the very day
+before the fire at Valpinson, after having long and carefully counted
+the days absolutely required for all the purchases of the trousseau,
+and all the formalities of the event, the wedding-day had been finally
+fixed.
+
+Thus Dionysia was struck down in the very height of her happiness, when
+she heard, at the same time, of the terrible charges brought against M.
+de Boiscoran, and of his arrest.
+
+At first, thunderstruck, she had lain nearly ten minutes unconscious
+in the arms of her aunts, who, like the grandfather, were themselves
+utterly overcome with terror. But, as soon as she came to, she
+exclaimed,--
+
+“Am I mad to give way thus? Is it not evident that he is innocent?”
+
+Then she had sent her telegram to the marquis, knowing well, that,
+before taking any measures, it was all important to come to an
+understanding with Jacques’s family. Then she had begged to be left
+alone; and she had spent the night in counting the minutes that must
+pass till the hour came when the train from Paris would bring her help.
+
+At eight o’clock she had come down to give orders herself that a
+carriage should be sent to the station for the marchioness, adding that
+they must drive back as fast as they could. Then she had gone into the
+sitting-room to join her grandfather and her aunts. They talked to her;
+but her thoughts were elsewhere.
+
+At last a carriage was heard coming up rapidly, and stopping before the
+house. She got up, rushed into the hall, and cried,--
+
+“Here is Jacques’s mother!”
+
+
+
+III.
+
+We cannot do violence to our natural feelings without paying for it. The
+marchioness had nearly fainted when she could at last take refuge in the
+carriage: she was utterly overcome by the great effort she had made
+to present to the curious people of Sauveterre a smiling face and calm
+features.
+
+“What a horrible comedy!” she murmured, as she sank back on the
+cushions.
+
+“Admit, at least, madam,” said the lawyer, “that it was necessary. You
+have won over, perhaps, a hundred persons to your son’s side.”
+
+She made no reply. Her tears stifled her. What would she not have given
+for a few moments’ solitude, to give way to all the grief of her heart,
+to all the anxiety of a mother! The time till she reached the house
+seemed to her an eternity; and, although the horse was driven at a
+furious rate, she felt as if they were making no progress. At last the
+carriage stopped.
+
+The little servant had jumped down, and opened the door, saying,--
+
+“Here we are.”
+
+The marchioness got out with M. Folgat’s assistance; and her foot was
+hardly on the ground, when the house-door opened, and Dionysia threw
+herself into her arms, too deeply moved to speak. At last she broke
+forth,--
+
+“Oh, my mother, my mother! what a terrible misfortune!”
+
+In the passage M. de Chandore was coming forward. He had not been able
+to follow his granddaughter’s rapid steps.
+
+“Let us go in,” he said to the two ladies: “don’t stand there!”
+
+For at all the windows curious eyes were peeping through the blinds.
+
+He drew them into the sitting-room. Poor M. Folgat was sorely
+embarrassed what to do with himself. No one seemed to be aware of his
+existence. He followed them, however. He entered the room, and standing
+by the door, sharing the general excitement, he was watching by turns,
+Dionysia, M. de Chandore, and the two spinsters.
+
+Dionysia was then twenty years old. It could not be said that she was
+uncommonly beautiful; but no one could ever forget her again who had
+once seen her. Small in form, she was grace personified; and all her
+movements betrayed a rare and exquisite perfection. Her black hair fell
+in marvellous masses over her head, and contrasted strangely with her
+blue eyes and her fair complexion. Her skin was of dazzling whiteness.
+Every thing in her features spoke of excessive timidity. And yet, from
+certain movements of her lips and her eyebrows, one might have suspected
+no lack of energy.
+
+Grandpapa Chandore looked unusually tall by her side. His massive frame
+was imposing. He did not show his seventy-two years, but was as straight
+as ever, and seemed to be able to defy all the storms of life. What
+struck strangers most, perhaps, was his dark-red complexion, which gave
+him the appearance of an Indian chieftain, while his white beard and
+hair brought the crimson color still more prominently out. In spite
+of his herculean frame and his strange complexion, his face bore the
+expression of almost child-like goodness. But the first glance at his
+eyes proved that the gentle smile on his lips was not to be taken alone.
+There were flashes in his gray eyes which made people aware that a man
+who should dare, for instance, to offend Dionysia, would have to pay for
+it pretty dearly.
+
+As to the two aunts, they were as tall and thin as a couple of
+willow-rods, pale, discreet, ultra-aristocratic in their reserve and
+their coldness; but they bore in their faces an expression of happy
+peace and sentimental tenderness, such as is often seen in old maids
+whose temper has not been soured by celibacy. They dressed absolutely
+alike, as they had done now for forty years, preferring neutral colors
+and modest fashions, such as suited their simple taste.
+
+They were crying bitterly at that moment; and M. Folgat felt
+instinctively that there was no sacrifice of which they were not capable
+for their beloved niece’s sake.
+
+“Poor Dionysia!” they whispered.
+
+The girl heard them, however; and, drawing herself up, she said,--
+
+“But we are behaving shamefully. What would Jacques say, if he could see
+us from his prison! Why should we be so sad? Is he not innocent?”
+
+Her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy: her voice had a ring which moved
+Manuel Folgat deeply.
+
+“I can at least, in justice to myself,” she went on saying, “assure you
+that I have never doubted him for a moment. And how should I ever have
+dared to doubt? The very night on which the fire broke out, Jacques
+wrote me a letter of four pages, which he sent me by one of his tenants,
+and which reached me at nine o’clock. I showed it to grandpapa. He read
+it, and then he said I was a thousand times right, because a man who had
+been meditating such a crime could never have written that letter.”
+
+“I said so, and I still think so,” added M. de Chandore; “and every
+sensible man will think so too; but”--
+
+His granddaughter did not let him finish.
+
+“It is evident therefore, that Jacques is the victim of an abominable
+intrigue; and we must unravel it. We have cried enough: now let us act!”
+
+Then, turning to the marchioness, she said,--
+
+“And my dear mother, I sent for you, because we want you to help us in
+this great work.”
+
+“And here I am,” replied the old lady, “not less certain of my son’s
+innocence than you are.”
+
+Evidently M. de Chandore had been hoping for something more; for he
+interrupted her, asking,--
+
+“And the marquis?”
+
+“My husband remained in Paris.”
+
+The old gentleman’s face assumed a curious expression.
+
+“Ah, that is just like him,” he said. “Nothing can move him. His only
+son is wickedly accused of a crime, arrested, thrown into prison. They
+write to him; they hope he will come at once. By no means. Let his son
+get out of trouble as he can. He has his _faiences_ to attend to. Oh, if
+I had a son!”
+
+“My husband,” pleaded the marchioness, “thinks he can be more useful to
+Jacques in Paris than here. There will be much to be done there.”
+
+“Have we not the railway?”
+
+“Moreover,” she went on, “he intrusted me to this gentleman.” She
+pointed out M. Folgat.
+
+“M. Manuel Folgat, who has promised us the assistance of his experience,
+his talents, and his devotion.”
+
+When thus formally introduced, M. Folgat bowed, and said,--
+
+“I am all hope. But I think with Miss Chandore, that we must go to work
+without losing a second. Before I can decide, however, upon what is to
+be done, I must know all the facts.”
+
+“Unfortunately we know nothing,” replied M. de Chandore,--“nothing,
+except that Jacques is kept in close confinement.”
+
+“Well, then, we must try to find out. You know, no doubt, all the law
+officers of Sauveterre?”
+
+“Very few. I know the commonwealth attorney.”
+
+“And the magistrate before whom the matter has been brought.”
+
+The older of the two Misses Lavarande rose, and exclaimed,--
+
+“That man, M. Galpin, is a monster of hypocrisy and ingratitude. He
+called himself Jacques’s friend; and Jacques liked him well enough
+to induce us, my sister and myself, to give our consent to a marriage
+between him and one of our cousins, a Lavarande. Poor child. When she
+learned the sad truth, she cried, ‘Great God! God be blessed that I
+escaped the disgrace of becoming the wife of such a man!’”
+
+“Yes,” added the other old lady, “if all Sauveterre thinks Jacques
+guilty, let them also say, ‘His own friend has become his judge.’”
+
+M. Folgat shook his head, and said,--
+
+“I must have more minute information. The marquis mentioned to me a M.
+Seneschal, mayor of Sauveterre.”
+
+M. de Chandore looked at once for his hat, and said,--
+
+“To be sure! He is a friend of ours; and, if any one is well informed,
+he is. Let us go to him. Come.”
+
+M. Seneschal was indeed a friend of the Chandores, the Lavarandes, and
+also of the Boiscorans. Although he was a lawyer he had become attached
+to the people whose confidential adviser he had been for more than
+twenty years. Even after having retired from business, M. Seneschal had
+still retained the full confidence of his former clients. They never
+decided on any grave question, without consulting him first. His
+successor did the business for them; but M. Seneschal directed what was
+to be done.
+
+Nor was the assistance all on one side. The example of great people
+like M. de Chandore and Jacques’s uncle had brought many a peasant on
+business into M. Seneschal’s office; and when he was, at a later period
+of his life, attacked by the fever of political ambition, and offered to
+“sacrifice himself for his country” by becoming mayor of Sauveterre, and
+a member of the general council, their support had been of great service
+to him.
+
+Hence he was well-nigh overcome when he returned, on that fatal morning,
+to Sauveterre. He looked so pale and undone, that his wife was seriously
+troubled.
+
+“Great God, Augustus! What has happened?” she asked.
+
+“Something terrible has happened,” he replied in so tragic a manner,
+that his wife began to tremble.
+
+To be sure, Mrs. Seneschal trembled very easily. She was a woman of
+forty-five or fifty years, very dark, short, and fat, trying hard to
+breathe in the corsets which were specially made for her by the Misses
+Mechinet, the clerk’s sisters. When she was young, she had been rather
+pretty: now she still kept the red cheeks of her younger days, a forest
+of jet black hair, and excellent teeth. But she was not happy. Her life
+had been spent in wishing for children, and she had none.
+
+She consoled herself, it is true, by constantly referring to all the
+most delicate details on the subject, mentioning not to her
+intimate friends only, but to any one who would listen, her constant
+disappointments, the physicians she had consulted, the pilgrimages she
+had undertaken, and the quantities of fish she had eaten, although she
+abominated fish. All had been in vain, and as her hopes fled with her
+years, she had become resigned, and indulged now in a kind of romantic
+sentimentality, which she carefully kept alive by reading novels and
+poems without end. She had a tear ready for every unfortunate being, and
+some words of comfort for every grief. Her charity was well known. Never
+had a poor woman with children appealed to her in vain. In spite of all
+that, she was not easily taken in. She managed her household with her
+hand as well as with her eye; and no one surpassed her in the extent of
+her washings, or the excellence of her dinners.
+
+She was quite ready, therefore, to sigh and to sob when her husband told
+her what had happened during the night. When he had ended, she said,--
+
+“That poor Dionysia is capable of dying of it. In your place, I would go
+at once to M. de Chandore, and inform him in the most cautious manner of
+what has happened.”
+
+“I shall take good care not to do so,” replied M. Seneschal; “and I tell
+you expressly not to go there yourself.”
+
+For he was by no means a philosopher; and, if he had been his own
+master, he would have taken the first train, and gone off a hundred
+miles, so as not to see the grief of the Misses Lavarande and Grandpapa
+Chandore. He was exceedingly fond of Dionysia: he had been hard at work
+for years to settle and to add to her fortune, as if she had been his
+own daughter, and now to witness her grief! He shuddered at the idea.
+Besides, he really did not know what to believe, and influenced by M.
+Galpin’s assurance, misled by public opinion, he had come to ask himself
+if Jacques might not, after all, have committed the crimes with which he
+was charged.
+
+Fortunately his duties were on that day so numerous and so troublesome,
+that he had no time to think. He had to provide for the recovery and
+the transportation of the remains of the two unfortunate victims of the
+fire; he had to receive the mother of one, and the widow and children of
+the other, and to listen to their complaints, and try to console them
+by promising the former a small pension, and the latter some help in the
+education of their children. Then he had to give directions to have the
+wounded men brought home; and, after that, he had gone out in search
+of a house for Count Claudieuse and his wife, which had given him much
+trouble. Finally, a large part of the afternoon had been taken up by an
+angry discussion with Dr. Seignebos. The doctor, in the name of outraged
+society, as he called it, and in the name of justice and humanity,
+demanded the immediate arrest of Cocoleu, that wretch whose unconscious
+statement formed the basis of the accusation. He demanded with a furious
+oath that the epileptic idiot should be sent to the hospital, and kept
+there so as to be professionally examined by experts. The mayor had
+for some time refused to grant the request, which seemed to him
+unreasonable; but he doctor had talked so loud and insisted so strongly,
+that at last he had sent two gendarmes to Brechy with orders to bring
+back Cocoleu.
+
+They had returned several hours later with empty hands. The idiot had
+disappeared; and no one in the whole district had been able to give any
+information as to this whereabouts.
+
+“And you think that is natural?” exclaimed Dr. Seignebos, whose eyes
+were glaring at the mayor from under his spectacles. “To me that looks
+like an absolute proof that a plot has been hatched to ruin M. de
+Boiscoran.”
+
+“But can’t you be quiet?” M. Seneschal said angrily. “Do you think
+Cocoleu is lost? He will turn up again.”
+
+The doctor had left him without insisting any longer; but before going
+home, he had dropped in at his club, and there, in the presence of
+twenty people he had declared that he had positive proof of a plot
+formed against M. de Boiscoran, whom the Monarchists had never forgiven
+for having left them; and that the Jesuits were certainly mixed up with
+the business.
+
+This interference was more injurious than useful to Jacques; and the
+consequences were soon seen. That same evening, when M. Galpin crossed
+the New-Market Place, he was wantonly insulted. Very naturally he went,
+almost in a fury, to call upon the mayor, to hold him responsible for
+this insult offered to Justice in his person, and asking for energetic
+punishment. M. Seneschal promised to take the proper measures, and
+went to the commonwealth attorney to act in concert with him. There he
+learned what had happened at Boiscoran, and the terrible result of the
+examination.
+
+So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques’s situation,
+and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter was
+beginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning had
+displayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say a
+word to him. But even that was not all. At two o’clock precisely, the
+funeral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promised
+Capt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, and
+accompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already given
+orders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announced
+visitors,--M. de Chandore and friend.
+
+“That was all that was wanting!” he exclaimed
+
+But, thinking it over, he added,--
+
+“Well, it had to come sooner or later. Show them in!”
+
+M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to prepare
+himself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almost
+cheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him his
+companion.
+
+“M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, who
+has been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran.”
+
+“I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal,” said Folgat: “I do not know the
+manner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of this
+country; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit many
+a grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able and
+experienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have both
+encouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you.”
+
+“Certainly, sir, and with all my heart,” replied M. Seneschal, bowing
+politely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of a
+great Paris lawyer.
+
+He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting
+his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven
+chin with his hand.
+
+“This is a very serious matter, gentlemen,” he said at last.
+
+“A criminal charge is always serious,” replied M. Folgat.
+
+“Upon my word,” cried M. de Chandore, “you are not in doubt about
+Jacques’s innocence?”
+
+M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wise
+remarks made by his wife the evening before.
+
+“How can we know,” he began at last, “what may be going on in young
+brains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance of
+certain insults! Wrath is a dangerous counsellor.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore refused to hear any more.
+
+“What! do you talk to me of wrath?” he broke in; “and what do you see
+of wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for my part, but
+the very meanest crime, long prepared and coolly carried out.”
+
+The mayor very seriously shook his head, and said,--
+
+“You do not know all that has happened.”
+
+“Sir,” added M. Folgat, “it is precisely for the purpose of hearing what
+has happened that we come to you.”
+
+“Very well,” said M. Seneschal.
+
+Thereupon he went to work to describe the events which he had witnessed
+at Valpinson, and those, which, as he had learned from the commonwealth
+attorney, had taken place at Boiscoran; and this he did with all the
+lucidity of an experienced old lawyer who is accustomed to unravel the
+mysteries of complicated suits. He wound up by saying,--
+
+“Finally, do you know what Daubigeon said to me, whose evidence you
+will certainly know how to appreciate? He said in so many words, ‘Galpin
+could not but order the arrest of M. de Boiscoran. Is he guilty? I do
+not know what to think of it. The accusation is overwhelming. He swears
+by all the gods that he is innocent; but he will not tell how he spent
+the night.’”
+
+M. de Chandore, in spite of his vigor, was near fainting, although his
+face remained as crimson as ever. Nothing on earth could make him turn
+pale.
+
+“Great God!” he murmured, “what will Dionysia say?”
+
+Then, turning to M. Folgat, he said aloud,--
+
+“And yet Jacques had something in his mind for that evening.”
+
+“Do you think so?”
+
+“I am sure of it. But for that, he would certainly have come to the
+house, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said so
+himself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, and
+which she mentioned to you. He wrote, ‘I curse from the bottom of my
+heart the business which prevents me from spending the evening with you;
+but I cannot possibly defer it any longer. To-morrow!’”
+
+“You see,” said M. Seneschal.
+
+“The letter is of such a nature,” continued the old gentleman, “that I
+repeat, No man who premeditated such a hideous crime could possibly have
+written it. Nevertheless, I confess to you, that, when I heard the
+fatal news, this very allusion to some pressing business impressed me
+painfully.”
+
+But the young lawyer seemed to be far from being convinced.
+
+“It is evident,” he said, “that M. de Boiscoran will on no account let
+it be known where he went.”
+
+“He told a falsehood, sir,” insisted M. Seneschal. “He commenced by
+denying that he had gone the way on which the witnesses met him.”
+
+“Very naturally, since he desires to keep the place unknown to which he
+went.”
+
+“He did not say any more when he was told that he was under arrest.”
+
+“Because he hopes he will get out of this trouble without betraying his
+secret.”
+
+“If that were so, it would be very strange.”
+
+“Stranger things than that have happened.”
+
+“To allow himself to be accused of incendiarism and murder when he is
+innocent!”
+
+“To be innocent, and to allow one’s self to be condemned, is still
+stranger; and yet there are instances”--
+
+The young lawyer spoke in that short, imperious tone which is, so
+to say, the privilege of his profession, and with such an accent of
+assurance, that M. de Chandore felt his hopes revive. M. Seneschal was
+sorely troubled.
+
+“And what do you think, sir?” he asked.
+
+“That M. de Boiscoran must be innocent,” replied the young advocate.
+And, without leaving time for objections, he continued,--
+
+“That is the opinion of a man who is not influenced by any
+consideration. I come here without any preconceived notions. I do not
+know Count Claudieuse any more than M. de Boiscoran. A crime has been
+committed: I am told the circumstances; and I at once come to the
+conclusion that the reasons which led to the arrest of the accused would
+lead me to set him at liberty.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Let me explain. If M. de Boiscoran is guilty, he has shown, in the
+way in which he received M. Galpin at the house, a perfectly unheard-of
+self-control, and a matchless genius for comedy. Therefore, if he is
+guilty, he is immensely clever”--
+
+“But.”
+
+“Allow me to finish. If he is guilty, he has in the examination shown a
+marvellous want of self-control, and, to be brief, a nameless stupidity:
+therefore, if he is guilty, he is immensely stupid”--
+
+“But.”
+
+“Allow me to finish. Can one and the same person be at once so unusually
+clever and so unusually stupid? Judge yourself. But again: if M. de
+Boiscoran is guilty, he ought to be sent to the insane asylum, and not
+to prison; for any one else but a madman would have poured out the dirty
+water in which he had washed his blackened hands, and would have buried
+anywhere that famous breech-loader, of which the prosecution makes such
+good use.”
+
+“Jacques is safe!” exclaimed M. de Chandore.
+
+M. Seneschal was not so easily won over.
+
+“That is specious pleading,” he said. “Unfortunately, we want something
+more than a logic conclusion to meet a jury with an abundance of
+witnesses on the other side.”
+
+“We will find more on our side.”
+
+“What do you propose to do?”
+
+“I do not know. I have just told you my first impression. Now I must
+study the case, and examine the witnesses, beginning with old Anthony.”
+
+M. de Chandore had risen. He said,--
+
+“We can reach Boiscoran in an hour. Shall I send for my carriage?”
+
+“As quickly as possible,” replied the young lawyer.
+
+M. de Chandore’s servant was back in a quarter of an hour, and announced
+that the carriage was at the door. M. de Chandore and M. Folgat took
+their seats; and, while they were getting in, the mayor warned the young
+Paris lawyer,--
+
+“Above all, be prudent and circumspect. The public mind is already but
+too much inflamed. Politics are mixed up with the case. I am afraid of
+some disturbance at the burial of the firemen; and they bring me word
+that Dr. Seignebos wants to make a speech at the graveyard. Good-by and
+good luck!”
+
+The driver whipped the horse, and, as the carriage was going down
+through the suburbs, M. de Chandore said,--
+
+“I cannot understand why Anthony did not come to me immediately after
+his master had been arrested. What can have happened to him?”
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+M. Seneschal’s horse was perhaps one of the very best in the whole
+province; but M. de Chandore’s was still better. In less than fifty
+minutes they had driven the whole distance to Boiscoran; and during this
+time M. de Chandore and M. Folgat had not exchanged fifty words.
+
+When they reached Boiscoran, the courtyard was silent and deserted.
+Doors and windows were hermetically closed. On the steps of the porch
+sat a stout young peasant, who, at the sight of the newcomers, rose, and
+carried his hand to his cap.
+
+“Where is Anthony?” asked M. de Chandore.
+
+“Up stairs, sir.”
+
+The old gentleman tried to open the door: it resisted.
+
+“O sir! Anthony has barricaded the door from the inside.”
+
+“A curious idea,” said M. de Chandore, knocking with the butt-end of his
+whip.
+
+He was knocking fiercer and fiercer, when at last Anthony’s voice was
+heard from within,--
+
+“Who is there?”
+
+“It is I, Baron Chandore.”
+
+The bars were removed instantly, and the old valet showed himself in the
+door. He looked pale and undone. The disordered condition of his beard,
+his hair, and his dress, showed that he had not been to bed. And this
+disorder was full of meaning in a man who ordinarily prided himself upon
+appearing always in the dress of an English gentleman.
+
+M. de Chandore was so struck by this, that he asked, first of all,--
+
+“What is the matter with you, my good Anthony?”
+
+Instead of replying, Anthony drew the baron and his companion inside;
+and, when he had fastened the door again, he crossed his arms, and
+said,--
+
+“The matter is--well, I am afraid.”
+
+The old gentleman and the lawyer looked at each other. They evidently
+both thought the poor man had lost his mind. Anthony saw it, and said
+quickly,--
+
+“No, I am not mad, although, certainly, there are things passing here
+which could make one doubtful of one’s own senses. If I am afraid, it is
+for good reasons.”
+
+“You do not doubt your master?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+The servant cast such fierce, threatening glances at the lawyer, that M.
+de Chandore hastened to interfere.
+
+“My dear Anthony,” he said, “this gentleman is a friend of mine, a
+lawyer, who has come down from Paris with the marchioness to defend
+Jacques. You need not mistrust him, nay, more than that, you must tell
+him all you know, even if”--
+
+The trusty old servant’s face brightened up, and he exclaimed,--
+
+“Ah! If the gentleman is a lawyer. Welcome, sir. Now I can say all that
+weighs on my heart. No, most assuredly I do not think Master Jacques
+guilty. It is impossible he should be so: it is absurd to think of it.
+But what I believe, what I am sure of, is this,--there is a plot to
+charge him with all the horrors of Valpinson.”
+
+“A plot?” broke in M. Folgat, “whose? how? and what for?”
+
+“Ah! that is more than I know. But I am not mistaken; and you would
+think so too, if you had been present at the examination, as I was. It
+was fearful, gentlemen, it was unbearable, so that even I was stupefied
+for a moment, and thought my master was guilty, and advised him to flee.
+The like has never been heard of before, I am sure. Every thing went
+against him. Every answer he made sounded like a confession. A crime
+had been committed at Valpinson; he had been seen going there and coming
+back by side paths. A fire had been kindled; his hands bore traces of
+charcoal. Shots had been fired; they found one of his cartridge-cases
+close to the spot where Count Claudieuse had been wounded. There it
+was I saw the plot. How could all these circumstances have agreed so
+precisely if they had not been pre-arranged, and calculated beforehand?
+Our poor M. Daubigeon had tears in his eyes; and even that meddlesome
+fellow, Mechinet, the clerk, was quite overcome. M. Galpin was the only
+one who looked pleased; but then he was the magistrate, and he put the
+questions. He, my master’s friend!--a man who was constantly coming
+here, who ate our bread, slept in our beds, and shot our game. Then it
+was, ‘My dear Jacques,’ and ‘My dear Boiscoran’ always, and no end of
+compliments and caresses; so that I often thought one of these days I
+should find him blackening my master’s boots. Ah! he took his revenge
+yesterday; and you ought to have seen with what an air he said to
+master, ‘We are friends no longer.’ The rascal! No, we are friends no
+longer; and, if God was just, you ought to have all the shot in your
+body that has wounded Count Claudieuse.”
+
+M. de Chandore was growing more and more impatient. As soon, therefore,
+as Anthony’s breath gave out a moment, he said,--
+
+“Why did you not come and tell me all that immediately?”
+
+The old servant ventured to shrug his shoulders slightly, and replied,--
+
+“How could I? When the examination was over, that man, Galpin, put the
+seals everywhere,--strips of linen, fastened on with sealing-wax, as
+they do with dead people. He put one on every opening, and on some
+of them two. He put three on the outer door. Then he told me that he
+appointed me keeper of the house, that I would be paid for it, but that
+I would be sent to the galleys if any one touched the seals with the
+tip of the finger. When he had handed master over to the gendarmes, that
+man, Galpin, went away, leaving me here alone, dumfounded, like a man
+who has been knocked in the head. Nevertheless, I should have come to
+you, sir, but I had an idea, and that gave me the shivers.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore stamped his foot, and said,--
+
+“Come to the point, to the point!”
+
+“It was this: you must know, gentlemen, that, in the examination, that
+breech-loading gun played a prominent part. That man, Galpin looked at
+it carefully, and asked master when he had last fired it off. Master
+said, ‘About five days ago. You hear, I say, five days.’ Thereupon, that
+man, Galpin, puts the gun down, without looking at the barrels.”
+
+“Well?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+“Well, sir, I--Anthony--I had the evening before--I say the evening
+before--cleaned the gun, washed it, and”--
+
+“Upon my word,” cried M. de Chandore, “why did you not say so at once?
+If the barrels are clean, that is an absolute proof that Jacques is
+innocent.”
+
+The old servant shook his head, and said,--
+
+“To be sure, sir. But are they clean?”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Master may have been mistaken as to the time when he last fired the
+gun, and then the barrels would be soiled; and, instead of helping him,
+my evidence might ruin him definitely. Before I say any thing, I ought
+to be sure.”
+
+“Yes,” said Folgat, approvingly, “and you have done well to keep
+silence, my good man, and I cannot urge you too earnestly not to say a
+word of it to any one. That fact may become a decisive argument for the
+_defence_.”
+
+“Oh! I can keep my tongue, sir. Only you may imagine how impatient it
+has made me to see these accursed seals which prevent me from going to
+look at the gun. Oh, if I had dared to break one of them!”
+
+“Poor fellow!”
+
+“I thought of doing it; but I checked myself. Then it occurred to me
+that other people might think of the same thing. The rascals who have
+formed this abominable plot against Master Jacques are capable of any
+thing, don’t you think so? Why might not they come some night, and
+break the seals? I put the steward on guard in the garden, beneath the
+windows. I put his son as a sentinel into the courtyard; and I have
+myself stood watch before the seals with arms in my hands all the time.
+Let the rascals come on; they will find somebody to receive them.”
+
+In spite of all that is said, lawyers are better than their reputation.
+Lawyers, accused of being sceptics above all men, are, on the contrary,
+credulous and simple-minded. Their enthusiasm is sincere; and, when we
+think they play a part, they are in earnest. In the majority of cases,
+they fancy their own side the just one, even though they should be
+beaten. Hour by hour, ever since his arrival at Sauveterre, M. Folgat’s
+faith in Jacques’s innocence had steadily increased. Old Anthony’s
+tale was not made to shake his growing conviction. He did not admit the
+existence of a plot, however; but he was not disinclined to believe
+in the cunning calculations of some rascal, who, availing himself of
+circumstances known to him alone, tried to let all suspicion fall upon
+M. de Boiscoran, instead of himself.
+
+But there were many more questions to be asked; and Anthony was in such
+a state of feverish excitement, that it was difficult to induce him to
+answer. For it is not so easy to examine a man, however inclined he may
+be to answer. It requires no small self-possession, much care, and an
+imperturbable method, without which the most important facts are apt to
+be overlooked. M. Folgat began, therefore, after a moment’s pause, once
+more, saying,--
+
+“My good Anthony, I cannot praise your conduct in this matter too
+highly. However, we have not done with it yet. But as I have eaten
+nothing since I left Paris last night, and as I hear the bell strike
+twelve o’clock”--
+
+M. de Chandore seemed to be heartily ashamed, and broke in,--
+
+“Ah, forgetful old man that I am! Why did I not think of it? But you
+will pardon me, I am sure. I am so completely upset. Anthony, what can
+you let us have?”
+
+“The housekeeper has eggs, potted fowl, ham”--
+
+“Whatever can be made ready first will be the best,” said the young
+lawyer.
+
+“In a quarter of an hour the table shall be set,” replied the servant.
+
+He hurried away, while M. de Chandore invited M. Folgat into the
+sitting-room. The poor grandfather summoned all his energy to keep up
+appearances.
+
+“This fact about the gun will save him, won’t it?” he asked.
+
+“Perhaps so,” replied the famous advocate.
+
+And they were silent,--the grandfather thinking of the grief of his
+grandchild, and cursing the day on which he had opened his house
+to Jacques, and with him to such heart-rending anguish; the lawyer
+arranging in his mind the facts he had learned, and preparing the
+questions he was going to ask. They were both so fully absorbed by their
+thoughts, that they started when Anthony reappeared, and said,--
+
+“Gentlemen, breakfast is ready!”
+
+The table had been set in the dining-room; and, when the two gentlemen
+had taken their seats, old Anthony placed himself, his napkin over his
+arm, behind them; but M. de Chandore called him, saying,--
+
+“Put another plate, Anthony, and breakfast with us.”
+
+“Oh, sir,” protested the old servant,--“sir”--
+
+“Sit down,” repeated the baron: “if you eat after us, you will make us
+lose time, and an old servant like you is a member of the family.”
+
+Anthony obeyed, quite overcome, but blushing with delight at the honor
+that was done him; for the Baron de Chandore did not usually distinguish
+himself to familiarity. When the ham and eggs of the housekeeper had
+been disposed of, M. Folgat said,--
+
+“Now let us go back to business. Keep cool, my dear Anthony, and
+remember, that, unless we get the court to say that there is no case,
+your answers may become the basis of our defence. What were M. de
+Boiscoran’s habits when he was here?”
+
+“When he was here, sir, he had, so to say, no habits. We came here very
+rarely, and only for a short time.”
+
+“Never mind: what was he doing here?”
+
+“He used to rise late; he walked about a good deal; he sometimes went
+out hunting; he sketched; he read, for master is a great reader, and is
+as fond of his books as the marquis, his father, is of his porcelains.”
+
+“Who came here to see him?”
+
+“M. Galpin most frequently, Dr. Seignebos, the priest from Brechy, M.
+Seneschal, M. Daubigeon.”
+
+“How did he spend his evenings?”
+
+“At M. de Chandore’s, who can tell you all about it.”
+
+“He had no other relatives in this country?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You do not know that he had any lady friend?”
+
+Anthony looked as if he would have blushed.
+
+“Oh, sir!” he said, “you do not know, I presume, that master is engaged
+to Miss Dionysia?”
+
+The Baron de Chandore was not a baby, as he liked to call it. Deeply
+interested as he was, he got up, and said,--
+
+“I want to take a little fresh air.”
+
+And he went out, understanding very well that his being Dionysia’s
+grandfather might keep Anthony from telling the truth.
+
+“That is a sensible man,” thought M. Folgat.
+
+Then he added aloud,--
+
+“Now we are alone, my dear Anthony, you can speak frankly. Did M. de
+Boiscoran keep a mistress?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Did he ever have one?”
+
+“Never. They will tell you, perhaps, that once upon a time he was rather
+pleased with a great, big red-haired woman, the daughter of a miller in
+the neighborhood, and that the gypsy of a woman came more frequently to
+the chateau than was needful,--now on one pretext, and now on another.
+But that was mere childishness. Besides, that was five years ago,
+and the woman has been married these three years to a basket-maker at
+Marennes.”
+
+“You are quite sure of what you say?”
+
+“As sure as I am of myself. And you would be as sure of it yourself, if
+you knew the country as I know it, and the abominable tongues the people
+have. There is no concealing any thing from them. I defy a man to talk
+three times to a woman without their finding it out, and making a story
+of it. I say nothing of Paris”--
+
+M. Folgat listened attentively. He asked,--
+
+“Ah! was there any thing of the kind in Paris?”
+
+Anthony hesitated; at last he said,--
+
+“You see, master’s secrets are not my secrets, and, after the oath I
+have sworn,”--
+
+“It may be, however, that his safety depends upon your frankness in
+telling me all,” said the lawyer. “You may be sure he will not blame you
+for having spoken.”
+
+For several seconds the old servant remained undecided; then he said,--
+
+“Master, they say, has had a great love-affair.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“I do not know when. That was before I entered his service. All I know
+is, that, for the purpose of meeting the person, master had bought at
+Passy, at the end of Vine Street, a beautiful house, in the centre of a
+large garden, which he had furnished magnificently.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“That is a secret, which, of course, neither master’s father nor his
+mother knows to this day; and I only know it, because one day master
+fell down the steps, and dislocated his foot, so that he had to send for
+me to nurse him. He may have bought the house under his own name; but he
+was not known by it there. He passed for an Englishmen, a Mr. Burnett;
+and he had an English maid-servant.”
+
+“And the person?”
+
+“Ah, sir! I not only do not know who she is, but I cannot even guess
+it, she took such extraordinary precautions! Now that I mean to tell you
+every thing, I will confess to you that I had the curiosity to question
+the English maid. She told me that she was no farther than I was, that
+she knew, to be sure, a lady was coming there from time to time; but
+that she had never seen even the end of her nose. Master always arranged
+it so well, that the girl was invariably out on some errand or other
+when the lady came and when she went away. While she was in the house,
+master waited upon her himself. And when they wanted to walk in the
+garden, they sent the servant away, on some fool’s errand, to Versailles
+or to Fontainebleau; and she was mad, I tell you.”
+
+M. Folgat began to twist his mustache, as he was in the habit of doing
+when he was specially interested. For a moment, he thought he saw the
+woman--that inevitable woman who is always at the bottom of every great
+event in man’s life; and just then she vanished from his sight; for
+he tortured his mind in vain to discover a possible if not probable
+connection between the mysterious visitor in Vine Street and the
+events that had happened at Valpinson. He could not see a trace. Rather
+discouraged, he asked once more,--
+
+“After all, my dear Anthony, this great love-affair of your master’s has
+come to an end?”
+
+“It seems so, sir, since Master Jacques was going to marry Miss
+Dionysia.”
+
+That reason was perhaps not quite as conclusive as the good old servant
+imagined; but the young advocate made no remark.
+
+“And when do you think it came to an end?”
+
+“During the war, master and the lady must have been parted; for master
+did not stay in Paris. He commanded a volunteer company; and he was even
+wounded in the head, which procured him the cross.”
+
+“Does he still own the house in Vine Street?”
+
+“I believe so.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because, some time ago, when master and I went to Paris for a week,
+he said to me one day, ‘The War and the commune have cost me dear.
+My cottage has had more than twenty shells, and it has been in turn
+occupied by _Francs-tireurs_, Communists and Regulars. The walls are
+broken; and there is not a piece of furniture uninjured. My architect
+tells me, that all in all, the repairs will cost me some ten thousand
+dollars.’”
+
+“What? Repairs? Then he thought of going back there?”
+
+“At that time, sir, master’s marriage had not been settled. Yet”--
+
+“Still that would go to prove that he had at that time met the
+mysterious lady once more, and that the war had not broken off their
+relations.”
+
+“That may be.”
+
+“And has he never mentioned the lady again?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+At this moment M. de Chandore’s cough was heard in the hall,--that cough
+which men affect when they wish to announce their coming. Immediately
+afterwards he reappeared; and M. Folgat said to him, to show that his
+presence was no longer inconvenient,--
+
+“Upon my word, sir, I was just on the point of going in search of you,
+for fear that you felt really unwell.”
+
+“Thank you,” replied the old gentleman, “the fresh air has done me
+good.”
+
+He sat down; and the young advocate turned again to Anthony, saying,--
+
+“Well, let us go on. How was he the day before the fire?”
+
+“Just as usual.”
+
+“What did he do before he went out?”
+
+“He dined as usual with a good appetite; then he went up stairs and
+remained there for an hour. When he came down, he had a letter in his
+hand, which he gave to Michael, our tenant’s son, and told him to carry
+it to Sauveterre, to Miss Chandore.”
+
+“Yes. In that letter, M. de Boiscoran told Miss Dionysia that he was
+retained here by a matter of great importance.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“Have you any idea what that could have been?”
+
+“Not at all, sir, I assure you.”
+
+“Still let us see. M. de Boiscoran must have had powerful reasons
+to deprive himself of the pleasure of spending the evening with Miss
+Dionysia?”
+
+“Yes, indeed.”
+
+“He must also have had his reasons for taking to the marshes, on his way
+out, instead of going by the turnpike, and for coming back through the
+woods.”
+
+Old Anthony was literally tearing his hair, as he exclaimed,--
+
+“Ah, sir! These are the very words M. Galpin said.”
+
+“Unfortunately every man in his senses will say so.”
+
+“I know, sir: I know it but too well. And Master Jacques himself knew
+it so well that at first he tried to find some pretext; but he has
+never told a falsehood. And he who is such a clever man could not find
+a pretext that had any sense in it. He said he had gone to Brechy to see
+his wood-merchant”--
+
+“And why should he not?”
+
+Anthony shook his head, and said,--
+
+“Because the wood-merchant at Brechy is a thief, and everybody knows
+that master has kicked him out of the house some three years ago. We
+sell all our wood at Sauveterre.”
+
+M. Folgat had taken out a note-book, and wrote down some of Anthony’s
+statements, preparing thus the outline of his defence. This being done,
+he commenced again,--
+
+“Now we come to Cocoleu.”
+
+“Ah the wretch!” cried Anthony.
+
+“You know him?”
+
+“How could I help knowing him, when I lived all my life here at
+Boiscoran in the service of master’s uncle?”
+
+“Then what kind of a man is he?”
+
+“An idiot, sir or, as they here call it, an innocent, who has Saint
+Vitus dance into the bargain, and epilepsy moreover.”
+
+“Then it is perfectly notorious that he is imbecile?”
+
+“Yes, sir, although I have heard people insist that he is not quite
+so stupid as he looks, and that, as they say here, he plays the ass in
+order to get his oats”--
+
+M. de Chandore interrupted him, and said,--
+
+“On this subject Dr. Seignebos can give you all the information you may
+want: he kept Cocoleu for nearly two years at his own house.”
+
+“I mean to see the doctor,” replied M. Folgat. “But first of all we must
+find this unfortunate idiot.”
+
+“You heard what M. Seneschal said: he has put the gendarmes on his
+track.”
+
+Anthony made a face, and said,--
+
+“If the gendarmes should take Cocoleu, Cocoleu must have given himself
+up voluntarily.”
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“Because, gentlemen, there is no one who knows all the by-ways and
+out-of-the-way corners of the country so well as that idiot; for he
+has been hiding all his life like a savage in all the holes and
+hiding-places that are about here; and, as he can live perfectly well on
+roots and berries, he may stay away three months without being seen by
+any one.”
+
+“Is it possible?” exclaimed M. Folgat angrily.
+
+“I know only one man,” continued Anthony, “who could find out Cocoleu,
+and that is our tenant’s son Michael,--the young man you saw down
+stairs.”
+
+“Send for him,” said M. de Chandore.
+
+Michael appeared promptly, and, when he had heard what he was expected
+to do, he replied,--
+
+“The thing can be done, certainly; but it is not very easy. Cocoleu
+has not the sense of a man; but he has all the instincts of a brute.
+However, I’ll try.”
+
+There was nothing to keep either M. de Chandore or M. Folgat any longer
+at Boiscoran; hence, after having warned Anthony to watch the seals
+well, and get a glimpse, if possible, of Jacques’s gun, when the
+officers should come for the different articles, they left the chateau.
+It was five o’clock when they drove into town again. Dionysia was
+waiting for them in the sitting-room. She rose as they entered, looking
+quite pale, with dry, brilliant eyes.
+
+“What? You are alone here!” said M. de Chandore. “Why have they left you
+alone?”
+
+“Don’t be angry, grandpapa. I have just prevailed on the marchioness,
+who was exhausted with fatigue to lie down for an hour or so before
+dinner.”
+
+“And your aunts?”
+
+“They have gone out, grandpapa. They are probably, by this time at M.
+Galpin’s.”
+
+M. Folgat started, and said,--
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“But that is foolish in them!” exclaimed the old gentleman.
+
+The young girl closed his lips by a single word. She said,--
+
+“I asked them to go.”
+
+
+
+V.
+
+Yes, the step taken by the Misses Lavarande was foolish. At the point
+which things had reached now, their going to see M. Galpin was perhaps
+equivalent to furnishing him the means to crush Jacques. But whose fault
+was it, but M. de Chandore’s and M. Folgat’s? Had they not committed an
+unpardonable blunder in leaving Sauveterre without any other precaution
+than to send word through M. Seneschal’s servant, that they would be
+back for dinner, and that they need not be troubled about them?
+
+Not be troubled? And that to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and Dionysia,
+to Jacques’s mother and Jacques’s betrothed.
+
+Certainly, at first, the two wretched women preserved their self-control
+in a manner, trying to set each other an example of courage and
+confidence. But, as hour after hour passed by, their anxiety became
+intolerable; and gradually, as they confided their apprehensions to
+each other, their grief broke out openly. They thought of Jacques being
+innocent, and yet treated like one of the worst criminals, alone in
+the depth of his prison, given up to the most horrible inspirations of
+despair. What could have been his feelings during the twenty-four
+hours which had brought him no news from his friends? Must he not fancy
+himself despised and abandoned.
+
+“That is an intolerable thought!” exclaimed Dionysia at lat. “We must
+get to him at any price.”
+
+“How?” asked the marchioness.
+
+“I do not know; but there must be some way. There are things which I
+would not have ventured upon as long as I was alone; but, with you by my
+side, I can risk any thing. Let us go to the prison.”
+
+The old lady promptly put a shawl around her shoulders, and said,--
+
+“I am ready; let us go.”
+
+They had both heard repeatedly that Jacques was kept in close
+confinement; but neither of them realized fully what that meant. They
+had no idea of this atrocious measure, which is, nevertheless, rendered
+necessary by the peculiar forms of French law-proceedings,--a measure
+which, so to say, immures a man alive, and leaves him in his cell alone
+with the crime with which he is charged, and utterly at the mercy of
+another man, whose duty it is to extort the truth from him. The two
+ladies only saw the want of liberty, a cell with its dismal outfittings,
+the bars at the window, the bolts at the door, the jailer shaking his
+bunch of keys at his belt, and the tramp of the solitary sentinel in the
+long passages.
+
+“They cannot refuse me permission,” said the old lady, “to see my son.”
+
+“They cannot,” repeated Dionysia. “And, besides, I know the jailer,
+Blangin: his wife was formerly in our service.”
+
+When the young girl, therefore, raised the heavy knocker at the
+prison-door, she was full of cheerful confidence. Blangin himself came
+to the door; and, at the sight of the two poor ladies, his broad face
+displayed the utmost astonishment.
+
+“We come to see M. de Boiscoran,” said Dionysia boldly.
+
+“Have you a permit, ladies?” asked the keeper.
+
+“From whom?”
+
+“From M. Galpin.”
+
+“We have no permit.”
+
+“Then I am very sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that you cannot
+possibly see M. de Boiscoran. He is kept in close confinement, and I
+have the strictest orders.”
+
+Dionysia looked threatening, and said sharply,--
+
+“Your orders cannot apply to this lady, who is the Marchioness de
+Boiscoran.”
+
+“My orders apply to everybody, madam.”
+
+“You would not, I am sure, keep a poor, distressed mother from seeing
+her son!”
+
+“Ah! but--madam--it does not rest with me. I? Who am I? Nothing more
+than one of the bolts, drawn or pushed at will.”
+
+For the first time, it entered the poor girl’s head that her effort
+might fail: still she tried once more, with tears in her eyes,--
+
+“But I, my dear M. Blangin, think of me! You would not refuse me? Don’t
+you know who I am? Have you never heard your wife speak of me?”
+
+The jailer was certainly touched. He replied,--
+
+“I know how much my wife and myself are indebted to your kindness,
+madam. But--I have my orders, and you surely would not want me to lose
+my place, madam?”
+
+“If you lose your place, M. Blangin, I, Dionysia de Chandore, promise
+you another place twice as good.”
+
+“Madame!”
+
+“You do not doubt my word, M. Blangin, do you?”
+
+“God forbid, madam! But it is not my place only. If I did what you want
+me to do, I should be severely punished.”
+
+The marchioness judged from the jailer’s tone that Dionysia was not
+likely to prevail over him, and so she said,--
+
+“Don’t insist, my child. Let us go back.”
+
+“What? Without finding out what is going on behind these pitiless walls;
+without knowing even whether Jacques is dead or alive?”
+
+There was evidently a great struggle going on in the jailer’s heart. All
+of a sudden he cast a rapid glance around, and then said, speaking very
+hurriedly,--
+
+“I ought not to tell you--but never mind--I cannot let you go away
+without telling you that M. de Boiscoran is quite well.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“Yesterday, when they brought him here, he was, so to say, overcome. He
+threw himself upon his bed, and he remained there without stirring for
+over two hours. I think he must have been crying.”
+
+A sob, which Dionysia could not suppress, made Blangin start.
+
+“Oh, reassure yourself, madame!” he added quickly. “That state of things
+did not last long. Soon M. de Boiscoran got up, and said, ‘Why, I am a
+fool to despair!’”
+
+“Did you hear him say so?” asked the old lady.
+
+“Not I. It was Trumence who heard it.”
+
+“Trumence?”
+
+“Yes, one of our jail-birds. Oh! he is only a vagabond, not bad at all;
+and he has been ordered to stand guard at the door of M. de Boiscoran’s
+cell, and not for a moment to lose sight of it. It was M. Galpin who had
+that idea, because the prisoners sometimes in their first despair,--a
+misfortune happens so easily,--they become weary of life--Trumence would
+be there to prevent it.”
+
+The old lady trembled with horror. This precautionary measure, more than
+any thing else, gave her the full measure of her son’s situation.
+
+“However,” M. Blangin went on, “there is nothing to fear. M. de
+Boiscoran became quite calm again, and even cheerful, if I may say
+so. When he got up this morning, after having slept all night like a
+dormouse, he sent for me, and asked me for paper, ink, and pen. All the
+prisoners ask for that the second day. I had orders to let him have it,
+and so I gave it to him. When I carried him his breakfast, he handed me
+a letter for Miss Chandore.”
+
+“What?” cried Dionysia, “you have a letter for me, and you don’t give it
+to me?”
+
+“I do not have it now, madam. I had to hand it, as is my duty, to M.
+Galpin, when he came accompanied by his clerk, Mechinet, to examine M.
+de Boiscoran.”
+
+“And what did he say?”
+
+“He opened the letter, read it, put it into his pocket, and said,
+‘Well.’”
+
+Tears of anger this time sprang from Dionysia’s eyes; and she cried,--
+
+“What a shame? This man reads a letter written by Jacques to me! That is
+infamous!”
+
+And, without thinking of thanking Blangin, she drew off the old lady,
+and all the way home did not say a word.
+
+“Ah, poor child, you did not succeed,” exclaimed the two old aunts, when
+they saw their niece come back.
+
+But, when they had heard every thing, they said,--
+
+“Well, we’ll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the day
+before yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of our
+cousin. And we’ll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give us
+back Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take down
+his pride.”
+
+How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies,
+when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to her
+indignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?
+
+“Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts,” she said. “Quick, don’t lose any
+time; go at once!”
+
+Unable to resist her entreaties, they started instantly, without
+listening to the timid objections made by the marchioness. But the good
+ladies were sadly mistaken as to the state of mind of M. Galpin. The
+ex-lover of one of their cousins was not bedded on roses by any means.
+At the beginning of this extraordinary affair he had taken hold of it
+with eagerness, looking upon it as an admirable opportunity, long looked
+for, and likely to open wide the doors to his burning ambition. Then
+having once begun, and the investigation being under way, he had been
+carried away by the current, without having time to reflect. He had even
+felt a kind of unhealthy satisfaction at seeing the evidence increasing,
+until he felt justified and compelled to order his former friend to
+be sent to prison. At that time he was fairly dazzled by the most
+magnificent expectations. This preliminary inquiry, which in a few hours
+already had led to the discovery of a culprit the most unlikely of all
+men in the province, could not fail to establish his superior ability
+and matchless skill.
+
+But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eye
+upon these events. Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt his
+ability, and to ask himself, if he had not, after all, acted rashly.
+If Jacques was guilty, so much the better. He was sure, in that case,
+immediately after the verdict, to obtain brilliant promotion. Yes, but
+if Jacques should be innocent? When that thought occurred to M. Galpin
+for the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones.
+Jacques innocent!--that was his own condemnation, his career ended, his
+hopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever. Jacques innocent!--that
+was certain disgrace. He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where he
+could not remain after such a scandal. He would be banished to some
+out-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion.
+
+In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty. People would
+answer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrant
+blunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; and
+that for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it is
+better, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than to
+punish an innocent one.
+
+With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart of
+an ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns. He
+had been up since six o’clock. At eleven, he had sent for his clerk,
+Mechinet; and they had gone together to the jail to recommence the
+examination. It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner’s
+letter for Dionysia. It was a short note, such as a sensible man would
+write who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecy
+of his correspondence. It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blangin
+had not noticed.
+
+“Dionysia, my darling,” wrote the prisoner, “the thought of the terrible
+grief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow. Need I
+stoop to assure you that I am innocent? I am sure it is not needed. I am
+the victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not but
+mislead justice. But be reassured, be hopeful. When the time comes, I
+shall be able to set matters right.
+
+“JACQUES.”
+
+“Well,” M. Galpin had really said after reading this letter.
+Nevertheless it had stung him to the quick.
+
+“What assurance!” he had said to himself.
+
+Still he had regained courage while ascending the steps of the prison.
+Jacques had evidently not thought it likely that his note would reach
+its destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that he
+had written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love. The
+fact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to this
+presumption.
+
+“After all we shall see,” said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlocking
+the door.
+
+But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau at
+Boiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thing
+out of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or said
+that he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home more
+troubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, if
+he could have retraced his steps!
+
+But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himself
+to go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it was
+henceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;
+that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It must
+be. It was a question of life or death for him.
+
+He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called at
+his house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instant
+his over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. What
+could the two old ladies want of him?
+
+“Show them in,” he said at last.
+
+They came in, and haughtily declined the chairs that were offered.
+
+“I hardly expected to have the honor of a visit from you, ladies,” he
+commenced.
+
+The older of the two, Miss Adelaide, cut him short, saying,--
+
+“I suppose not, after what has passed.”
+
+And thereupon, speaking with all the eloquence of a pious woman who
+is trying to wither an impious man, she poured upon him a stream of
+reproaches for what she called his infamous treachery. What? How could
+he appear against Jacques, who was his friend, and who had actually
+aided him in obtaining the promise of a great match. By that one hope
+he had become, so to say, a member of the family. Did he not know that
+among kinsmen it was a sacred duty to set aside all personal feelings
+for the purpose of protecting that sacred patrimony called family honor?
+
+M. Galpin felt like a man upon whom a handful of stones falls from the
+fifth story of a house. Still he preserved his self-control, and even
+asked himself what advantage he might obtain from this extraordinary
+scene. Might it open a door for reconciliation?
+
+As soon, therefore, as Miss Adelaide stopped, he began justifying
+himself, painting in hypocritical colors the grief it had given him,
+swearing that he was able to control the events, and that Jacques was as
+dear to him now as ever.
+
+“If he is so dear to you,” broke in Miss Adelaide, “why don’t you set
+him free?”
+
+“Ah! how can I?”
+
+“At least give his family and his friends leave to see him.”
+
+“The law will not let me. If he is innocent, he has only to prove it. If
+he is guilty, he must confess. In the first case, he will be set free;
+in the other case, he can see whom he wishes.”
+
+“If he is so dear to you, how could you dare read the letter he had
+written to Dionysia?”
+
+“It is one of the most painful duties of my profession to do so.”
+
+“Ah! And does that profession also prevent you from giving us that
+letter after having read it?”
+
+“Yes. But I may tell you what is in it.”
+
+He took it out of a drawer, and the younger of the two sisters, Miss
+Elizabeth, copied it in pencil. Then they withdrew, almost without
+saying good-by.
+
+M. Galpin was furious. He exclaimed,--
+
+“Ah, old witches! I see clearly you do not believe in Jacques’s
+innocence. Why else should his family be so very anxious to see him? No
+doubt they want to enable him to escape by suicide the punishment of his
+crime. But, by the great God, that shall not be, if I can help it!”
+
+M. Folgat was, as we have seen, excessively annoyed at this step taken
+by the Misses Lavarande; but he did not let it be seen. It was very
+necessary that he at least should retain perfect presence of mind and
+calmness in this cruelly tried family. M. de Chandore, on the other
+hand, could not conceal his dissatisfaction so well; and, in spite of
+his deference to his grandchild’s wishes, he said,--
+
+“I am sure, my dear child, I don’t wish to blame you. But you know your
+aunts, and you know, also, how uncompromising they are. They are quite
+capable of exasperating M. Galpin.”
+
+“What does it matter?” asked the young girl haughtily. “Circumspection
+is all very well for guilty people; but Jacques is innocent.”
+
+“Miss Chandore is right,” said M. Folgat, who seemed to succumb to
+Dionysia like the rest of the family. “Whatever the ladies may have
+done, they cannot make matters worse. M. Galpin will be none the less
+our bitter enemy.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore started. He said,--
+
+“But”--
+
+“Oh! I do not blame him,” broke in the young lawyer; “but I blame
+the laws which make him act as he does. How can a magistrate remain
+perfectly impartial in certain very important cases, like this one, when
+his whole future career depends upon his success? A man may be a most
+upright magistrate, incapable of unfairness, and conscientious in
+fulfilling all his duties, and yet he is but a man. He has his interest
+at stake. He does not like the court to find that that there is no case.
+The great rewards are not always given to the lawyer who has taken most
+pains to find out the truth.”
+
+“But M. Galpin was a friend of ours, sir.”
+
+“Yes; and that is what makes me fear. What will be his fate on the day
+when M. Jacques’s innocence is established?”
+
+They were just coming home, quite proud of their achievement, and waving
+in triumph the copy of Jacques’s letter. Dionysia seized upon it; and,
+while she read it aside, Miss Adelaide described the interview, stating
+how haughty and disdainful she had been, and how humble and repentant M.
+Galpin had seemed to be.
+
+“He was completely undone,” said the two old ladies with one voice: “he
+was crushed, annihilated.”
+
+“Yes, you have done a nice thing,” growled the old baron; “and you have
+much reason to boast, forsooth.”
+
+“My aunts have done well,” declared Dionysia. “Just see what Jacques
+has written! It is clear and precise. What can we fear when he says, ‘Be
+reassured: when the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right’?”
+
+M. Folgat took the letter, read it, and shook his head. Then he said,--
+
+“There was no need of this letter to confirm my opinion. At the bottom
+of this affair there is a secret which none of us have found out yet.
+But M. de Boiscoran acts very rashly in playing in this way with a
+criminal prosecution. Why did he not explain at once? What was easy
+yesterday may be less easy to-morrow, and perhaps impossible in a week.”
+
+“Jacques, sir, is a superior man,” cried Dionysia, “and whatever he says
+is perfectly sure to be the right thing.”
+
+His mother’s entrance prevented the young lawyer from making any reply.
+Two hours’ rest had restored to the old lady a part of her energy, and
+her usual presence of mind; and she now asked that a telegram should be
+sent to her husband.
+
+“It is the least we can do,” said M. de Chandore in an undertone,
+“although it will be useless, I dare say. Boiscoran does not care that
+much for his son. Pshaw! Ah! if it was a rare _faience_, or a plate that
+is wanting in his collection, then would it be a very different story.”
+
+Still the despatch was drawn up and sent, at the very moment when a
+servant came in, and announced that dinner was ready. The meal was less
+sad than they had anticipated. Everybody, to be sure, felt a heaviness
+at heart as he thought that at the same hour a jailer probably brought
+Jacques his meal to his cell; nor could Dionysia keep from dropping a
+tear when she saw M. Folgat sitting in her lover’s place. But no one,
+except the young advocate, thought that Jacques was in real danger.
+
+M. Seneschal, however, who came in just as coffee was handed round,
+evidently shared M. Folgat’s apprehensions. The good mayor came to hear
+the news, and to tell his friends how he had spent the day. The funeral
+of the firemen had passed off quietly, although amid deep emotion. No
+disturbance had taken place, as was feared; and Dr. Seignebos had not
+spoken at the graveyard. Both a disturbance and a row would have been
+badly received, said M. Seneschal; for he was sorry to say, the immense
+majority of the people of Sauveterre did not doubt M. de Boiscoran’s
+guilt. In several groups he had heard people say, “And still you will
+see they will not condemn him. A poor devil who should commit such a
+horrible crime would be hanged sure enough; but the son of the Marquis
+de Boiscoran--you will see, he’ll come out of it as white as snow.”
+
+The rolling of a carriage, which stopped at the door, fortunately
+interrupted him at this point.
+
+“Who can that be?” asked Dionysia, half frightened.
+
+They heard in the passage the noise of steps and voices, something like
+a scuffle; and almost instantly the tenant’s son Michael pushed open the
+door of the sitting-room, crying out,--
+
+“I have gotten him! Here he is!”
+
+And with these words he pushed in Cocoleu, all struggling, and looking
+around him, like a wild beast caught in a trap.
+
+“Upon my word, my good fellow,” said M. Seneschal, “you have done better
+than the gendarmes!”
+
+The manner in which Michael winked with his eye showed that he had not a
+very exalted opinion of the cleverness of the gendarmes.
+
+“I promised the baron,” he said, “I would get hold of Cocoleu somehow or
+other. I knew that at certain times he went and buried himself, like the
+wild beast that he is, in a hole which he has scratched under a rock in
+the densest part of the forest of Rochepommier. I had discovered this
+den of his one day by accident; for a man might pass by a hundred times,
+and never dream of where it was. But, as soon as the baron told me that
+the innocent had disappeared, I said to myself, ‘I am sure he is in his
+hole: let us go and see.’ So I gathered up my legs; I ran down to the
+rocks: and there was Cocoleu. But it was not so easy to pull him out of
+his den. He would not come; and, while defending himself, he bit me in
+the hand, like the mad dog that he is.”
+
+And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece of
+linen.
+
+“It was pretty hard work to get the madman here. I was compelled to tie
+him hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father’s house. There
+we put him into the little carriage, and here he is. Just look at the
+pretty fellow!”
+
+He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over with
+red marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutish
+glances.
+
+“Why would you not come?” asked M. Seneschal.
+
+The idiot looked as if he did not hear.
+
+“Why did you bite Michael?” continued the mayor.
+
+Cocoleu made no reply.
+
+“Do you know that M. de Boiscoran is in prison because of what you have
+said?”
+
+Still no reply.
+
+“Ah!” said Michael, “it is of no use to question him. You might beat him
+till to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word.”
+
+“I am--I am hungry,” stammered Cocoleu.
+
+M. Folgat looked indignant.
+
+“And to think,” he said, “that, upon the testimony of such a thing, a
+capital charge has been made!”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed. He said,--
+
+“But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?”
+
+“I am going to take him,” said M. Seneschal, “to the hospital. I will
+go with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealth
+attorney.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd stories
+which his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded. But he had,
+at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he called
+it, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views,
+the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. He
+would, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues were
+amazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say so
+in his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diploma
+which gives him the right over life and death, that man became in his
+eyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, he
+thought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hence
+his obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of his
+contradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the
+“gentlemen of the law” to leave the room in which _his_ patient was
+lying.
+
+“For these devils,” he said, “would kill one man in order to get the
+means of cutting off another man’s head.”
+
+And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to work
+once more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain the
+lead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o’clock the
+work was done.
+
+“Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out,” he said modestly, “but,
+if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to wait
+for certain symptoms which will tell me where they are.”
+
+As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His first
+excitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to be
+insensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;
+and, considering the count’s constitution, it was easily to be foreseen
+that delirium would set in before the day was out.
+
+“Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger,” said the doctor to
+the countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms,
+so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to let
+no one approach her husband’s bed, and M. Galpin least of all.
+
+This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment a
+peasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the door
+who wished to see the count.
+
+“Show him in,” said the doctor; “I’ll speak to him.”
+
+It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up his
+place, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officer
+of justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was also
+the agent of a fire insurance company. It was in this capacity that he
+presumed, as he told the countess, to present himself in person. He had
+been informed that the farm buildings at Valpinson, which were insured
+in his company, had been destroyed by fire; that they had been purposely
+set on fire by M. de Boiscoran; and that he wished to confer with
+Count Claudieuse on the subject. Far from him, he added, to decline the
+responsibility of his company: he only wished to establish the facts
+which would enable him to fall back upon M. de Boiscoran, who was a man
+of fortune, and would certainly be condemned to make compensation
+for the injury done. For this purpose, certain formalities had to
+be attended to; and he had come to arrange with Count Claudieuse the
+necessary measures.
+
+“And I,” said Dr. Seignebos,--“I request you to take to your heels.” He
+added with a thundering voice,--
+
+“I think you are very bold to dare to speak in that way of M. de
+Boiscoran.”
+
+M. Tetard disappeared without saying another word; and the doctor,
+very much excited by this scene, turned to the youngest daughter of the
+countess, the one with whom she was sitting up when the fire broke out,
+and who was now decidedly better: after that nothing could keep him at
+Valpinson. He carefully pocketed the pieces of lead which he had taken
+from the count’s wounds, and then, drawing the countess out to the door,
+he said,--
+
+“Before I go away, madam, I should like to know what you think of these
+events.”
+
+The poor lady, who looked as pale as death itself, could hardly hold up
+any longer. There seemed to be nothing alive in her but her eyes, which
+were lighted up with unusual brilliancy.
+
+“Ah! I do not know, sir,” she replied in a feeble voice. “How can I
+collect my thoughts after such terrible shocks?”
+
+“Still you questioned Cocoleu.”
+
+“Who would not have done so, when the truth was at stake?”
+
+“And you were not surprised at the name he mentioned?”
+
+“You must have seen, sir.”
+
+“I saw; and that is exactly why I ask you, and why I want to know what
+you really think of the state of mind of the poor creature.”
+
+“Don’t you know that he is idiotic?”
+
+“I know; and that is why I was so surprised to see you insist upon
+making him talk. Do you really think, that, in spite of his habitual
+imbecility, he may have glimpses of sense?”
+
+“He had, a few moments before, saved my children from death.”
+
+“That proves his devotion for you.”
+
+“He is very much attached to me indeed, just like a poor animal that I
+might have picked up and cared for.”
+
+“Perhaps so. And still he showed more than mere animal instinct.”
+
+“That may well be so. I have more than once noticed flashes of
+intelligence in Cocoleu.”
+
+The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.
+
+“It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did not
+enlighten him when he saw M. de Boiscoran make a fire and get ready to
+murder Count Claudieuse.”
+
+The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint.
+
+“But it is exactly to his excitement at the sight of the flames, and at
+hearing the shots fired, that I ascribe Cocoleu’s return to reason.”
+
+“May be,” said the doctor, “may be.”
+
+Then putting on his spectacles again, he added,--
+
+“That is a question to be decided by the professional men who will have
+to examine the poor imbecile creature.”
+
+“What! Is he going to be examined?”
+
+“Yes, and very thoroughly, madam, I tell you. And now I have the honor
+of wishing you good-bye. However, I shall come back to-night, unless
+you should succeed during the day in finding lodgings in Sauveterre,--an
+arrangement which would be very desirable for myself, in the first
+place, and not less so for your husband and your daughter. They are not
+comfortable in this cottage.”
+
+Thereupon he lifted his hat, returned to town, and immediately asked
+M. Seneschal in the most imperious manner to have Cocoleu arrested.
+Unfortunately the gendarmes had been unsuccessful; and Dr. Seignebos,
+who saw how unfortunate all this was for Jacques, began to get terribly
+impatient, when on Saturday night, towards ten o’clock, M. Seneschal
+came in, and said,--
+
+“Cocoleu is found.”
+
+The doctor jumped up, and in a moment his hat on his head, and stick in
+hand, asked,--
+
+“Where is he?”
+
+“At the hospital. I have seen him myself put into a separate room.”
+
+“I am going there.”
+
+“What, at this hour?”
+
+“Am I not one of the hospital physicians? And is it not open to me by
+night and by day?”
+
+“The sisters will be in bed.”
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders furiously; then he said,--
+
+“To be sure, it would be a sacrilege to break the slumbers of these good
+sisters, these dear sisters, as you say. Ah, my dear mayor! When shall
+we have laymen for our hospitals? And when will you put good stout
+nurses in the place of these holy damsels?”
+
+M. Seneschal had too often discussed that subject with the doctor, to
+open it anew. He kept silent, and that was wise; for Dr. Seignebos sat
+down, saying,--
+
+“Well, I must wait till to-morrow.”
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+“The hospital in Sauveterre,” says the guide book, “is, in spite of
+its limited size, one of the best institutions of the kind in the
+department. The chapel and the new additions were built at the expense
+of the Countess de Maupaison, the widow of one of the ministers of Louis
+Philippe.”
+
+But what the guide book does not say is, that the hospital was endowed
+with three free beds for pregnant women, by Mrs. Seneschal, or that the
+two wings on both sides of the great entrance-gate have also been built
+by her liberality. One of these wings, the one on the right, is used
+by the janitor, a fine-looking old man, who formerly was beadle at the
+cathedral, and who loves to think of the happy days when he added to the
+splendor of the church by his magnificent presence, his red uniform, his
+gold bandelaire, his halbert, and his gold-headed cane.
+
+This janitor was, on Sunday morning, a little before eight o’clock,
+smoking his pipe in the yard, when he saw Dr. Seignebos coming in. The
+doctor was walking faster than usual, his hat over his face, and his
+hands thrust deep into his pockets, evident signs of a storm. Instead of
+coming, as he did every day before making the rounds, into the office
+of the sister-druggist, he went straight up to the room of the lady
+superior. There, after the usual salutations, he said,--
+
+“They have no doubt brought you, my sister, last night, a patient, an
+idiot, called Cocoleu?”
+
+“Yes, doctor.”
+
+“Where has he been put?”
+
+“The mayor saw him himself put into the little room opposite the linen
+room.”
+
+“And how did he behave?”
+
+“Perfectly well: the sister who kept the watch did not hear him stir.”
+
+“Thanks, my sister!” said Dr. Seignebos.
+
+He was already in the door, when the lady superior recalled him.
+
+“Are you going to see the poor man, doctor?” she asked.
+
+“Yes, my sister; why?”
+
+“Because you cannot see him.”
+
+“I cannot?”
+
+“No. The commonwealth attorney has sent us orders not to let any one,
+except the sister who nurses him, come near Cocoleu,--no one, doctor,
+not even the physician, a case of urgency, of course, excepted.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos smiled ironically. Then he said, laughing scornfully,--
+
+“Ah, these are your orders, are they? Well, I tell you that I do not
+mind them in the least. Who can prevent me from seeing my patient?
+Tell me that! Let the commonwealth attorney give his orders in his
+court-house as much as he chooses: that is all right. But in my
+hospital! My sister, I am going to Cocoleu’s room.”
+
+“Doctor, you cannot go there. There is a gendarme at the door.”
+
+“A gendarme?”
+
+“Yes, he came this morning with the strictest orders.”
+
+For a moment the doctor was overcome. Then he suddenly broke out with
+unusual violence, and a voice that made the windows shake,--
+
+“This is unheard of! This is an abominable abuse of power! I’ll have my
+rights, and justice shall be done me, if I have to go to Thiers!”
+
+Then he rushed out without ceremony, crossed the yard, and disappeared
+like an arrow, in the direction of the court-house. At that very moment
+M. Daubigeon was getting up, feeling badly because he had had a bad,
+sleepless night, thanks to this unfortunate affair of M. de Boiscoran,
+which troubled him sorely; for he was almost of M. Galpin’s opinion. In
+vain he recalled Jacques’s noble character, his well-known uprightness,
+his keen sense of honor, the evidence was so strong, so overwhelming!
+He wanted to doubt; but experience told him that a man’s past is
+no guarantee for his future. And, besides, like many great criminal
+lawyers, he thought, what he would never have ventured to say openly,
+that some great criminals act while they are under the influence of a
+kind of vertigo, and that this explains the stupidity of certain crimes
+committed by men of superior intelligence.
+
+Since his return from Boiscoran, he had kept close in his house; and he
+had just made up his mind not to leave the house that day, when some one
+rang his bell furiously. A moment later Dr. Seignebos fell into the room
+like a bombshell.
+
+“I know what brings you, doctor,” said M. Daubigeon. “You come about
+that order I have given concerning Cocoleu.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, sir! That order is an insult.”
+
+“I have been asked to give it as a matter of necessity, by M. Galpin.”
+
+“And why did you not refuse? You alone are responsible for it in my
+eyes. You are commonwealth attorney, consequently the head of the bar,
+and superior to M. Galpin.”
+
+M. Daubigeon shook his head and said,--
+
+“There you are mistaken, doctor. The magistrate in such a case is
+independent of myself and of the court. He is not even bound to obey the
+attorney-general, who can make suggestions to him, but cannot give him
+orders. M. Galpin, in his capacity as examining magistrate, has his
+independent jurisdiction, and is armed with almost unlimited power. No
+one in the world can say so well as an examining magistrate what the
+poet calls,--
+
+“‘Such is my will, such are my orders, and my will is sufficient.’
+
+“‘Hoc volo, hoc jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas.’”
+
+For once Dr. Seignebos seemed to be convinced by M. Daubigeon’s words.
+He said,--
+
+“Then, M. Galpin has even the right to deprive a sick man of his
+physician’s assistance.”
+
+“If he assumes the responsibility, yes. But he does not mean to go so
+far. He was, on the contrary, about to ask you, although it is Sunday,
+to come and be present at a second examination of Cocoleu. I am
+surprised that you have not received his note, and that you did not meet
+him at the hospital.”
+
+“Well, I am going at once.”
+
+And he went back hurriedly, and was glad he had done so; for at the door
+of the hospital he came face to face against M. Galpin, who was just
+coming in, accompanied by his faithful clerk, Mechinet.
+
+“You came just in time, doctor,” began the magistrate, with his usual
+solemnity.
+
+But, short and rapid as the doctor’s walk had been, it had given
+him time to reflect, and to grow cool. Instead of breaking out into
+recriminations, he replied in a tone of mock politeness,--
+
+“Yes, I know. It is that poor devil to whom you have given a gendarme
+for a nurse. Let us go up: I am at your service.”
+
+The room in which Cocoleu had been put was large, whitewashed, and
+empty, except that a bed, a table and two chairs, stood about. The bed
+was no doubt a good one; but the idiot had taken off the mattress and
+the blankets, and lain down in his clothes on the straw bed. Thus the
+magistrate and the physician found him as they entered. He rose at their
+appearance; but, when he saw the gendarme, he uttered a cry, and tried
+to hide under the bed. M. Galpin ordered the gendarme to pull him out
+again. Then he walked up to him, and said,--
+
+“Don’t be afraid, Cocoleu. We want to do you no harm; only you must
+answer our questions. Do you recollect what happened the other night at
+Valpinson?”
+
+Cocoleu laughed,--the laugh of an idiot,--but he made no reply. And
+then, for a whole hour, begging, threatening, and promising by turns,
+the magistrate tried in vain to obtain one word from him. Not even
+the name of the Countess Claudieuse had the slightest effect. At last,
+utterly out of patience, he said,--
+
+“Let us go. The wretch is worse than a brute.”
+
+“Was he any better,” asked the doctor, “when he denounced M. de
+Boiscoran?”
+
+But the magistrate pretended not to hear; and, when they were about to
+leave the room, he said to the doctor,--
+
+“You know that I expect your report, doctor?”
+
+“In forty-eight hours I shall have the honor to hand it to you,” replied
+the latter.
+
+But as he went off, he said half aloud,--
+
+“And that report is going to give you some trouble, my good man.”
+
+The report was ready then, and his reason for not giving it in, was
+that he thought, the longer he could delay it, the more chance he would
+probably have to defeat the plan of the prosecution.
+
+“As I mean to keep it two days longer,” he thought on his way home, “why
+should I not show it to this Paris lawyer who has come down with the
+marchioness? Nothing can prevent me, as far as I see, since that poor
+Galpin, in his utter confusion, has forgotten to put me under oath.”
+
+But he paused. According to the laws of medical jurisprudence, had he
+the right, or not, to communicate a paper belonging to the case to the
+counsel of the accused? This question troubled him; for, although
+he boasted that he did not believe in God, he believed firmly in
+professional duty, and would have allowed himself to be cut in pieces
+rather than break its laws.
+
+“But I have clearly the right to do so,” he growled. “I can only be
+bound by my oath. The authorities are clear on that subject. I have in
+my favor the decisions of the Court of Appeals of 27 November, and 27
+December, 1828; those of the 13th June, 1835; of the 3d May, 1844; of
+the 26th June, 1866.”
+
+The result of this mediation was, that, as soon as he had breakfasted,
+he put his report in his pocket, and went by side streets to M. de
+Chandore’s house. The marchioness and the two aunts were still at
+church, where they had thought it best to show themselves; and there was
+no one in the sitting-room but Dionysia, the old baron, and M. Folgat.
+The old gentleman was very much surprised to see the doctor. The latter
+was his family physician, it is true; but, except in cases of sickness,
+the two never saw each other, their political opinions were so very
+different.
+
+“If you see me here,” said the physician, still in the door, “it is
+simply because, upon my honor and my conscience, I believe M. Boiscoran
+is innocent.”
+
+Dionysia would have liked to embrace the doctor for these words of his;
+and with the greatest eagerness she pushed a large easy-chair towards
+him, and said in her sweetest voice,--
+
+“Pray sit down, my dear doctor.”
+
+“Thanks,” he answered bruskly. “I am very much obliged to you.” Then
+turning to M. Folgat, he said, according to his odd notion,--
+
+“I am convinced that M. Boiscoran is the victim of his republican
+opinions which he has so boldly professed; for, baron, your future
+son-in-law is a republican.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore did not move. If they had come and told him Jacques
+had been a member of the Commune, he would not have been any more moved.
+Dionysia loved Jacques. That was enough for him.
+
+“Well,” the doctor went on, “I am a Radical, I, M.”--
+
+“Folgat,” supplied the young lawyer.
+
+“Yes, M. Folgat, I am a Radical; and it is my duty to defend a man whose
+political opinions so closely resemble mine. I come, therefore, to show
+you my medical report, if you can make any use of it in your defence of
+M. Boiscoran, or suggest to me any ideas.”
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed the young man. “That is a very valuable service.”
+
+“But let us understand each other,” said the physician earnestly. “If I
+speak of listening to your suggestions, I take it for granted that they
+are based upon facts. If I had a son, and he was to die on the scaffold
+I would not use the slightest falsehood to save him.”
+
+He had, meanwhile, drawn the report from a pocket in his long coat, and
+now put in on the table with these words,--
+
+“I shall call for it again to-morrow morning. In the meantime you can
+think it over. I should like, however, to point out to you the main
+point, the culminating point, if I may say so.”
+
+At all events he was “saying so” with much hesitation, and looking
+fixedly at Dionysia as if to make her understand that he would like her
+to leave the room. Seeing that she did not take the hint, he added,--
+
+“A medical and legal discussion would hardly interest the young lady.”
+
+“Why, sir, why, should I not be deeply, passionately, interested in any
+thing that regards the man who is to be my husband?”
+
+“Because ladies are generally very sensational,” said the doctor
+uncivilly, “very sensitive.”
+
+“Don’t think so, doctor. For Jacques’s sake, I promise you I will show
+you quite masculine energy.”
+
+The doctor knew Dionysia well enough to see that she did not mean to go:
+so he growled,--
+
+“As you like it.”
+
+Then, turning again to M. Folgat, he said,--
+
+“You know there were two shots fired at Count Claudieuse. One, which hit
+him in the side, nearly missed him; the other, which struck his shoulder
+and his neck, hit well.”
+
+“I know,” said the advocate.
+
+“The difference in the effect shows that the two shots were fired from
+different distances, the second much nearer than the first.”
+
+“I know, I know!”
+
+“Excuse me. If I refer to these details, it is because they are
+important. When I was sent for in the middle of the night to come and
+see Count Claudieuse, I at once set to work extracting the particles
+of lead that had lodged in his flesh. While I was thus busy, M. Galpin
+arrived. I expected he would ask me to show him the shot: but no, he did
+not think of it; he was too full of his own ideas. He thought only of
+the culprit, of _his_ culprit. I did not recall to him the A B C of his
+profession: that was none of my business. The physician has to obey the
+directions of justice, but not to anticipate them.”
+
+“Well, then?”
+
+“Then M. Galpin went off to Boiscoran, and I completed my work. I have
+extracted fifty-seven shot from the count’s wound in the side, and a
+hundred and nine from the wound on the shoulder and the neck; and, when
+I had done that, do you know what I found out?”
+
+He paused, waiting to see the effect of his words; and, when everybody’s
+attention seemed to him fully roused, he went on,--
+
+“I found out that the shot in the two wounds was not alike.”
+
+M. de Chandore and M. Folgat exclaimed at one time,--
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“The shot that was first fired,” continued Dr. Seignebos, “and which
+has touched the side, is the very smallest sized ‘dust.’ That in the
+shoulder, on the other hand, is quite large sized, such as I think is
+used in shooting hares. However, I have some samples.”
+
+And with these words, he opened a piece of white paper, in which were
+ten or twelve pieces of lead, stained with coagulated blood, and showing
+at once a considerable difference in size. M. Folgat looked puzzled.
+
+“Could there have been two murderers?” he asked half aloud.
+
+“I rather think,” said M. de Chandore, “that the murderer had, like
+many sportsmen, one barrel ready for birds, and another for hares or
+rabbits.”
+
+“At all events, this fact puts all premeditation out of question. A man
+does not load his gun with small-shot in order to commit murder.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos thought he had said enough about it, and was rising to
+take leave, when M. de Chandore asked him how Count Claudieuse was
+doing.
+
+“He is not doing well,” replied the doctor. “The removal, in spite of
+all possible precautions, has worn him out completely; for he is here in
+Sauveterre since yesterday, in a house which M. Seneschal has rented for
+him provisionally. He has been delirious all night through; and, when I
+came to see him this morning, I do not think he knew me.”
+
+“And the countess?” asked Dionysia.
+
+“The countess, madam, is quite as sick as her husband, and, if she had
+listened to me, she would have gone to bed, too. But she is a woman
+of uncommon energy, who derives from her affection for her husband an
+almost incomprehensible power of resistance. As to Cocoleu,” he added,
+standing already near the door, “an examination of his mental condition
+might produce results which no one seems to expect now. But we will talk
+of that hereafter. And now, I must bid you all good-by.”
+
+“Well?” asked Dionysia and M. de Chandore, as soon as they had heard the
+street door close behind Dr. Seignebos.
+
+But M. Folgat’s enthusiasm had cooled off very rapidly.
+
+“Before giving an opinion,” he said cautiously, “I must study the report
+of this estimable doctor.”
+
+Unfortunately, the report contained nothing that the doctor had not
+mentioned. In vain did the young advocate try all the afternoon to
+find something in it that might be useful for the defence. There were
+arguments in it, to be sure, which might be very valuable when the trial
+should come on, but nothing that could be used to make the prosecution
+give up the case.
+
+The whole house was, therefore, cruelly disappointed and dejected, when,
+about five o’clock, old Anthony came in from Boiscoran. He looked very
+sad, and said,--
+
+“I have been relieved of my duties. At two o’clock M. Galpin came
+to take off the seals. He was accompanied by his clerk Mechinet, and
+brought Master Jacques with him, who was guarded by two gendarmes in
+citizen’s clothes. When the room was opened, that unlucky man Galpin
+asked Master Jacques if those were the clothes which he wore the night
+of the fire, his boots, his gun, and the water in which he washed his
+hands. When he had acknowledged every thing, the water was carefully
+poured into a bottle, which they sealed, and handed to one of the
+gendarmes. Then they put master’s clothes in a large trunk, his gun,
+several parcels of cartridge, and some other articles, which the
+magistrate said were needed for the trial. That trunk was sealed like
+the bottle, and put on the carriage; then that man Galpin went off, and
+told me that I was free.”
+
+“And Jacques,” Dionysia asked eagerly,--“how did he look?”
+
+“Master, madam, laughed contemptuously.”
+
+“Did you speak to him?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+“Oh, no, sir! M. Galpin would not allow me.”
+
+“And did you have time to look at the gun?”
+
+“I could but just glance at the lock.”
+
+“And what did you see?”
+
+The brow of the old servant grew still darker, as he replied sadly,--
+
+“I saw that I had done well to keep silent. The lock is black. Master
+must have used his gun since I cleaned it.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore and M. Folgat exchanged looks of distress. One more
+hope was lost.
+
+“Now,” said the young lawyer, “tell me how M. de Boiscoran usually
+charged his gun.”
+
+“He used cartridges, sir, of course. They sent him, I think, two
+thousand with the gun,--some for balls, some with large shot, and others
+with shot of every size. At this season, when hunting is prohibited,
+master could shoot nothing but rabbits, or those little birds, you know,
+which come to our marshes: so he always loaded one barrel with tolerably
+large shot, and the other with small-shot.”
+
+But he stopped suddenly, shocked at the impression which his statement
+seemed to produce. Dionysia cried,--
+
+“That is terrible! Every thing is against us!”
+
+M. Folgat did not give her time to say any more. He asked,--
+
+“My dear Anthony, did M. Galpin take all of your master’s cartridges
+away with him?”
+
+“Oh, no! certainly not.”
+
+“Well, you must instantly go back to Boiscoran, and bring me three or
+four cartridges of every number of shot.”
+
+“All right,” said the old man. “I’ll be back in a short time.”
+
+He started immediately; and, thanks to his great promptness, he
+reappeared at seven o’clock, at the moment when the family got up from
+dinner, and put a large package of cartridges on the table.
+
+M. de Chandore and M. Folgat had quickly opened some of them; and,
+after a few failures, they found two numbers of shot which seemed to
+correspond exactly to the samples left them by the doctor.
+
+“There is an incomprehensible fatality in all this,” said the old
+gentleman in an undertone.
+
+The young lawyer, also, looked discouraged.
+
+“It is madness,” he said, “to try to establish M. de Boiscoran’s
+innocence without having first communicated with him.”
+
+“And if you could do so to-morrow?” asked Dionysia.
+
+“Then, madam, he might give us the key to this mystery, which we are in
+vain trying to solve; or, at least, he might tell us the way to find it
+all out. But that is not to be thought of. M. de Boiscoran is held in
+close confinement, and you may rest assured M. Galpin will see to it
+that no communication is held with his prisoner.”
+
+“Who knows?” said the young girl.
+
+And immediately she drew M. de Chandore aside into one of the little
+card-rooms adjoining the parlor, and asked him,--
+
+“Grandpapa, am I rich?”
+
+Never in her life had she thought of that, and she was to a certain
+extent utterly ignorant of the value of money.
+
+“Yes, you are rich, my child,” replied the old gentleman.
+
+“How much do I have?”
+
+“You have in your own right, as coming to you from your poor father and
+from your mother, twenty-five thousand francs a year, or a capital of
+about five hundred and fifty thousand francs.”
+
+“And is that a good deal?”
+
+“It is so much, that you are one of the richest heiresses of the
+district; but you have, besides, considerable expectations.”
+
+Dionysia was so preoccupied, that she did not even protest. She went on
+asking,--
+
+“What do they call here to be well off?”
+
+“That depends, my child. If you will tell me”--
+
+She interrupted him, putting down her foot impatiently, saying,--
+
+“Nothing. Please answer me!”
+
+“Well, in our little town, an income of eight hundred or a thousand
+francs makes anybody very well off.”
+
+“Let us say a thousand.”
+
+“Well, a thousand would make a man very comfortable.”
+
+“And what capital would produce such an income?”
+
+“At five per cent, it would take twenty thousand francs.”
+
+“That is to say, about the income of a year.”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“Never mind. I presume that is quite a large sum, and it would be rather
+difficult for you, grandpapa, to get it together by to-morrow morning?”
+
+“Not at all. I have that much in railway coupon-bonds; and they are just
+as good as current money.”
+
+“Ah! Do you mean to say, that, if I gave anybody twenty thousand francs
+in such bonds, it would be just the same to him as if I gave him twenty
+thousand francs in bank-notes?”
+
+“Just so.”
+
+Dionysia smiled. She thought she saw light. Then she went on,--
+
+“If that is so, I must beg you, grandpapa, to give me twenty thousand
+francs in coupon-bonds.”
+
+The old gentleman started.
+
+“You are joking,” he said. “What do you want with so much money? You are
+surely joking.”
+
+“Not at all. I have never in my life been more serious,” replied the
+young girl in a tone of voice which could not be mistaken. “I beseech
+you, grandpapa, if you love me, give me these twenty thousand francs
+this evening, right now. You hesitate? O God! You may kill me if you
+refuse.”
+
+No, M. de Chandore was hesitating no longer.
+
+“Since you will have it so,” he said, “I am going up stairs to get it.”
+
+She clapped her hands with joy.
+
+“That’s it,” she said. “Make haste and dress; for I have to go out, and
+you must go with me.”
+
+Then going up to her aunts and the marchioness, she said to them,--
+
+“I hope you will excuse me, if I leave you; but I must go out.”
+
+“At this hour?” cried Aunt Elizabeth. “Where are you going?”
+
+“To my dressmakers, the Misses Mechinet. I want a dress.”
+
+“Great God!” cried Aunt Adelaide, “the child is losing her mind!”
+
+“I assure you I am not, aunt.”
+
+“Then let me go with you.”
+
+“Thank you, no. I shall go alone; that is to say, alone with dear
+grandpapa.”
+
+And as M. de Chandore came back, his pockets full of bonds, his hat on
+his head, and his cane in his hand, she carried him off, saying,--
+
+“Come, quick, dear grandpapa, we are in a great hurry.”
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+Although M. de Chandore was literally worshipping his grandchild on his
+knees, and had transferred all his hopes and his affections to her who
+alone survived of his large family, he had still had his thoughts when
+he went up stairs to take from his money-box so large a sum of money. As
+soon, therefore, as they were outside of the house, he said,--
+
+“Now that we are alone, my dear child, will you tell me what you mean to
+do with all this money?”
+
+“That is my secret,” she replied.
+
+“And you have not confidence enough in your old grandfather to tell him
+what it is, darling?”
+
+He stopped a moment; but she drew him on, saying,--
+
+“You shall know it all, and in less than an hour. But, oh! You must not
+be angry, grandpapa. I have a plan, which is no doubt very foolish. If I
+told you, I am afraid you would stop me; and if you succeeded, and then
+something happened to Jacques, I should not survive the misery. And
+think of it, what you would feel, if you were to think afterwards, ‘If I
+had only let her have her way!’”
+
+“Dionysia, you are cruel!”
+
+“On the other hand, if you did not induce me to give up my project, you
+would certainly take away all my courage; and I need it all, I tell you,
+grandpapa, for what I am going to risk.”
+
+“You see, my dear child, and you must pardon me for repeating it once
+more, twenty thousand francs are a big sum of money; and there are many
+excellent and clever people who work hard, and deny themselves every
+thing, a whole life long, without laying up that much.”
+
+“Ah, so much the better!” cried the young girl. “So much the better. I
+do hope there will be enough so as to meet with no refusal!”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore began to comprehend.
+
+“After all,” he said, “you have not told me where we are going.”
+
+“To my dressmakers.”
+
+“To the Misses Mechinet?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+M. de Chandore was sure now.
+
+“We shall not find them at home,” he said. “This is Sunday; and they are
+no doubt at church.”
+
+“We shall find them, grandpapa; for they always take tea at half-past
+seven, for their brother’s, the clerk’s sake. But we must make haste.”
+
+The old gentleman did make haste; but it is a long way from the
+New-Market Place to Hill Street; for the sisters Mechinet lived on the
+Square, and, if you please, in a house of their own,--a house which was
+to be the delight of their days, and which had become the trouble of
+their nights.
+
+They bought the house the year before the war, upon their brother’s
+advice, and going halves with him, paying a sum of forty-seven thousand
+francs, every thing included. It was a capital bargain; for they rented
+out the basement and the first story to the first grocer in Sauveterre.
+The sisters did not think they were imprudent in paying down ten
+thousand francs in cash, and in binding themselves to pay the rest in
+three yearly instalments. The first year all went well; but then came
+the war and numerous disasters. The income of the sisters and of the
+brother was much reduced, and they had nothing to live upon but his pay
+as clerk; so that they had to use the utmost economy, and even contract
+some debts, in order to pay the second instalment. When peace came,
+their income increased again, and no one doubted in Sauveterre but that
+they would manage to get out of their difficulties, as the brother was
+one of the hardest working men, and the sisters were patronized by “the
+most distinguished” ladies of the whole country.
+
+“Grandpapa, they are at home,” said Dionysia, when they reached the
+Square.
+
+“Do you think so?”
+
+“I am sure. I see light in their windows.”
+
+M. de Chandore stopped.
+
+“What am I to do next?” he asked.
+
+“You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here,
+walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet. I would
+ask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you.
+Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much as
+long as it concerned only a little girl.”
+
+The old gentleman’s last doubts began to vanish.
+
+“You won’t succeed, my poor girl,” he said.
+
+“O God!” she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, “why will you
+discourage me?”
+
+He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his
+pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into
+her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, she
+said,--
+
+“Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won’t be long.”
+
+And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her
+dressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their
+supper, which consisted of a small piece of pork and a light salad, with
+an abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore
+they all started up.
+
+“You, miss,” cried the elder of the two,--“you!”
+
+Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple “you” meant. It
+meant, with the help of the tone of voice, “What? your betrothed is
+charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against
+him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be
+tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned--and you are here?”
+
+But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.
+
+“Yes,” she replied, “it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; and
+I come to ask you to show me some samples.”
+
+The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother’s advice, had made
+an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received
+samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they
+sold.
+
+“I will do so with pleasure,” said the older sister. “Just allow me to
+light a lamp. It is almost dark.”
+
+While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her
+brother,--
+
+“Are you not going to the Orpheon?”
+
+“Not to-night,” he replied.
+
+“Are you not expected to be there?”
+
+“No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates
+for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court.”
+
+While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a
+candle.
+
+“Good-night!” he said to his sisters. “I won’t see you again to-night,”
+ and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his
+hand.
+
+“Where is your brother going?” Dionysia asked eagerly.
+
+“To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of the
+staircase.”
+
+Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunity
+slip,--an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering up
+all her courage, she said,--
+
+“But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my
+dear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment.” And
+she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with
+open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the
+poor lady of reason.
+
+The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key
+of his room.
+
+“I want to speak to you instantly,” said Dionysia.
+
+Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word. He made
+a movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girl
+said,--
+
+“No, in your room. We must not be overheard. Open sir, please. Open,
+somebody might come.”
+
+The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half a
+minute to find the keyhole, and put the key in. At last, when the door
+was opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass: but she said, “No, go
+in!”
+
+He obeyed. She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, she
+shut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed. Mechinet
+the clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness. Dionysia was
+timidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remaining
+speechless for some time. At this moment, however, it was certainly not
+the young girl who was embarrassed.
+
+“Sit down, M. Mechinet,” she said, “and listen to me.”
+
+He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down.
+
+“You know me, don’t you?” asked Dionysia.
+
+“Certainly I do, madam.”
+
+“You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat his
+forehead furiously with his hand, and said,--
+
+“Ah, what a fool I was! Now I see.”
+
+“Yes, you are right,” replied the girl. “I come to talk to you about M.
+de Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband.”
+
+She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained there
+face to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he asking
+himself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far she
+might venture.
+
+“You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M.
+de Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of all
+crimes!”
+
+“Oh, surely, I do!” replied Mechinet.
+
+And, carried away by his emotion, he added,--
+
+“But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at all
+the examinations, and who have no small experience in criminal
+matters,--that I believe M. de Boiscoran innocent. I know M. Galpin does
+not think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, nor
+the town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction. You see, I was there
+when they fell upon M. de Boiscoran, asleep in his bed. Well, the very
+tone of his voice, as he cried out, ‘Oh, my dear Galpin!’ told me that
+the man is not guilty.”
+
+“Oh, sir,” stammered Dionysia, “thanks, thanks!”
+
+“There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmed
+my conviction. As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. de Boiscoran
+does! You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to remove
+the seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that were
+asked. I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought. He said I was
+a fool. Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is. Ah! I beg your
+pardon, I mean that he is mistaken. The more I see of M. de Boiscoran,
+the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say to
+clear up the whole matter.”
+
+Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she
+well-nigh forgot why she had come.
+
+“Then,” she asked, “you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?”
+
+“I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam,” was the reply. “But
+he is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mind
+returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his
+ingenuity and his cleverness”--
+
+Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his
+consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much
+in his cups. He exclaimed,--
+
+“Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not
+let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you
+just now.”
+
+Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come. She said,--
+
+“If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon my
+discretion. You need not regret having given me by your confidence some
+little comfort in my great sorrow. You need not; for”--
+
+Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort she
+could add,--
+
+“For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, much
+more.”
+
+Mechinet had turned painfully pale. He broke in vehemently,--
+
+“Not another word, madam: your hope already is an insult to me. You
+ought surely to know that by my profession, as well as by my oath, I am
+bound to be as silent as the very cell in which the prisoners are kept.
+If I, the clerk, were to betray the secret of a criminal prosecution”--
+
+Dionysia trembled like an aspen-leaf; but her mind remained clear and
+decided. She said,--
+
+“You would rather let an innocent man perish.”
+
+“Madam!”
+
+“You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word you
+could remove the mistake of which he is the victim? You would say to
+yourself, ‘It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak’? And you would
+see him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold? No, I cannot believe
+that! No, that cannot be true!”
+
+“I told you, madam, I believe in M. de Boiscoran’s innocence.”
+
+“And you refuse to aid me in establishing his innocence? O God! what
+ideas men form of their duty! How can I move you? How can I convince
+you? Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they charge
+with being an assassin? Must I tell you what horrible anguish we suffer,
+we, his friends, his relatives?--how his mother weeps, how I weep, I,
+his betrothed! We know he is innocent; and yet we cannot establish his
+innocence for want of a friend who would aid us, who would pity us!”
+
+In all his life the clerk had not heard such burning words. He was moved
+to the bottom of his heart. At last he asked, trembling,--
+
+“What do you want me to do, madam?”
+
+“Oh! very little, sir, very little,--just to send M. de Boiscoran ten
+lines, and to bring us his reply.”
+
+The boldness of the request seemed to stun the clerk. He said,--
+
+“Never!”
+
+“You will not have pity?”
+
+“I should forfeit my honor.”
+
+“And, if you let an innocent one be condemned, what would that be?”
+
+Mechinet was evidently suffering anguish. Amazed, overcome, he did
+not know what to say, what to do. At last he thought of one reason for
+refusing, and stammered out,--
+
+“And if I were found out? I should lose my place, ruin my sisters,
+destroy my career for life.”
+
+With trembling hands, Dionysia drew from her pocket the bonds which her
+grandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table. She
+began,--
+
+“There are twenty thousand francs.”
+
+The clerk drew back frightened. He cried,--
+
+“Money! You offer me money!”
+
+“Oh, don’t be offended!” began the young girl again, with a voice that
+would have moved a stone. “How could I want to offend you, when I ask of
+you more than my life? There are services which can never be paid. But,
+if the enemies of M. de Boiscoran should find out that you have aided
+us, their rage might turn against you.”
+
+Instinctively the clerk unloosed his cravat. The struggle within him, no
+doubt, was terrible. He was stifled.
+
+“Twenty thousand francs!” he said in a hoarse voice.
+
+“Is it not enough?” asked the young girl. “Yes, you are right: it is
+very little. But I have as much again for you, twice as much.”
+
+With haggard eyes, Mechinet had approached the table, and was
+convulsively handling the pile of papers, while he repeated,--
+
+“Twenty thousand francs! A thousand a year!”
+
+“No, double that much, and moreover, our gratitude, our devoted
+friendship, all the influence of the two families of Boiscoran and
+Chandore; in a word, fortune, position, respect.”
+
+But by this time, thanks to a supreme effort of will, the clerk had
+recovered his self-control.
+
+“No more, madam, say no more!”
+
+And with a determined, though still trembling voice, he went on,--
+
+“Take your money back again, madam. If I were to do what you want me to
+do, if I were to betray my duty for money, I should be the meanest of
+men. If, on the other hand, I am actuated only by a sincere conviction
+and an interest in the truth, I may be looked upon as a fool; but I
+shall always be worthy of the esteem of honorable men. Take back that
+fortune, madam, which has made an honest man waver for a moment in his
+conscience. I will do what you ask, but for nothing.”
+
+If grandpapa was getting tired of walking up and down in the Square, the
+sisters of Mechinet found time pass still more slowly in their workroom.
+They asked each other,--
+
+“What can Miss Dionysia have to say to brother?”
+
+At the end of ten minutes, their curiosity, stimulated by the most
+absurd suppositions, had become such martyrdom to them, that they made
+up their minds to knock at the clerk’s door.
+
+“Ah, leave me alone!” he cried out, angry at being thus interrupted. But
+then he considered a moment, opened hastily, and said quite gently,--
+
+“Go back to your room, my dear sisters, and, if you wish to spare me a
+very serious embarrassment, never tell anybody in this world that Miss
+Chandore has had a conversation with me.”
+
+Trained to obey, the two sisters went back, but not so promptly that
+they should have not seen the bonds which Dionysia had thrown upon the
+table, and which were quite familiar in their appearance to them, as
+they had once owned some of them themselves. Their burning desire to
+know was thus combined with vague terror; and, when they got back to
+their room, the younger asked,--
+
+“Did you see?”
+
+“Yes, those bonds,” replied the other.
+
+“There must have been five or six hundred.”
+
+“Even more, perhaps.”
+
+“That is to say, a very big sum of money.”
+
+“An enormous one.”
+
+“What can that mean, Holy Virgin! And what have we to expect?”
+
+“And brother asking us to keep his secret!”
+
+“He looked as pale as his shirt, and terribly distressed.”
+
+“Miss Dionysia was crying like a Magdalen.”
+
+It was so. Dionysia, as long as she had been uncertain of the result,
+had felt in her heart that Jacques’s safety depended on her courage and
+her presence of mind. But now, assured of success, she could no longer
+control her excitement; and, overcome by the effort, she had sunk down
+on a chair and burst out into tears.
+
+The clerk shut the door, and looked at her for some time; then, having
+overcome his own emotions, he said to her,--
+
+“Madame.”
+
+But, as she heard his voice, she jumped up, and taking his hands into
+hers, she broke out,--
+
+“O sir! How can I thank you! How can I ever make you aware of the depth
+of my gratitude!”
+
+“Don’t speak of that,” he said almost rudely, trying to conceal his deep
+feeling.
+
+“I will say nothing more,” she replied very gently; “but I must tell you
+that none of us will ever forget the debt of gratitude which we owe you
+from this day. You say the great service which you are about to render
+us is not free from danger. Whatever may happen, you must remember,
+that, from this moment, you have in us devoted friends.”
+
+The interruption caused by his sisters had had the good effect of
+restoring to Mechinet a good portion of his habitual self-possession. He
+said,--
+
+“I hope no harm will come of it; and yet I cannot conceal from you,
+madam, that the service which I am going to try to render you presents
+more difficulties than I thought.”
+
+“Great God!” murmured Dionysia.
+
+“M. Galpin,” the clerk went on saying, “is, perhaps, not exactly a
+superior man; but he understands his profession; he is cunning, and
+exceedingly suspicious. Only yesterday he told me that he knew the
+Boiscoran family would try every thing in the world to save M. de
+Boiscoran from justice. Hence he is all the time on the watch, and takes
+all kinds of precautions. If he dared to it, he would have his bed put
+across his cell in the prison.”
+
+“That man hates me, M. Mechinet!”
+
+“Oh, no, madam! But he is ambitious: he thinks his success in his
+profession depends upon his success in this case; and he is afraid the
+accused might escape or be carried off.”
+
+Mechinet was evidently in great perplexity, and scratched his ear. Then
+he added,--
+
+“How am I to go about to let M. de Boiscoran have your note? If he knew
+beforehand, it would be easy. But he is unprepared. And then he is just
+as suspicious as M. Galpin. He is always afraid lest they prepare him a
+trap; and he is on the lookout. If I make him a sign, I fear he will
+not understand me; and, if I make him a sign, will not M. Galpin see it?
+That man is lynx-eyed.”
+
+“Are you never alone with M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“Never for an instant, madam. I only go in with the magistrate, and
+I come out with him. You will say, perhaps, that in leaving, as I am
+behind, I might drop the note cleverly. But, when we leave, the jailer
+is there, and he has good eyes. I should have to dread, besides, M. de
+Boiscoran’s own suspicions. If he saw a letter coming to him in that
+way, from me, he is quite capable of handing it at once to M. Galpin.”
+
+He paused, and after a moment’s meditation he went on,--
+
+“The safest way would probably be to win the confidence of M. Blangin,
+the keeper of the jail, or of some prisoner, whose duty it is to wait on
+M. de Boiscoran, and to watch him.”
+
+“Trumence!” exclaimed Dionysia.
+
+The clerk’s face expressed the most startled surprise. He said,--
+
+“What! You know his name?”
+
+“Yes, I do; for Blangin mentioned him to me; and the name struck me the
+day when M. de Boiscoran’s mother and I went to the jail, not knowing
+what was meant by ‘close confinement.’”
+
+The clerk was disappointed.
+
+“Ah!” he said, “now I understand M. Galpin’s great trouble. He has, no
+doubt, heard of your visit, and imagined that you wanted to rob him of
+his prisoner.”
+
+He murmured some words, which Dionysia could not hear; and then, coming
+to some decision, apparently, he said,--
+
+“Well, never mind! I’ll see what can be done. Write your letter, madam:
+here are pens and ink.”
+
+The young girl made no reply, but sat down at Mechinet’s table; but, at
+the moment when she was putting pen to paper she asked,--
+
+“Has M. de Boiscoran any books in his prison?”
+
+“Yes, madam. At his request M. Galpin himself went and selected, in M.
+Daubigeon’s library, some books of travels and some of Cooper’s novels
+for him.”
+
+Dionysia uttered a cry of delight.
+
+“O Jacques!” she said, “how glad I am you counted upon me!” and, without
+noticing how utterly Mechinet seemed to be surprised, she wrote,--
+
+“We are sure of your innocence, Jacques, and still we are in despair.
+Your mother is here, with a Paris lawyer, a M. Folgat, who is devoted
+to your interests. What must we do? Give us your instructions. You can
+reply without fear, as you have _our_ book.
+
+“DIONYSIA.”
+
+“Read this,” she said to the clerk, when she had finished. But he did
+not avail himself of the permission. He folded the paper, and slipped it
+into an envelope, which he sealed.
+
+“Oh, you are very kind!” said the young girl, touched by his delicacy.
+
+“Not at all, madam. I only try to do a dishonest thing in the most
+honest way. To-morrow, madam, you shall have your answer.”
+
+“I will call for it.”
+
+Mechinet trembled.
+
+“Take care not to do so,” he said. “The good people of Sauveterre are
+too cunning not to know that just now you are not thinking much of
+dress; and your calls here would look suspicious. Leave it to me to see
+to it that you get M. de Boiscoran’s answer.”
+
+While Dionysia was writing, the clerk had made a parcel of the bonds
+which she had brought. He handed it to her, and said,--
+
+“Take it, madam. If I want money for Blangin, or for Trumence, I will
+ask you for it. And now you must go: you need not go in to my sisters. I
+will explain your visit to them.”
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+“What can have happened to Dionysia, that she does not come back?”
+ murmured Grandpapa Chandore, as he walked up and down the Square, and
+looked, for the twentieth time, at his watch. For some time the fear of
+displeasing his grandchild, and of receiving a scolding, kept him at
+the place where she had told him to wait for her; but at last it was too
+much for him, and he said,--
+
+“Upon my word, this is too much! I’ll risk it.”
+
+And, crossing the road which separates the Square from the houses, he
+entered the long, narrow passage in the house of the sisters Mechinet.
+He was just putting his foot on the first step of the stairs, when he
+saw a light above. He distinguished the voice of his granddaughter, and
+then her light step.
+
+“At last!” he thought.
+
+And swiftly, like a schoolboy who hears his teacher coming, and fears
+to be caught in the act, he slipped back into the Square. Dionysia was
+there almost at the same moment, and fell on his neck, saying,--
+
+“Dear grandpapa, I bring you back your bonds,” and then she rained a
+shower of kisses upon the old gentleman’s furrowed cheeks.
+
+If any thing could astonish M. de Chandore, it was the idea that there
+should exist in this world a man with a heart hard, cruel, and barbarous
+enough, to resist his Dionysia’s prayers and tears, especially if
+they were backed by twenty thousand francs. Nevertheless, he said
+mournfully,--
+
+“Ah! I told you, my dear child, you would not succeed.”
+
+“And you were mistaken, dear grandpapa, and you are still mistaken; for
+I have succeeded!”
+
+“But--you bring back the money?”
+
+“Because I have found an honest man, dearest grandpapa,--a most
+honorable man. Poor fellow, how I must have tempted his honesty! For he
+is very much embarrassed, I know it from good authority, ever since he
+and his sisters bought that house. It was more than comfort, it was a
+real fortune, I offered him. Ah! you ought to have seen how his eyes
+brightened up, and how his hands trembled, when he took up the bonds!
+Well, he refused to take them, after all; and the only reward he asks
+for the very good service which he is going to render us”--
+
+M. de Chandore expressed his assent by a gesture, and then said,--
+
+“You are right, darling: that clerk is a good man, and he has won our
+eternal gratitude.”
+
+“I ought to add,” continued Dionysia, “that I was ever so brave. I
+should never have thought that I could be so bold. I wish you had been
+hid in some corner, grandpapa, to see me and hear me. You would not have
+recognized your grandchild. I cried a little, it is true, when I had
+carried my point.”
+
+“Oh, dear, dear child!” murmured the old gentleman, deeply moved.
+
+“You see, grandpapa, I thought of nothing but of Jacques’s danger, and
+of the glory of proving myself worthy of him, who is so brave himself. I
+hope he will be satisfied with me.”
+
+“He would be hard to please, indeed, if he were not!” exclaimed M. de
+Chandore.
+
+The grandfather and his child were standing all the while under the
+trees in the great Square while they were thus talking to each other;
+and already a number of people had taken the opportunity of passing
+close by them, with ears wide open, and all eagerness, to find out
+what was going on: it is a way people have in small towns. Dionysia
+remembered the clerk’s kindly warnings; and, as soon as she became aware
+of it, she said to her grandfather,--
+
+“Come, grandpapa. People are listening. I will tell you the rest as we
+are going home.”
+
+And so, on their way, she told him all the little details of her
+interview; and the old gentleman declared, in all earnest, that he did
+not know which to admire most,--her presence of mind, or Mechinet’s
+disinterestedness.
+
+“All the more reason,” said the young girl, “why we should not add to
+the dangers which the good man is going to run for us. I promised him
+to tell nobody, and I mean to keep my promise. If you believe me, dear
+grandpapa, we had better not speak of it to anybody, not even to my
+aunts.”
+
+“You might just as well declare at once, little scamp, that you want to
+save Jacques quite alone, without anybody’s help.”
+
+“Ah, if I could do that! Unfortunately, we must take M. Folgat into our
+confidence; for we cannot do without his advice.”
+
+Thus it was done. The poor aunts, and even the marchioness, had to be
+content with Dionysia’s not very plausible explanation of her visit.
+And a few hours afterwards M. de Chandore, the young girl, and M. Folgat
+held a council in the baron’s study. The young lawyer was even more
+surprised by Dionysia’s idea, and her bold proceedings, then her
+grandfather; he would never have imagined that she was capable of such a
+step, she looked so timid and innocent, like a mere child. He was about
+to compliment her; but she interrupted him eagerly, saying,--
+
+“There is nothing to boast of. I ran no risk.”
+
+“A very substantial risk, madam, I assure you.”
+
+“Pshaw!” exclaimed M. de Chandore.
+
+“To bribe an official,” continued M. Folgat, “is a very grave offence.
+The Criminal Code has a certain paragraph, No. 179, which does not
+trifle, and punishes the man who bribes, as well as the man who is
+bribed.”
+
+“Well, so much the better!” cried Dionysia. “If poor M. Mechinet has to
+go to prison, I’ll go with him!”
+
+And, without noticing the dissatisfaction expressed in her grandfather’s
+features, she added, turning to M. Folgat,--
+
+“After all, sir, you see that your wishes have been fulfilled. We
+shall be able to communicate with M. de Boiscoran: he will give us his
+instructions.”
+
+“Perhaps so, madam.”
+
+“How? Perhaps? You said yourself”--
+
+“I told you, madam, it would be useless, perhaps even imprudent, to take
+any steps before we know the truth. But will we know it? Do you think
+that M. de Boiscoran, who has good reasons for being suspicious of
+every thing, will at once tell us all in a letter which must needs pass
+through several hands before it can reach us?”
+
+“He will tell us all, sir, without reserve, without fear, and without
+danger.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“I have taken my precautions. You will see.”
+
+“Then we have only to wait.”
+
+Alas, yes! They had to wait, and that was what distressed Dionysia. She
+hardly slept that night. The next day was one unbroken torment. At each
+ringing of the bell, she trembled, and ran to see.
+
+At last, towards five o’clock, when nothing had come, she said,--
+
+“It is not to be to-day, provided, O God! that poor Mechinet has not
+been caught.”
+
+And, perhaps in order to escape for a time the anguish of her fears, she
+agreed to accompany Jacques’s mother, who wanted to pay some visits.
+
+Ah, if she had but known! She had not left the house ten minutes, when
+one of those street-boys, who abound at all hours of the day on the
+great Square, appeared, bringing a letter to her address. They took it
+to M. de Chandore, who, while waiting for dinner, was walking in the
+garden with M. Folgat.
+
+“A letter for Dionysia!” exclaimed the old gentleman, as soon as the
+servant had disappeared. “Here is the answer we have been waiting for!”
+
+He boldly tore it open. Alas! It was useless. The note within the
+envelope ran thus,--
+
+“31:9, 17, 19, 23, 25, 28, 32, 101, 102, 129, 137, 504, 515--37:2, 3, 4,
+5, 7, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 24, 27, 52, 54, 118, 119, 120, 200, 201--41:7,
+9, 17, 21, 22, 44, 45, 46”--
+
+And so on, for two pages.
+
+“Look at this, and try to make it out,” said M. de Chandore, handing the
+letter to M. Folgat.
+
+The young man actually tried it; but, after five minutes’ useless
+efforts, he said,--
+
+“I understand now why Miss Chandore promised us that we should know
+the truth. M. de Boiscoran and she have formerly corresponded with each
+other in cipher.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore raised his hands to heaven.
+
+“Just think of these little girls! Here we are utterly helpless without
+her, as she alone can translate those hieroglyphics for you.”
+
+If Dionysia had hoped, by accompanying the marchioness on her visits,
+to escape from the sad presentiments that oppressed her, she was cruelly
+disappointed. They went to M. Seneschal’s house first; but the mayor’s
+wife was by no means calculated to give courage to others in an hour of
+peril. She could do nothing but embrace alternately Jacques’s mother and
+Dionysia, and, amid a thousand sobs, tell them over and over again, that
+she looked upon one as the most unfortunate of mothers, and upon the
+other as the most unfortunate of betrothed maidens.
+
+“Does the woman think Jacques is guilty?” thought Dionysia, and felt
+almost angry.
+
+And that was not all. As they returned home, and passed the house which
+had been provisionally taken for Count Claudieuse and his family, they
+heard a little boy calling out,--
+
+“O mamma, come quick! Here are the murderer’s mother and his
+sweetheart.”
+
+Thus the poor girl came home more downcast than before. Immediately,
+however, her maid, who had evidently been on the lookout for her return,
+told her that her grandfather and the lawyer from Paris were waiting for
+her in the baron’s study. She hastened there without stopping to take
+off her bonnet; and, as soon as she came in, M. de Chandore handed her
+Jacques’s letter, saying,--
+
+“Here is your answer.”
+
+She could not repress a little cry of delight, and rapidly touched the
+letter with her lips, repeating,--
+
+“Now we are safe, we are safe!”
+
+M. de Chandore smiled at the happiness of his granddaughter.
+
+“But, Miss Hypocrite,” he said, “it seems you had great secrets to
+communicate to M. de Boiscoran, since you resorted to cipher, like arch
+conspirators. M. Folgat and I tried to read it; but it was all Greek to
+us.”
+
+Now only the young lady remembered M. Folgat’s presence, and, blushing
+deeply, she said,--
+
+“Latterly Jacques and I had been discussing the various methods to which
+people resort who wish to carry on a secret correspondence: this led
+him to teach me one of the ways. Two correspondents choose any book they
+like, and each takes a copy of the same edition. The writer looks in his
+volume for the words he wants, and numbers them; his correspondent
+finds them by the aid of these numbers. Thus, in Jacques’s letters, the
+numbers followed by a colon refer to the pages, and the others to the
+order in which the words come.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Grandpapa Chandore, “I might have looked a long time.”
+
+“It is a very simple method,” replied Dionysia, “very well known,
+and still quite safe. How could an outsider guess what book the
+correspondents have chosen? Then there are other means to mislead
+indiscreet people. It may be agreed upon, for instance, that the numbers
+shall never have their apparent value, or that they shall vary according
+to the day of the month or the week. Thus, to-day is Monday, the second
+day of the week. Well, I have to deduct one from each number of a page,
+and add one to each number of a word.”
+
+“And you will be able to make it all out?” asked M. de Chandore.
+
+“Certainly, dear grandpapa. Ever since Jacques explained it to me, I
+have tried to learn it as a matter of course. We have chose a book which
+I am very fond of, Cooper’s ‘Spy;’ and we amused ourselves by writing
+endless letters. Oh! it is very amusing, and it takes time, because one
+does not always find the words that are needed, and then they have to be
+spelled letter by letter.”
+
+“And M. de Boiscoran has a copy of Cooper’s novels in his prison?” asked
+M. Folgat.
+
+“Yes, sir. M. Mechinet told me so. As soon as Jacques found he was to be
+kept in close confinement, he asked for some of Cooper’s novels, and M.
+Galpin, who is so cunning, so smart, and so suspicious, went himself and
+got them for him. Jacques was counting upon me.”
+
+“Then, dear child, go and read your letter, and solve the riddle,” said
+M. de Chandore.
+
+When she had left, he said to his companion,--
+
+“How she loves him! How she loves this man Jacques! Sir, if any thing
+should happen to him, she would die.”
+
+M. Folgat made no reply; and nearly an hour passed, before Dionysia,
+shut up in her room, had succeeded in finding all the words of which
+Jacques’s letter was composed. But when she had finished, and came
+back to her grandfather’s study, her youthful face expressed the most
+profound despair.
+
+“This is horrible!” she said.
+
+The same idea crossed, like a sharp arrow, the minds of M. de Chandore
+and M. Folgat. Had Jacques confessed?
+
+“Look, read yourself!” said Dionysia, handing them the translation.
+
+Jacques wrote,--
+
+“Thanks for your letter, my darling. A presentiment had warned me, and I
+had asked for a copy of Cooper.
+
+“I understand but too well how grieved you must be at seeing me kept
+in prison without my making an effort to establish my innocence. I
+kept silence, because I hoped the proof of my innocence would come from
+outside. I see that it would be madness to hope so any longer, and that
+I must speak. I shall speak. But what I have to say is so very serious,
+that I shall keep silence until I shall have had an opportunity of
+consulting with some one in whom I can feel perfect confidence. Prudence
+alone is not enough now: skill also is required. Until now I felt
+secure, relying on my innocence. But the last examination has opened my
+eyes, and I now see the danger to which I am exposed.
+
+“I shall suffer terribly until the day when I can see a lawyer. Thank
+my mother for having brought one. I hope he will pardon me, if I address
+myself first to another man. I want a man who knows the country and its
+customs.
+
+“That is why I have chosen M. Magloire; and I beg you will tell him
+to hold himself ready for the day on which, the examination being
+completed, I shall be relieved from close confinement.
+
+“Until then, nothing can be done, nothing, unless you can obtain that
+the case be taken out of M. G-----‘s hands, and be given to some one
+else. That man acts infamously. He wants me to be guilty. He would
+himself commit a crime in order to charge me with it, and there is no
+kind of trap he does not lay for me. I have the greatest difficulty in
+controlling myself every time I see this man enter my cell, who was my
+friend, and now is my accuser.
+
+“Ah, my dear ones! I pay a heavy price for a fault of which I have been,
+until now, almost unconscious.
+
+“And you, my only friend, will you ever be able to forgive me the
+terrible anxiety I cause you?
+
+“I should like to say much more; but the prisoner who has handed me your
+note says I must be quick, and it takes so much time to pick out the
+words!
+
+“J.”
+
+When the letter had been read, M. Folgat and M. de Chandore sadly turned
+their heads aside, fearing lest Dionysia should read in their eyes the
+secret of their thoughts. But she felt only too well what it meant.
+
+“You cannot doubt Jacques, grandpapa!” she cried.
+
+“No,” murmured the old gentleman feebly, “no.”
+
+“And you, M. Folgat--are you so much hurt by Jacques’s desire to consult
+another lawyer?”
+
+“I should have been the first, madam, to advise him to consult a
+native.”
+
+Dionysia had to summon all her energy to check her tears.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “this letter is terrible; but how can it be otherwise?
+Don’t you see that Jacques is in despair, that his mind wanders after
+all these fearful shocks?”
+
+Somebody knocked gently at the door.
+
+“It is I,” said the marchioness.
+
+Grandpapa Chandore, M. Folgat, and Dionysia looked at each other for a
+moment; and then the advocate said,--
+
+“The situation is too serious: we must consult the marchioness.” He rose
+to open the door. Since the three friends had been holding the council
+in the baron’s study, a servant had come five times in succession to
+knock at the door, and tell them that the soup was on the table.
+
+“Very well,” they had replied each time.
+
+At last, as they did not come down yet, Jacques’s mother had come to the
+conclusion that something extraordinary had occurred.
+
+“Now, what could this be, that they should keep it from her?” she
+thought. If it were something good, they would not have concealed it
+from her. She had come up stairs, therefore, with the firm resolution to
+force them to let her come in. When M. Folgat opened the door, she said
+instantly,--
+
+“I mean to know all!”
+
+Dionysia replied to her,--
+
+“Whatever you may hear, my dear mother, pray remember, that if you allow
+a single word to be torn from you, by joy or by sorrow, you cause the
+ruin of an honest man, who has put us all under such obligations as can
+never be fully discharged. I have been fortunate enough to establish a
+correspondence between Jacques and us.”
+
+“O Dionysia!”
+
+“I have written to him, and I have received his answer. Here it is.”
+
+The marchioness was almost beside herself, and eagerly snatched at the
+letter. But, as she read on, it was fearful to see how the blood receded
+from her face, how her eyes grew dim, her lips turned pale, and at last
+her breath failed to come. The letter slipped from her trembling hands;
+she sank into a chair, and said, stammering,--
+
+“It is no use to struggle any longer: we are lost!”
+
+There was something grand in Dionysia’s gesture and the admirable accent
+of her voice, as she said,--
+
+“Why don’t you say at once, my mother, that Jacques is an incendiary and
+an assassin?”
+
+Raising her head with an air of dauntless energy, with trembling lips,
+and fierce glances full of wrath and disdain, she added,--
+
+“And do I really remain the only one to defend him,--him, who, in his
+days of prosperity, had so many friends? Well, so be it!”
+
+Naturally, M. Folgat had been less deeply moved than either the
+marchioness or M. de Chandore; and hence he was also the first to
+recover his calmness.
+
+“We shall be two, madam, at all events,” he said; “for I should never
+forgive myself, if I allowed myself to be influenced by that letter.
+It would be inexcusable, since I know by experience what your heart
+has told you instinctively. Imprisonment has horrors which affect the
+strongest and stoutest of minds. The days in prison are interminable,
+and the nights have nameless terrors. The innocent man in his lonely
+cell feels as if he were becoming guilty, as the man of soundest
+intellect would begin to doubt himself in a madhouse”--
+
+Dionysia did not let him conclude. She cried,--
+
+“That is exactly what I felt, sir; but I could not express it as clearly
+as you do.”
+
+Ashamed at their lack of courage, M. de Chandore and the marchioness
+made an effort to recover from the doubts which, for a moment, had
+well-nigh overcome them.
+
+“But what is to be done?” asked the old lady.
+
+“Your son tells us, madam, we have only to wait for the end of the
+preliminary examination.”
+
+“I beg your pardon,” said M. de Chandore, “we have to try to get the
+case handed over to another magistrate.”
+
+M. Folgat shook his head.
+
+“Unfortunately, that is not to be dreamt of. A magistrate acting in his
+official capacity cannot be rejected like a simple juryman.”
+
+“However”--
+
+“Article 542 of the Criminal Code is positive on the subject.”
+
+“Ah! What does it say?” asked Dionysia.
+
+“It says, in substance, madam, that a demand for a change of magistrate,
+on the score of well-founded suspicion, can only be entertained by a
+court of appeals, because the magistrate, within his legitimate sphere,
+is a court in himself. I do not know if I express myself clearly?”
+
+“Oh, very clearly!” said M. de Chandore. “Only, since Jacques wishes
+it”--
+
+“To be sure; but M. de Boiscoran does not know”--
+
+“I beg your pardon. He knows that the magistrate is his mortal enemy.”
+
+“Be it so. But how would that help us? Do you think that a demand for
+a change of venue would prevent M. Galpin from carrying on the
+proceedings? Not at all. He would go on until the decision comes from
+the Court of Appeals. He could, it is true, issue no final order; but
+that is the very thing M. de Boiscoran ought to desire, since such an
+order would make an end to his close confinement, and enable him to see
+an advocate.”
+
+“That is atrocious!” murmured M. de Chandore.
+
+“It is atrocious, indeed; but such are the laws of France.”
+
+In the meantime Dionysia had been meditating; and now she said to the
+young advocate,--
+
+“I have understood you perfectly, and to-morrow your objections shall be
+known to M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+“Above all,” said the lawyer, “explain to him clearly that any such
+steps as he proposes to take will turn to his disadvantage. M. Galpin
+is our enemy; but we can make no specific charge against him. They would
+always reply, ‘If M. de Boiscoran is innocent, why does he not speak?’”
+
+This is what Grandpapa Chandore would not admit.
+
+“Still,” he said, “if we could bring influential men to help us?”
+
+“Can you?”
+
+“Certainly. Boiscoran has old friends, who, no doubt, are all-powerful
+still under the present government. He was, in former years, very
+intimate with M. de Margeril.”
+
+M. Folgat’s expression was very encouraging.
+
+“Ah!” he said, “if M. de Margeril could give us a lift! But he is not
+easily approached.”
+
+“We might send Boiscoran to see him, at least. Since he remained
+in Paris for the purpose of assisting us there, now he will have an
+opportunity. I will write to him to-night.”
+
+Since the name of Margeril had been mentioned, the marchioness had
+become, if possible, paler than ever. At the old gentleman’s last words
+she rose, and said anxiously,--
+
+“Do not write, sir: it would be useless. I do not wish it.”
+
+Her embarrassment was so evident, that the others were quite surprised.
+
+“Have Boiscoran and M. de Margeril had any difficulty?” asked M. de
+Chandore.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But,” cried Dionysia, “it is a matter of life and death for Jacques.”
+
+Alas! The poor woman could not speak of the suspicions which had
+darkened the whole life of the Marquis de Boiscoran, nor of the
+cruel penalty which the wife was now called upon to pay for a slight
+imprudence.
+
+“If it is absolutely necessary,” she said with a half-stifled voice,
+“if that is our very last hope, then I will go and see M. de Margeril
+myself.”
+
+M. Folgat was the only one who suspected what painful antecedents there
+might be in the life of the marchioness, and how she was harassed by
+their memory now. He interposed, therefore, saying,--
+
+“At all events, my advice is to await the end of the preliminary
+investigation. I may be mistaken, however, and, before any answer is
+sent to M. Jacques, I desire that the lawyer to whom he alludes should
+be consulted.”
+
+“That is certainly the wisest plan,” said M. de Chandore. And, ringing
+for a servant, he sent him at once to M. Magloire, to ask him to call
+after dinner. Jacques de Boiscoran had chosen wisely. M. Magloire was
+looked upon in Sauveterre as the most eloquent and most skilful lawyer,
+not only of the district, but of the whole province. And what is rarer
+still, and far more glorious, he had, besides, the reputation of being
+unsurpassed in integrity and a high sense of honor. It was well known
+that he would never have consented to plead a doubtful cause; and they
+told of him a number of heroic stories, in which he had thrown clients
+out of the window, who had been so ill-advised to come to him, money in
+hand, to ask him to undertake an unclean case. He was naturally not
+a rich man, and preserved, at fifty-four or five, all the habits of a
+frugal and thrifty young man.
+
+After having married quite young, M. Magloire had lost his wife after a
+few months, and had never recovered from the loss. Although thirty years
+old, the wound had never healed; and regularly, on certain days, he was
+seen wending his way to the cemetery, to place flowers on a modest grave
+there. Any other man would have been laughed at for such a thing at
+Sauveterre; but with him they dared not do so, for they all respected
+him highly. Young and old knew and reverenced the tall man with the
+calm, serene face, the clear, bright eyes, and the eloquent lips, which,
+in their well-cut, delicate lines, by turns glowed with scorn, with
+tenderness, or with disdain.
+
+Like Dr. Seignebos, M. Magloire also was a Republican; and, at the last
+Imperial elections, the Bonapartists had had the greatest trouble, aided
+though they were by the whole influence of the government, and shrinking
+from no unfair means, to keep him out of the Chamber. Nor would
+they have been successful after all, but for the influence of Count
+Claudieuse, who had prevailed upon a number of electors to abstain from
+voting.
+
+This was the man, who, towards nine o’clock, presented himself, upon
+the invitation of M. de Chandore, at his house, where he was anxiously
+expected by all the inmates. His greeting was affectionate, but at the
+same time so sad, that it touched Dionysia’s heart most painfully. She
+thought she saw that M. Magloire was not far from believing Jacques
+guilty.
+
+And she was not mistaken; for M. Magloire let them see it clearly, in
+the most delicate manner, to be sure, but still so as to leave no doubt.
+He had spent the day in court, and there had heard the opinions of the
+members of the court, which was by no means favorable to the accused.
+Under such circumstances, it would have evidently been a grave blunder
+to yield to Jacques’s wishes, and to apply for a change of venue from M.
+Galpin to some other magistrate.
+
+“The investigation will last a year,” cried Dionysia, “since M. Galpin
+is determined to obtain from Jacques the confession of a crime which he
+has not committed.”
+
+M. Magloire shook his head, and replied,--
+
+“I believe, on the contrary, madam, that the investigation will be very
+soon concluded.”
+
+“But if Jacques keeps silent?”
+
+“Neither the silence of an accused, nor any other caprice or obstinacy
+of his, can interfere with the regular process. Called upon to produce
+his justification, if he refuses to do so, the law proceeds without
+him.”
+
+“Still, sir, if an accused person has reasons”--
+
+“There are no reasons which can force a man to let himself be accused
+unjustly. But even that case has been foreseen. The accused is at
+liberty not to answer a question which may inculpate him. _Nemo tenetur
+prodere se ipsum_. But you must admit that such a refusal to answer
+justifies a judge in believing that the charges are true which the
+accused does not refute.”
+
+The great calmness of the distinguished lawyer of Sauveterre terrified
+his listeners more and more, except M. Folgat. When they heard him use
+all those technical terms, they felt chilled through and through like
+the friends of a wounded man who hear the grating noise of the surgeon’s
+knife.
+
+“My son’s situation appears to you very serious, sir?” asked the
+marchioness in a feeble voice.
+
+“I said it was dangerous, madam.”
+
+“You think, as M. Folgat does, that every day adds to the danger to
+which he is exposed?”
+
+“I am but too sure of that. And if M. de Boiscoran is really innocent”--
+
+“Ah, M. Magloire!” broke in Dionysia, “how can you, who are a friend of
+Jacques’s, say so?”
+
+M. Magloire looked at the young girl with an air of deep and sincere
+pity, and then said,--
+
+“It is precisely because I am his friend, madam, that I am bound to
+tell you the truth. Yes, I know and I appreciate all the noble qualities
+which distinguish M. de Boiscoran. I have loved him, and I love him
+still. But this is a matter which we have to look at with the mind,
+and not with the heart. Jacques is a man; and he will be judged by men.
+There is clear, public, and absolute evidence of his guilt on hand. What
+evidence has he to offer of his innocence? Moral evidence only.”
+
+“O God!” murmured Dionysia.
+
+“I think, therefore, with my honorable brother”--
+
+And M. Magloire bowed to M. Folgat.
+
+“I think, that, if M. de Boiscoran is innocent, he has adopted an
+unfortunate system. Ah! if luckily there should be an _alibi_. He ought
+to make haste, great haste, to establish it. He ought not to allow
+matters to go on till he is sent up into court. Once there, an accused
+is three-fourths condemned already.”
+
+For once it looked as if the crimson in M. de Chandore’s cheeks was
+growing pale.
+
+“And yet,” he exclaimed, “Jacques will not change his system: any one
+who knows his mulish obstinacy might be quite sure of that.”
+
+“And unfortunately he has made up his mind,” said Dionysia, “as M.
+Magloire, who knows him so well, will see from this letter of his.”
+
+Until now nothing had been said to let the Sauveterre lawyer suspect
+that communications had been opened with the prisoner. Now that the
+letter had been alluded to, it became necessary to take him into
+confidence. At first he was astonished, then he looked displeased; and,
+when he had been told every thing, he said,--
+
+“This is great imprudence! This is too daring!”
+
+Then looking at M. Folgat, he added,--
+
+“Our profession has certain rules which cannot be broken without causing
+trouble. To bribe a clerk, to profit by his weakness and his sympathy”--
+
+The Paris lawyer had blushed imperceptibly. He said,--
+
+“I should never have advised such imprudence; but, when it was once
+committed, I did not feel bound to insist upon its being abandoned: and
+even if I should be blamed for it, or more, I mean to profit by it.”
+
+M. Magloire did not reply; but, after having read Jacques’s letter, he
+said,--
+
+“I am at M. de Boiscoran’s disposal; and I shall go to him as soon as he
+is no longer in close confinement. I think, as Miss Dionysia does, that
+he will insist upon saying nothing. However, as we have the means of
+reaching him by letter,--well, here I am myself ready to profit by the
+imprudence that has been committed!--beseech him, in the name of his own
+interest, in the name of all that is dear to him, to speak, to explain,
+to prove his innocence.”
+
+Thereupon M. Magloire bowed, and withdrew suddenly, leaving his audience
+in consternation, so very evident was it, that he left so suddenly
+in order to conceal the painful impression which Jacques’s letter had
+produced upon him.
+
+“Certainly,” said M. de Chandore, “we will write to him; but we might
+just as well whistle. He will wait for the end of the investigation.”
+
+“Who knows?” murmured Dionysia.
+
+And, after a moment’s reflection, she added,--
+
+“We can try, however.”
+
+And, without vouchsafing any further explanation, she left the room, and
+hastened to her chamber to write the following letter:--
+
+“I must speak to you. There is a little gate in our garden which opens
+upon Charity Lane, I will wait for you there. However late it may be
+when you get these lines, come!
+
+“DIONYSIA.”
+
+Then having put the note into an envelope, she called the old nurse,
+who had brought her up, and, with all the recommendations which extreme
+prudence could suggest, she said to her,--
+
+“You must see to it that M. Mechinet the clerk gets this note to-night.
+Go! make haste!”
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+During the last twenty-four hours, Mechinet had changed so much, that
+his sisters recognized him no longer. Immediately after Dionysia’s
+departure, they had come to him, hoping to hear at last what was meant
+by that mysterious interview; but at the first word he had cried out
+with a tone of voice which frightened his sisters to death,--
+
+“That is none of your business! That is nobody’s business!” and he had
+remained alone, quite overcome by his adventure, and dreaming of the
+means to make good his promise without ruining himself. That was no easy
+matter.
+
+When the decisive moment arrived, he discovered that he would never be
+able to get the note into M. de Boiscoran’s hands, without being caught
+by that lynx-eyed M. Galpin: as the letter was burning in his pocket, he
+saw himself compelled, after long hesitation, to appeal for help to the
+man who waited on Jacques,--to Trumence, in fine. The latter was, after
+all, a good enough fellow; his only besetting sin being unconquerable
+laziness, and his only crime in the eyes of the law perpetual vagrancy.
+He was attached to Mechinet, who upon former occasions, when he was in
+jail, had given him some tobacco, or a little money to buy a glass of
+wine. He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to give
+a letter to M. de Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer. He acquitted
+himself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission. But,
+because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinet
+felt quite at peace. Besides being tormented by the thought that he
+had betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of an
+accomplice. How easily might he not be betrayed! A slight indiscretion,
+an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it. What would become
+of him then?
+
+He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one.
+He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitious
+dreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage.
+And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he had
+done, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state of
+mind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia’s letter.
+
+“What, again?” he exclaimed.
+
+And when he had read the few lines, he replied,--
+
+“Tell your mistress I will be there!” But in his heart he thought some
+untoward event must have happened.
+
+The little garden-gate was half-open: he had only to push it to enter.
+There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance from
+him, under the trees, he recognized Dionysia, and went towards her.
+
+“Pardon me, sir,” she said, “for having dared to send for you.”
+
+Mechinet’s anxiety vanished instantly. He thought no longer of his
+strange position. His vanity was flattered by the confidence which this
+young lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the most
+beautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country.
+
+“You were quite right to send for me, madam,” he replied, “if I can be
+of any service to you.”
+
+In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, he
+replied,--
+
+“I am entirely of M. Folgat’s opinion, and think that grief and
+isolation begin to have their effect upon M. de Boiscoran’s mind.”
+
+“Oh, that thought is maddening!” murmured the poor girl.
+
+“I think, as M. Magloire does, that M. de Boiscoran, by his silence,
+only makes his situation much worse. I have a proof of that. M. Galpin,
+who, at first, was all doubt and anxiety, is now quite reassured. The
+attorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments his
+energy.”
+
+“And then.”
+
+“Then we must induce M. de Boiscoran to speak. I know very well that he
+is firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, since
+you can write to him”--
+
+“A letter would be useless.”
+
+“But”--
+
+“Useless, I tell you. But I know a means.”
+
+“You must use it promptly, madam: don’t lose a moment. There is no
+time.”
+
+The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how very
+pale Dionysia was.
+
+“Well, then, I must see M. de Boiscoran: I must speak to him.”
+
+She expected the clerk to start, to cry out, to protest. Far from it: he
+said in the quietest tone,--
+
+“To be sure; but how?”
+
+“Blangin the keeper, and his wife, keep their places only because
+they give them a support. Why might I not offer them, in return for
+an interview with M. de Boiscoran, the means to go and live in the
+country?”
+
+“Why not?” said the clerk.
+
+And in a lower voice, replying to the voice of his conscience, he went
+on,--
+
+“The jail in Sauveterre is not at all like the police-stations and
+prisons of larger towns. The prisoners are few in number; they are
+hardly guarded. When the doors are shut, Blangin is master within.”
+
+“I will go and see him to-morrow,” declared Dionysia.
+
+There are certain slopes on which you must glide down. Having once
+yielded to Dionysia’s suggestions, Mechinet had, unconsciously, bound
+himself to her forever.
+
+“No: do not go there, madam,” he said. “You could not make Blangin
+believe that he runs no danger; nor could you sufficiently arouse his
+cupidity. I will speak to him myself.”
+
+“O sir!” exclaimed Dionysia, “how can I ever?”--
+
+“How much may I offer him?” asked the clerk.
+
+“Whatever you think proper--any thing.”
+
+“Then, madam, I will bring you an answer to-morrow, here, and at the
+same hour.”
+
+And he went away, leaving Dionysia so buoyed up by hope, that all the
+evening, and the next day, the two aunts and the marchioness, neither of
+whom was in the secret, asked each other incessantly,--
+
+“What is the matter with the child?”
+
+She was thinking, that, if the answer was favorable, ere twenty-four
+hours had gone by, she would see Jacques; and she kept saying to
+herself,--
+
+“If only Mechinet is punctual!”
+
+He was so. At ten o’clock precisely, he pushed open the little gate,
+just as the night before, and said at once,--
+
+“It is all right!”
+
+Dionysia was so terribly excited, that she had to lean against a tree.
+
+“Blangin agrees,” the clerk went on. “I promised him sixteen thousand
+francs. Perhaps that is rather much?”
+
+“It is very little.”
+
+“He insists upon having them in gold.”
+
+“He shall have it.”
+
+“Finally, he makes certain conditions with regard to the interview,
+which will appear rather hard to you.”
+
+The young girl had quite recovered by this time.
+
+“What are they?”
+
+“Blangin is taking all possible precautions against detection, although
+he is quite prepared for the worst. He has arranged it this way:
+To-morrow evening, at six o’clock, you will pass by the jail. The door
+will stand open, and Blangin’s wife, whom you know very well, as she has
+formerly been in your service, will be standing in the door. If she does
+not speak to you, you keep on: something has happened. If she does speak
+to you, go up to her, you, quite alone, and she will show you into a
+small room which adjoins her own. There you will stay till Blangin,
+perhaps at a late hour, thinks he can safely take you to M. de
+Boiscoran’s cell. When the interview is over, you come back into the
+little room, where a bed will be ready for you, and you spend the night
+there; for this is the hardest part of it: you cannot leave the prison
+till next day.”
+
+This was certainly terrible; still, after a moment’s reflection,
+Dionysia said,--
+
+“Never mind! I accept. Tell Blangin, M. Mechinet, that it is all right.”
+
+That Dionysia should accept all the conditions of Blangin the jailer
+was perfectly natural; but to obtain M. de Chandore’s consent was a much
+more difficult task. The poor girl understood this so well, that, for
+the first time in her life, she felt embarrassed in her grandfather’s
+presence. She hesitated, she prepared her little speech, and she
+selected carefully her words. But in spite of all her skill, in spite of
+all the art with which she managed to present her strange request, M. de
+Chandore had no sooner understood her project than he exclaimed,--
+
+“Never, never, never!”
+
+Perhaps in his whole life the old gentleman had never expressed himself
+in so positive a manner. His brow had never looked so dark. Usually,
+when his granddaughter had a petition, his lips might say, “No;” but his
+eyes always said, “Yes.”
+
+“Impossible!” he repeated, and in a tone of voice which seemed to admit
+of no reply.
+
+Surely, in all these painful events, he had not spared himself, and he
+had so far done for Dionysia all that she could possibly expect of him.
+Her will had been his will. As she had prompted, he had said, “Yes,” or
+“No.” What more could he have said or done?
+
+Without telling him what she was going to do with it, Dionysia had asked
+him for twenty thousand francs, and he had given them to her, however
+big the sum might be everywhere, however immense in a small town like
+Sauveterre. He was quite ready to give her as much again, or twice as
+much, without asking any more questions.
+
+But for Dionysia to leave her home one evening at six o’clock, and not
+to return to it till the next morning--
+
+“That I cannot permit,” he repeated.
+
+But for Dionysia to spend a night in the Sauveterre jail, in order to
+have an interview with her betrothed, who was accused of incendiarism
+and murder; to remain there all night, alone, absolutely at the mercy of
+the jailer, a hard, coarse, covetous man--
+
+“That I will never permit,” exclaimed the old gentleman once more.
+
+Dionysia remained calm, and let the storm pass. When her grandfather
+became silent, she said,--
+
+“But if I must?”
+
+M. de Chandore shrugged his shoulders. She repeated in a louder tone,--
+
+“If I must, in order to decide Jacques to abandon this system that will
+ruin him, to induce him to speak before the investigation is completed?”
+
+“That is not your business, my child,” said the old gentleman.
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“That is the business of his mother, the Marchioness of Boiscoran.
+Whatever Blangin agrees to venture for your sake, he will do as well
+for her sake. Let the marchioness go and spend the night at the jail. I
+agree to that. Let her see her son. That is her duty.”
+
+“But surely she will never shake Jacques’s resolution.”
+
+“And you think you have more influence over him than his mother?”
+
+“It is not the same thing, dear papa.”
+
+“Never mind!”
+
+This “never mind” of Grandpapa Chandore was as positive as his
+“impossible;” but he had begun to discuss the question, and to discuss
+means to listen to arguments on the other side.
+
+“Do not insist, my dear child,” he said again. “My mind is made up; and
+I assure you”--
+
+“Don’t say so, papa,” said the young girl.
+
+And her attitude was so determined, and her voice so firm, that the old
+gentleman was quite overwhelmed for a moment.
+
+“But, if I am not willing,” he said.
+
+“You will consent, dear papa, you will certainly not force your little
+granddaughter, who loves you so dearly, to the painful necessity of
+disobeying you for the first time in her life.”
+
+“Because, for the first time in her life I am not doing what my
+granddaughter wants me to do?”
+
+“Dear papa, let me tell you.”
+
+“Rather listen to me, poor child, and let me show you to what dangers,
+to what misfortunes, you expose yourself. To go and spend a night at
+this prison would be risking, understand me well, your honor,--that
+tender, delicate honor which is tarnished by a breath, which involves
+the happiness and the peace of your whole life.”
+
+“But Jacques’s honor and life are at stake.”
+
+“Poor imprudent girl! How do you know but he would be the very first to
+blame you cruelly for such a step?”
+
+“He?”
+
+“Men are made so: the most perfect devotion irritates them at times.”
+
+“Be it so. I would rather endure Jacques’s unjust reproaches than the
+idea of not having done my duty.”
+
+M. de Chandore began to despair.
+
+“And if I were to beg you, Dionysia, instead of commanding. If your
+old grandfather were to beseech you on his knees to abandon your fatal
+project.”
+
+“You would cause me fearful pain, dear papa: but it would be all in
+vain; for I must resist your prayers, as I must resist your orders.”
+
+“Inexorable!” cried the old gentleman. “She is immovable!” And suddenly
+changing his tone, he cried,--
+
+“But, after all, I am master here.”
+
+“Dear papa, pray!”
+
+“And since nothing can move you, I will speak to Mechinet, I will let
+Blangin know my will.”
+
+Dionysia, turning as pale as death, but with burning eyes, drew back a
+step, and said,--
+
+“If you do that, grandpapa, if you destroy my last hope”--
+
+“Well?”
+
+“I swear to you by the sacred memory of my mother, I will be in a
+convent to-morrow, and you will never see me again in your life, not
+even if I should die, which would certainly soon”--
+
+M. de Chandore, raising his hands to heaven, and with an accent of
+genuine despair, exclaimed,--
+
+“Ah, my God! Are these our children? And is this what is in store for
+us old people? We have spent a lifetime in watching over them; we have
+submissively gratified all their fancies; they have been our greatest
+anxiety, and our sweetest hope; we have given them our life day by day,
+and we would not hesitate to give them our life’s blood drop by drop;
+they are every thing to us, and we imagine they love us--poor fools that
+we are! One fine day, a man goes by, a careless, thoughtless man, with
+a bright eye and a ready tongue, and it is all over. Our child is no
+longer our own; our child no longer knows us. Go, old man, and die in
+your corner.”
+
+Overwhelmed by his grief, the old man staggered and sank into a chair,
+as an old oak, cut by the woodman’s axe, trembles and falls.
+
+“Ah, this is fearful!” murmured Dionysia. “What you say, grandpapa, is
+too fearful. How can you doubt me?”
+
+She had knelt down. She was weeping; and her hot tears fell upon the old
+gentleman’s hands. He started up as he felt them on his icy-cold hand;
+and, making one more effort, he said,--
+
+“Poor, poor child! And suppose Jacques is guilty, and, when he sees you,
+confesses his crime, what then?”
+
+Dionysia shook her head.
+
+“That is impossible,” she said; “and still, even if it were so, I ought
+to be punished as much as he is; for I know, if he had asked me, I
+should have acted in concert with him.”
+
+“She is mad!” exclaimed M. de Chandore, falling back into his chair.
+“She is mad!”
+
+But he was overcome; and the next day, at five in the afternoon, his
+heart torn by unspeakable grief, he went down the steep street with
+his daughter on his arm. Dionysia had chosen her simplest and plainest
+dress; and the little bag she carried on her arm contained not sixteen
+but twenty thousand francs. As a matter of course, it had been necessary
+to take the marchioness into their confidence; but neither she, nor the
+Misses Lavarande, nor M. Folgat, had raised an objection. Down to the
+prison, grandfather and grandchild had not exchanged a word; but, when
+they reached it, Dionysia said,--
+
+“I see Mrs. Blangin at the door: let us be careful.”
+
+They came nearer. Mrs. Blangin saluted them.
+
+“Come, it is time,” said the young girl. “Till to-morrow, dear papa! Go
+home quickly, and be not troubled about me.”
+
+Then joining the keeper’s wife, she disappeared inside the prison.
+
+
+
+X.
+
+The prison of Sauveterre is in the castle at the upper end of town, in a
+poor and almost deserted suburb. This castle, once upon a time of great
+importance, had been dismantled at the time of the siege of Rochelle;
+and all that remains are a few badly-repaired ruins, ramparts with
+fosses that have been filled up, a gate surmounted by a small belfry, a
+chapel converted into a magazine, and finally two huge towers connected
+by an immense building, the lower rooms in which are vaulted.
+
+Nothing can be more mournful than these ruins, enclosed within an
+ivy-covered wall; and nothing would indicate the use that is made
+of them, except the sentinel which stands day and night at the gate.
+Ancient elm-trees overshadow the vast courts; and on the old walls, as
+well as in every crevice, there grow and bloom enough flowers to rejoice
+a hundred prisoners. But this romantic prison is without prisoners.
+
+“It is a cage without birds,” says the jailer often in his most
+melancholy voice.
+
+He takes advantage of this to raise his vegetables all along the
+slopes; and the exposure is so excellent, that he is always the first in
+Sauveterre who had young peas. He has also taken advantage of this--with
+leave granted by the authorities--to fit up very comfortable lodgings
+for himself in one of the towers. He has two rooms below, and a chamber
+up stairs, which you reach by a narrow staircase in the thickness of the
+wall. It was to this chamber that the keeper’s wife took Dionysia with
+all the promptness of fear. The poor girl was out of breath. Her heart
+was beating violently; and, as soon as she was in the room, she sank
+into a chair.
+
+“Great God!” cried the woman. “You are not sick, my dear young lady?
+Wait, I’ll run for some vinegar.”
+
+“Never mind,” replied Dionysia in a feeble voice. “Stay here, my dear
+Colette: don’t go away!”
+
+For Colette was her name, though she was as dark as gingerbread, nearly
+forty-five years old, and boasted of a decided mustache on her upper
+lip.
+
+“Poor young lady!” she said. “You feel badly at being here.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Dionysia. “But where is your husband?”
+
+“Down stairs, on the lookout, madam. He will come up directly.” Very
+soon afterwards, a heavy step was heard on the stairs; and Blangin came
+in, looking pale and anxious, like a man who feels that he is running a
+great risk.
+
+“Neither seen nor known,” he cried. “No one is aware of your presence
+here. I was only afraid of that dog of a sentinel; and, just as you came
+by, I had managed to get him round the corner, offering him a drop of
+something to drink. I begin to hope I shall not lose my place.”
+
+Dionysia accepted these words as a summons to speak out.
+
+“Ah!” she said, “don’t mind your place: don’t you know I have promised
+you a better one?”
+
+And, with a gayety which was very far from being real, she opened her
+little bag, and put upon the table the rolls which it contained.
+
+“Ah, that is gold!” said Blangin with eager eyes.
+
+“Yes. Each one of these rolls contains a thousand francs; and here are
+sixteen.”
+
+An irresistible temptation seized the jailer.
+
+“May I see?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly!” replied the young girl. “Look for yourself and count.”
+
+She was mistaken. Blangin did not think of counting, not he. What he
+wanted was only to gratify his eye by the sight of the gold, to hear its
+sound, to handle it.
+
+With feverish eagerness he tore open the wrappings, and let the pieces
+fall in cascades upon the table; and, as the heap increased, his lips
+turned white, and perspiration broke out on his temples.
+
+“And all that is for me?” he said with a stupid laugh.
+
+“Yes, it is yours,” replied Dionysia.
+
+“I did not know how sixteen thousand francs would look. How beautiful
+gold is! Just look, wife.”
+
+But Colette turned her head away. She was quite as covetous as her
+husband, and perhaps even more excited; but she was a woman, and she
+knew how to dissemble.
+
+“Ah, my dear young lady!” she said, “never would my old man and myself
+have asked you for money, if we had only ourselves to think of. But we
+have children.”
+
+“Your duty is to think of your children,” replied Dionysia.
+
+“I know sixteen thousand francs is a big sum. Perhaps you will be sorry
+to give us so much money.”
+
+“I am not sorry at all: I would even add to it willingly.” And she
+showed them one of the other four rolls in her bag.
+
+“Then, to be sure, what do I care for my place!” cried Blangin. And,
+intoxicated by the sight and the touch of the gold, he added,--
+
+“You are at home here, madam; and the jail and the jailer are at your
+disposal. What do you desire? Just speak. I have nine prisoners, not
+counting M. de Boiscoran and Trumence. Do you want me to set them all
+free?”
+
+“Blangin!” said his wife reprovingly.
+
+“What? Am I not free to let the prisoners go?”
+
+“Before you play the master, wait, at least, till you have rendered our
+young lady the service which she expects from you.”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Then go and conceal this money,” said the prudent woman; “or it might
+betray us.”
+
+And, drawing from her cupboard a woollen stocking, she handed it to
+her husband, who slipped the sixteen thousand francs into it, retaining
+about a dozen gold-pieces, which he kept in his pocket so as always to
+have in his hands some tangible evidence of his new fortune. When this
+was done, and the stocking, full to overflowing, had been put back in
+the cupboard under a pile of linen, she ordered her husband,--
+
+“Now, you go down. Somebody might be coming; and, if you were not there
+to open when they knock, that might look suspicious.”
+
+Like a well-trained husband, Blangin obeyed without saying a word; and
+then his wife bethought herself how to entertain Dionysia. She hoped,
+she said, her dear young lady would do her the honor to take something.
+That would strengthen her, and, besides, help her to pass the time;
+for it was only seven o’clock, and Blangin could not take her to M. de
+Boiscoran’s cell before ten, without great danger.
+
+“But I have dined,” Dionysia objected. “I do not want any thing.”
+
+The woman insisted only the more. She remembered (God be thanked!) her
+dear young lady’s taste; and she had made her an admirable broth, and
+some beautiful dessert. And, while thus talking, she set the table,
+having made up her mind that Dionysia must eat at all hazards; at least,
+so says the tradition of the place.
+
+The eager zeal of the woman had, at least, this advantage,--that it
+prevented Dionysia from giving way to her painful thoughts.
+
+Night had come. It was nine o’clock; then it struck ten. At last, the
+watch came round to relieve the sentinels. A quarter of an hour after
+that, Blangin reappeared, holding a lantern and an enormous bunch of
+keys in his hands.
+
+“I have seen Trumence to bed,” he said. “You can come now, madam.”
+
+Dionysia was all ready.
+
+“Let us go,” she said simply.
+
+Then she followed the jailer along interminable passages, through a
+vast vaulted hall, in which their steps resounded as in a church, then
+through a long gallery. At last, pointing at a massive door, through the
+cracks of which the light was piercing, he said,--
+
+“Here we are.”
+
+But Dionysia seized his arm, and said in an almost inaudible voice,--
+
+“Wait a moment.”
+
+She was almost overcome by so many successive emotions. She felt her
+legs give way under her, and her eyes become dim. In her heart she
+preserved all her usual energy; but the flesh escaped from her will and
+failed her at the last moment.
+
+“Are you sick?” asked the jailer. “What is the matter?”
+
+She prayed to God for courage and strength: when her prayer was
+finished, she said,--
+
+“Now, let us go in.”
+
+And, making a great noise with the keys and the bolts, Blangin opened
+the door to Jacques de Boiscoran’s cell.
+
+Jacques counted no longer the days, but the hours. He had been
+imprisoned on Friday morning, June 23, and this was Wednesday night,
+June 28, He had been a hundred and thirty-two hours, according to the
+graphic description of a great writer, “living, but struck from the roll
+of the living, and buried alive.”
+
+Each one of these hundred and thirty-two hours had weighed upon him
+like a month. Seeing him pale and haggard, with his hair and beard
+in disorder, and his eyes shining brightly with fever, like
+half-extinguished coals, one would hardly have recognized in him the
+happy lord of Boiscoran, free from care and trouble, upon whom fortune
+had ever smiled,--that haughty sceptical young man, who from the height
+of the past defied the future.
+
+The fact is, that society, obliged to defend itself against criminals,
+has invented no more fearful suffering than what is called “close
+confinement.” There is nothing that will sooner demoralize a man, crush
+his will, and utterly conquer the most powerful energy. There is no
+struggle more distressing than the struggle between an innocent man
+accused of some crime, and the magistrate,--a helpless being in the
+hands of a man armed with unlimited power.
+
+If great sorrow was not sacred, to a certain degree, Dionysia might have
+heard all about Jacques. Nothing would have been easier. She would have
+been told by Blangin, who was watching M. de Boiscoran like a spy, and
+by his wife, who prepared his meals, through what anguish he had passed
+since his imprisonment.
+
+Stunned at first, he had soon recovered; and on Friday and Saturday he
+had been quiet and confident, talkative, and almost cheerful. But Sunday
+had been a fatal day. Two gendarmes had carried him to Boiscoran to take
+off the seals; and on his way out he had been overwhelmed with insults
+and curses by the people who had recognized him. He had come back
+terribly distressed.
+
+On Tuesday, he had received Dionysia’s letter, and answered it. This
+had excited him fearfully, and, during a part of the night, Trumence
+had seen him walk up and down in his cell with all the gestures and
+incoherent imprecations of a madman.
+
+He had hoped for a letter on Wednesday. When none came, he had sunk into
+a kind of stupor, during which M. Galpin had been unable to draw a word
+from him. He had taken nothing all day long but a little broth and a cup
+of coffee. When the magistrate left him, he had sat down, leaning his
+head on his elbows, facing the window; and there he had remained, never
+moving, and so deeply absorbed in his reveries, that he had taken no
+notice when they brought him light. He was still in this state, when, a
+little after ten o’clock, he heard the grating of the bolts of his cell.
+He had become so well acquainted with the prison that he knew all its
+regulations. He knew at what hours his meals were brought, at what
+time Trumence came to clean up his room, and when he might expect
+the magistrate. After night, he knew he was his own master till next
+morning. So late a visit therefore, must needs bring him some unexpected
+news, his liberty, perhaps,--that visitor for whom all prisoners look so
+anxiously.
+
+He started up. As soon as he distinguished in the darkness the jailer’s
+rugged face, he asked eagerly,--
+
+“Who wants me?”
+
+Blangin bowed. He was a polite jailer. Then he replied,--
+
+“Sir, I bring you a visitor.”
+
+And, moving aside, he made way for Dionysia, or, rather, he pushed her
+into the room; for she seemed to have lost all power to move.
+
+“A visitor?” repeated M. de Boiscoran.
+
+But the jailer had raised his lantern, and the poor man could recognize
+his betrothed.
+
+“You,” he cried, “you here!”
+
+And he drew back, afraid of being deceived by a dream, or one of those
+fearful hallucinations which announce the coming of insanity, and take
+hold of the brains of sick people in times of over-excitement.
+
+“Dionysia!” he barely whispered, “Dionysia!”
+
+If not her own life (for she cared nothing for that), but Jacques’s
+life, had at that moment depended on a single word, Dionysia could not
+have uttered it. Her throat was parched, and her lips refused to move.
+The jailer took it upon himself to answer,--
+
+“Yes,” he said, “Miss Chandore.”
+
+“At this hour, in my prison!”
+
+“She had something important to communicate to you. She came to me”--
+
+“O Dionysia!” stammered Jacques, “what a precious friend”--
+
+“And I agreed,” said Blangin in a paternal tone of voice, “to bring her
+in secretly. It is a great sin I commit; and if it ever should become
+known--But one may be ever so much a jailer, one has a heart, after all.
+I tell you so merely because the young lady might not think of it. If
+the secret is not kept carefully, I should lose my place, and I am a
+poor man, with wife and children.”
+
+“You are the best of men!” exclaimed M. de Boiscoran, far from
+suspecting the price that had been paid for Blangin’s sympathy, “and, on
+the day on which I regain my liberty, I will prove to you that we whom
+you have obliged are not ungrateful.”
+
+“Quite at your service,” replied the jailer modestly.
+
+Gradually, however, Dionysia had recovered her self-possession. She said
+gently to Blangin,--
+
+“Leave us now, my good friend.”
+
+As soon as he had disappeared, and without allowing M. de Boiscoran to
+say a word, she said, speaking very low,--
+
+“Jacques, grandpapa has told me, that by coming thus to you at night,
+alone, and in secret, I run the risk of losing your affection, and of
+diminishing your respect.”
+
+“Ah, you did not think so!”
+
+“Grandpapa has more experience than I have, Jacques. Still I did not
+hesitate. Here I am; and I should have run much greater risks; for your
+honor is at stake, and your honor is my honor, as your life is my life.
+Your future is at stake, _our_ future, our happiness, all our hopes here
+below.”
+
+Inexpressible joy had illumined the prisoner’s face.
+
+“O God!” he cried, “one such moment pays for years of torture.”
+
+But Dionysia had sworn to herself, as she came, that nothing should turn
+her aside from her purpose. So she went on,--
+
+“By the sacred memory of my mother, I assure you, Jacques, that I have
+never for a moment doubted your innocence.”
+
+The unhappy man looked distressed.
+
+“You,” he said; “but the others? But M. de Chandore?”
+
+“Do you think I would be here, if he thought you were guilty? My aunts
+and your mother are as sure of it as I am.”
+
+“And my father? You said nothing about him in your letter.”
+
+“Your father remained in Paris in case some influence in high quarters
+should have to be appealed to.”
+
+Jacque shook his head, and said,--
+
+“I am in prison at Sauveterre, accused of a fearful crime, and my father
+remains in Paris! It must be true that he never really loved me. And yet
+I have always been a good son to him down to this terrible catastrophe.
+He has never had to complain of me. No, my father does not love me.”
+
+Dionysia could not allow him to go off in this way.
+
+“Listen to me, Jacques,” she said: “let me tell you why I ran the risk
+of taking this serious step, that may cost me so dear. I come to you
+in the name of all your friends, in the name of M. Folgat, the great
+advocate whom your mother has brought down from Paris and in the name of
+M. Magloire, in whom you put so much confidence. They all agree you have
+adopted an abominable system. By refusing obstinately to speak, you rush
+voluntarily into the gravest danger. Listen well to what I tell you.
+If you wait till the examination is over, you are lost. If you are once
+handed over to the court, it is too late for you to speak. You will
+only, innocent as you are, make one more on the list of judicial
+murders.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran had listened to Dionysia in silence, his head bowed
+to the ground, as if to conceal its pallor from her. As soon as she
+stopped, all out of breath, he murmured,--
+
+“Alas! Every thing you tell me I have told myself more than once.”
+
+“And you did not speak?”
+
+“I did not.”
+
+“Ah, Jacques, you are not aware of the danger you run! You do not
+know”--
+
+“I know,” he said, interrupting her in a harsh, hoarse voice,--“I know
+that the scaffold, or the galleys, are at the end.”
+
+Dionysia was petrified with horror.
+
+Poor girl! She had imagined that she would only have to show herself
+to triumph over Jacques’s obstinacy, and that, as soon as she had heard
+what he had to say, she would feel reassured. And instead of that--
+
+“What a misfortune!” she cried. “You have taken up these fearful
+notions, and you will not abandon them!”
+
+“I must keep silent.”
+
+“You cannot. You have not considered!--”
+
+“Not considered,” he repeated.
+
+And in a lower tone he added,--
+
+“And what do you think I have been doing these hundred and thirty mortal
+hours since I have been alone in this prison,--alone to confront a
+terrible accusation, and a still more terrible emergency?”
+
+“That is the difficulty, Jacques: you are the victim of your own
+imagination. And who could help it in your place? M. Folgat said so
+only yesterday. There is no man living, who, after four days’ close
+confinement, can keep his mind cool. Grief and solitude are bad
+counsellors. Jacques, come to yourself; listen to your dearest friends
+who speak to you through me. Jacques, your Dionysia beseeches you.
+Speak!”
+
+“I cannot.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+She waited for some seconds; and, as he did not reply, she said, not
+without a slight accent of bitterness in her voice,--
+
+“Is it not the first duty of an innocent man to establish his
+innocence?”
+
+The prisoner, with a movement of despair, clasped his hands over his
+brow. Then bending over Dionysia, so that she felt his breath in her
+hair, he said,--
+
+“And when he cannot, when he cannot, establish his innocence?”
+
+She drew back, pale unto death, tottering so that she had to lean
+against the wall, and cast upon Jacques de Boiscoran glances in which
+the whole horror of her soul was clearly expressed.
+
+“What do you say?” she stammered. “O God!”
+
+He laughed, the wretched man! with that laugh which is the last
+utterance of despair. And then he replied,--
+
+“I say that there are circumstances which upset our reason; unheard-of
+circumstances, which could make one doubt of one’s self. I say that
+every thing accuses me, that every thing overwhelms me, that every thing
+turns against me. I say, that if I were in M. Galpin’s place, and if he
+were in mine, I should act just as he does.”
+
+“That is insanity!” cried Dionysia.
+
+But Jacques de Boiscoran did not hear her. All the bitterness of the
+last days rose within him: he turned red, and became excited. At last,
+with gasping vice, he broke forth,--
+
+“Establish my innocence! Ah! that is easily said. But how? No, I am not
+guilty: but a crime has been committed; and for this crime justice will
+have a culprit. If it is not I who fired at Count Claudieuse, and set
+Valpinson on fire, who is it? ‘Where were you,’ they ask me, ‘at the
+time of the murder?’ Where was I? Can I tell it? To clear myself is to
+accuse others. And if I should be mistaken? Or if, not being mistaken,
+I should be unable to prove the truthfulness of my accusation? The
+murderer and the incendiary, of course, took all possible precautions to
+escape detection, and to let the punishment fall upon me. I was warned
+beforehand. Ah, if we could always foresee, could know beforehand! How
+can I defend myself? On the first day I said, ‘Such a charge cannot
+reach me: it is a cloud that a breath will scatter.’ Madman that I was!
+The cloud has become an avalanche, and I may be crushed. I am neither a
+child nor a coward; and I have always met phantoms face to face. I have
+measured the danger, and I know it is fearful.”
+
+Dionysia shuddered. She cried,--
+
+“What will become of us?”
+
+This time M. de Boiscoran heard her, and was ashamed of his weakness.
+But, before he could master his feelings, the young girl went on,
+saying,--
+
+“But never mind. These are idle thoughts. Truth soars invincible,
+unchangeable, high above all the ablest calculations and the most
+skilful combinations. Jacques, you must tell the truth, the whole truth,
+without subterfuge or concealment.”
+
+“I can do so no longer,” murmured he.
+
+“Is it such a terrible secret?”
+
+“It is improbable.”
+
+Dionysia looked at him almost with fear. She did not recognize his old
+face, nor his eye, nor the tone of his voice. She drew nearer to him,
+and taking his hand between her own small white hands, she said,--
+
+“But you can tell it to me, your friend, your”--
+
+He trembled, and, drawing back, he said,--
+
+“To you less than anybody else.”
+
+And, feeling how mortifying such an answer must be, he added,--
+
+“Your mind is too pure for such wretched intrigues. I do not want your
+wedding-dress to be stained by a speck of that mud into which they have
+thrown me.”
+
+Was she deceived? No; but she had the courage to seem to be deceived.
+She went on quietly,--
+
+“Very well, then. But the truth will have to be told sooner or later.”
+
+“Yes, to M. Magloire.”
+
+“Well, then, Jacques, write down at once what you mean to tell him. Here
+are pen and ink: I will carry it to him faithfully.”
+
+“There are things, Dionysia, which cannot be written.”
+
+She felt she was beaten; she understood that nothing would ever bend
+that iron will, and yet she said once more,--
+
+“But if I were to beseech you, Jacques, by our past and our future, by
+that great and eternal love which you have sworn?”
+
+“Do you really wish to make my prison hours a thousand times harder than
+they are? Do you want to deprive me of my last remnant of strength and
+of courage? Have you really no confidence in me any longer? Could you
+not believe me a few days more?”
+
+He paused. Somebody knocked at the door; and almost at the same time
+Blangin the jailer called out through the wicket,--
+
+“Time is passing. I want to be down stairs when they relieve guard. I am
+running a great risk. I am a father of a family.”
+
+“Go home now, Dionysia,” said Jacques eagerly, “go home. I cannot think
+of your being seen here.”
+
+Dionysia had paid dear enough to know that she was quite safe; still she
+did not object. She offered her brow to Jacques, who touched it with
+his lips; and half dead, holding on to the walls, she went back to the
+jailer’s little room. They had made up a bed for her, and she threw
+herself on it, dressed as she was, and remained there, immovable, as if
+she had been dead, overcome by a kind of stupor which deprived her even
+of the faculty of suffering.
+
+It was bright daylight, it was eight o’clock, when she felt somebody
+pulling her sleeve. The jailer’s wife said to her,--
+
+“My dear young lady, this would be a good time for you to slip away.
+Perhaps they will wonder to see you alone in the street; but they will
+think you are coming home from seven o’clock mass.”
+
+Without saying a word, Dionysia jumped down, and in a moment she had
+arranged her hair and her dress. Then Blangin came, rather troubled at
+not seeing her leave the house; and she said to him, giving him one of
+the thousand-franc rolls that were still in her bag,--
+
+“This is for you: I want you to remember me, if I should need you
+again.”
+
+And, dropping her veil over her face, she went away.
+
+
+
+XI.
+
+Baron Chandore had had one terrible night in his life, every minute of
+which he had counted by the ebbing pulse of his only son.
+
+The evening before, the physicians had said,--
+
+“If he lives this night, he may be saved.”
+
+At daybreak he had expired.
+
+Well, the old gentleman had hardly suffered more during that fatal night
+than he did this night, during which Dionysia was away from the house.
+He knew very well that Blangin and his wife were honest people, in
+spite of their avarice and their covetousness; he knew that Jacques de
+Boiscoran was an honourable man.
+
+But still, during the whole night, his old servant heard him walk up and
+down his room; and at seven o’clock in the morning he was at the door,
+looking anxiously up and down the street. Towards half-past seven, M.
+Folgat came up; but he hardly wished him good-morning, and he certainly
+did not hear a word of what the lawyer told him to reassure him. At
+last, however, the old man cried,--
+
+“Ah, there she is!”
+
+He was not mistaken. Dionysia was coming round the corner. She came up
+to the house in feverish haste, as if she had known that her strength
+was at an end, and would barely suffice to carry her to the door.
+
+Grandpapa Chandore met her with a kind of fierce joy, pressed her in his
+arms, and said over and over again,--
+
+“O Dionysia! Oh, my darling child, how I have suffered! How long you
+have been! But it is all over now. Come, come, come!”
+
+And he almost carried her into the parlor, and put her down tenderly
+into a large easy-chair. He knelt down by her, smiling with happiness;
+but, when he had taken her hands in his, he said,--
+
+“Your hands are burning. You have a fever!”
+
+He looked at her: she had raised her veil.
+
+“You are pale as death!” he went on. “Your eyes are red and swollen!”
+
+“I have cried, dear papa,” she replied gently.
+
+“Cried! Why?”
+
+“Alas, I have failed!”
+
+As if moved by a sudden shock, M. de Chandore started up, and cried,--
+
+“By God’s holy name the like has not been heard since the world was
+made! What! you went, you Dionysia de Chandore, to him in his prison;
+you begged him”--
+
+“And he remained inflexible. Yes, dear papa. He will say nothing till
+after the preliminary investigation is over.”
+
+“We were mistaken in the man: he has no courage and no feeling.”
+
+Dionysia had risen painfully, and said feebly,--
+
+“Ah, dear papa! Do not blame him, do not accuse him! he is so unhappy!”
+
+“But what reasons does he give?”
+
+“He says the facts are so very improbable that he should certainly not
+be believed; and that he should ruin himself if he were to speak as long
+as he is kept in close confinement, and has no advocate. He says his
+position is the result of a wicked conspiracy. He says he thinks he
+knows the guilty one, and that he will denounce the person, since he is
+forced to do so in self-defence.”
+
+M. Folgat, who had until now remained a silent witness of the scene,
+came up, and asked,--
+
+“Are you quite sure, madam, that that was what M. de Boiscoran said?”
+
+“Oh, quite sure, sir! And, if I lived a thousand years, I should never
+forget the look of his eyes, or the tone of his voice.”
+
+M. de Chandore did not allow her to be interrupted again.
+
+“But surely, my dear child, Jacques told you--you--something more
+precise?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You did not ask him even what those improbable facts were?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“He said that I was the very last person who could be told.”
+
+“That man ought to be burnt over a slow fire,” said M. de Chandore to
+himself. Then he added in a louder voice,--
+
+“And you do not think all this very strange, very extraordinary?”
+
+“It seems to me horrible!”
+
+“I understand. But what do you think of Jacques?”
+
+“I think, dear papa, that he cannot act otherwise, or he would not do
+it. Jacques is too intelligent and too courageous to deceive himself
+easily. As he alone knows every thing, he alone can judge. I, of course,
+am bound to respect his will more than anybody else.”
+
+But the old gentleman did not think himself bound to respect it; and,
+exasperated as he was by this resignation of his grandchild, he was
+on the point of telling her his mind fully, when she got up with some
+effort, and said, in an almost inaudible voice,--
+
+“I am broken to pieces! Excuse me, grandpapa, if I go to my room.” She
+left the parlor. M. de Chandore accompanied her to the door, remained
+there till he had seen her get up stairs, where her maid was waiting for
+her, and then came back to M. Folgat.
+
+“They are going to kill me, sir!” he cried, with an explosion of wrath
+and despair which was almost frightful in a man of his age. “She had in
+her eyes the same look that her mother had when she told me, after her
+husband’s death, ‘I shall not survive him.’ And she did not survive my
+poor son. And then I, old man, was left alone with that child; and who
+knows but she may have in her the germ of the same disease which killed
+her mother? Alone! And for these twenty years I have held my breath to
+listen if she is still breathing as naturally and regularly”--
+
+“You are needlessly alarmed,” began the advocate.
+
+But Grandpapa Chandore shook his head, and said,--
+
+“No, no. I fear my child has been hurt in her heart’s heart. Did you not
+see how white she looked, and how faint her voice was? Great God! wilt
+thou leave me all alone here upon earth? O God! for which of my sins
+dost thou punish me in my children? For mercy’s sake, call me home
+before she also leaves me, who is the joy of my life. And I can do
+nothing to turn aside this fatality--stupid inane old man that I am! And
+this Jacques de Boiscoran--if he were guilty, after all? Ah the wretch!
+I would hang him with my own hands!”
+
+Deeply moved, M. Folgat had watched the old gentleman’s grief. Now he
+said,--
+
+“Do not blame M. de Boiscoran, sir, now that every thing is against him!
+Of all of us, he suffers, after all, most; for he is innocent.”
+
+“Do you still think so?”
+
+“More than ever. Little as he has said, he has told Miss Dionysia enough
+to confirm me in my conjecture, and to prove to me that I have guessed
+right.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“The day we went to Boiscoran.”
+
+The baron tried to remember.
+
+“I do not recollect,” he said.
+
+“Don’t you remember,” said the lawyer, “that you left us, so as to
+permit Anthony to answer my questions more freely?”
+
+“To be sure!” cried M. de Chandore, “to be sure! And then you thought”--
+
+“I thought I had guessed right, yes, sir; but I am not going to do any
+thing now. M. de Boiscoran tells us that the facts are improbable. I
+should, therefore, in all probability, soon be astray; but, since we
+are now bound to be passive till the investigation is completed, I shall
+employ the time in examining the country people, who will, probably,
+tell me more than Anthony did. You have, no doubt, among your friends,
+some who must be well informed,--M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos.”
+
+The latter did not keep M. Folgat waiting long; for his name had hardly
+been mentioned, when he himself repeated it in the passage, telling a
+servant,--
+
+“Say it is I, Dr. Seignebos, Dr. Seignebos.”
+
+He fell like a bombshell into the room. It was four days now since he
+had last presented himself there; for he had not come himself for his
+report and the shot he had left in M. Folgat’s hands. He had sent for
+them, excusing himself on the score of his many engagements. The fact
+was, however, that he had spent nearly the whole of these four days at
+the hospital, in company with one of his brother-practitioners, who had
+been sent for by the court to proceed, “jointly with Dr. Seignebos,” to
+an examination of Cocoleu’s mental condition.
+
+“And this is what brings me here,” he cried, still in the door; “for
+this opinion, if it is not put into proper order, will deprive M. de
+Boiscoran of his best and surest chance of escape.”
+
+After what Dionysia had told them, neither M. de Chandore nor M. Folgat
+attached much importance to the state of Cocoleu’s mind: still this word
+“escape” attracted their attention. There is nothing unimportant in a
+criminal trial.
+
+“Is there any thing new?” asked the advocate.
+
+The doctor first went to close the doors carefully, and then, putting
+his cane and broad-brimmed hat upon the table, he said,--
+
+“No, there is nothing new. They still insist, as before, upon ruining M.
+de Boiscoran; and, in order to do that, they shrink from nothing.”
+
+“They! Who are they?” asked M. de Chandore.
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
+
+“Are you really in doubt, sir?” he replied. “And yet the facts speak
+clearly enough. In this department, there is a certain number of
+physicians who are not very keenly alive to the honor of their
+profession, and who are, to tell the truth, consummate apes.”
+
+Grave as the situation was, M. Folgat could hardly suppress a smile, the
+doctor’s manner was so very extraordinary.
+
+“But there is one of these apes,” he went on, “who, in length of ears
+and thickness of skin, surpasses all the others. Well, he is the very
+one whom the court has chosen and associated with me.”
+
+Upon this subject it was desirable to put a check upon the doctor. M. de
+Chandore therefore interrupted him, saying,--
+
+“In fine”--
+
+“In fine, my learned brother is fully persuaded that his mission as a
+physician employed by a court of justice is to say ‘Amen’ to all the
+stories of the prosecution. ‘Cocoleu is an idiot,’ says M. Galpin
+peremptorily. ‘He is an idiot, or ought to be one,’ reechoes my learned
+brother. ‘He spoke on the occasion of the crime by an inspiration from
+on high,’ the magistrate goes on to say. ‘Evidently,’ adds the brother,
+‘there was an inspiration from on high.’ For this is the conclusion at
+which my learned brother arrives in his report: ‘Cocoleu is an idiot who
+had been providentially inspired by a flash of reason.’ He does not say
+it in these words; but it amounts to the same thing.”
+
+He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them industriously.
+
+“But what do you think, doctor?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+Dr. Seignebos solemnly put on again his spectacles, and replied
+coldly,--
+
+“My opinion, which I have fully developed in my report, is, that Cocoleu
+is not idiotic at all.”
+
+M. Chandore started: the proposition seemed to him monstrous. He
+knew Cocoleu very well; he had seen him wander through the streets of
+Sauveterre during the eighteen months which the poor creature had spent
+under the doctor’s treatment.
+
+“What! Cocoleu not idiotic?” he repeated.
+
+“No!” Dr. Seignebos declared peremptorily; “and you have only to look at
+him to be convinced. Has he a large flat face, disproportionate mouth,
+a yellow, tanned complexion, thick lips, defective teeth, and squinting
+eyes? Does his deformed head sway from side to side, being too heavy to
+be supported by his neck? Is his body deformed, and his spine crooked?
+Do you find that his stomach is big and pendent, that his hands drop
+upon his thighs, that his legs are awkward, and the joints unusually
+large? These are the symptoms of idiocy, gentleman, and you do not find
+them in Cocoleu. I, for my part, see in him a scamp, who has an iron
+constitution, who uses his hands very cleverly, climbs trees like a
+monkey, and leaps ditches ten feet wide. To be sure, I do not pretend
+that his intellect is normal; but I maintain that he is one of those
+imbeciles who have certain faculties very fully developed, while others,
+more essential, are missing.”
+
+While M. Folgat listened with the most intense interest, M. de Chandore
+became impatient, and said,--
+
+“The difference between an idiot and an imbecile”--
+
+“There is a world between them,” cried the doctor.
+
+And at once he went on with overwhelming volubility,--
+
+“The imbecile preserves some fragments of intelligence. He can speak,
+make known his wants, and express his feelings. He associates ideas,
+compares impressions, remembers things, and acquires experience. He is
+capable of cunning and dissimulation. He hates and likes and fears.
+If he is not always sociable, he is susceptible of being influenced
+by others. You can easily obtain perfect control over him. His
+inconsistency is remarkable; and still he shows, at times, invincible
+obstinacy. Finally, imbeciles are, on account of this semi-lucidity,
+often very dangerous. You find among them almost all those monomaniacs
+whom society is compelled to shut up in asylums, because they cannot
+master their instincts.”
+
+“Very well said,” repeated M. Folgat, who found here some elements of a
+plea,--“very well said.”
+
+The doctor bowed.
+
+“Such a creature is Cocoleu. Does it follow that I hold him responsible
+for his actions? By no means! But it follows that I look upon him as a
+false witness brought forth to ruin an honest man.”
+
+It was evident that such views did not please M. de Chandore.
+
+“Formerly,” he said, “you did not think so.”
+
+“No, I even said the contrary,” replied Dr. Seignebos, not without
+dignity. “I had not studied Cocoleu sufficiently, and I was taken in by
+him: I confess it openly. But this avowal of mine is an evidence of the
+cunning and the astute obstinacy of these wretched creatures, and of
+their capacity to carry out a design. After a year’s experience, I sent
+Cocoleu away, declaring, and certainly believing, that he was incurable.
+The fact is, he did not want to be cured. The country-people, who
+observe carefully and shrewdly, were not taken in; they will tell you,
+almost to a man, that Cocoleu is bad, but not an idiot. That is the
+truth. He has found out, that, by exaggerating his imbecility, he could
+live without work; and he has done it. When he was taken in by Count
+Claudieuse, he was clever enough to show just so much intelligence as
+was necessary to make him endurable, without being compelled to do any
+work.”
+
+“In a word,” said M. de Chandore incredulously, “Cocoleu is a great
+actor.”
+
+“Great enough to have deceived me,” replied the doctor: “yes, sir.”
+
+Then turning to M. Folgat, he went on,--
+
+“All this I had told my learned brother, before taking him to the
+hospital. There we found Cocoleu more obstinate than ever in his
+silence, which even M. Galpin had not induced him to break. All our
+efforts to obtain a word from him were fruitless, although it was very
+evident to me that he understood very well. I proposed to resort to
+quite legitimate means, which are employed to discover feigned defects
+and diseases; but my learned brother refused and was encouraged in his
+resistance by M. Galpin: I do not know upon what ground. Then I asked
+that the Countess Claudieuse should be sent for, as she has a talent of
+making him talk. M. Galpin would not permit it--and there we are.”
+
+It happens almost daily, that two physicians employed as experts differ
+in their opinions. The courts would have a great deal to do, if they
+had to force them to agree. They appoint simply a third expert, whose
+opinion is decisive. This was necessarily to be done in Cocoleu’s case.
+
+“And as necessarily,” continued Dr. Seignebos, “the court, having
+appointed a first ass, will associate with me a second ass. They will
+agree with each other, and I shall be accused and convicted of ignorance
+and presumption.”
+
+He came, therefore, as he now said, to ask M. de Chandore to render him
+a little service. He wanted the two families, Chandore and Boiscoran,
+to employ all their influence to obtain that a commission of physicians
+from outside--if possible, from Paris--should be appointed to examine
+Cocoleu, and to report on his mental condition.
+
+“I undertake,” he said, “to prove to really enlightened men, that
+this poor creature is partly pretending to be imbecile, and that his
+obstinate speechlessness is only adopted in order to avoid answers which
+would compromise him.”
+
+At first, however, neither M. de Chandore nor M. Folgat gave any answer.
+They were considering the question.
+
+“Mind,” said the doctor again, shocked at their silence, “mind, I pray,
+that if my view is adopted, as I have every reason to hope, a new turn
+will be given to the whole case.”
+
+Why yes! The ground of the accusation might be taken from under the
+prosecution; and that was what kept M. Folgat thinking.
+
+“And that is exactly,” he commenced at last, “what makes me ask myself
+whether the discovery of Cocoleu’s rascality would not be rather
+injurious than beneficial to M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+The doctor was furious. He cried,--
+
+“I should like to know”--
+
+“Nothing can be more simple,” replied the advocate. “Cocoleu’s idiocy
+is, perhaps the most serious difficulty in the way of the prosecution,
+and the most powerful argument for the defence. What can M. Galpin say,
+if M. de Boiscoran charges him with basing a capital charge upon the
+incoherent words of a creature void of intelligence, and, consequently,
+irresponsible.”
+
+“Ah! permit me,” said Dr. Seignebos.
+
+But M. de Chandore heard every syllable.
+
+“Permit yourself, doctor,” he said. “This argument of Cocoleu’s
+imbecility is one which you have pleaded from the beginning, and which
+appeared to you, you said, so conclusive, that there was no need of
+looking for any other.”
+
+Before the doctor could find an answer, M. Folgat went on,--
+
+“Let it be, on the contrary, established that Cocoleu really knows what
+he says, and all is changed. The prosecution is justified, by an opinion
+of the faculty, in saying to M. de Boiscoran, ‘You need not deny any
+longer. You have been seen; here is a witness.’”
+
+These arguments must have struck Dr. Seignebos very forcibly; for
+he remained silent for at least ten long seconds, wiping his gold
+spectacles with a pensive air. Had he really done harm to Jacques de
+Boiscoran, while he meant to help him? But he was not the man to be long
+in doubt. He replied in a dry tone,--
+
+“I will not discuss that, gentlemen. I will ask you, only one question:
+‘Yes or no, do you believe in M. de Boiscoran’s innocence?’”
+
+“We believe in it fully,” replied the two men.
+
+“Then, gentlemen, it seems to me we are running no risk in trying to
+unmask an impostor.”
+
+That was not the young lawyer’s opinion.
+
+“To prove that Cocoleu knows what he says,” he replied, “would be fatal,
+unless we can prove at the same time that he has told a falsehood, and
+that his evidence has been prompted by others. Can we prove that?
+Have we any means to prove that his obstinacy in not replying to any
+questions arises from his fear that his answers might convict him of
+perjury?”
+
+The doctor would hear nothing more. He said rather uncourteously,--
+
+“Lawyer’s quibbles! I know only one thing; and that is truth.”
+
+“It will not always do to tell it,” murmured the lawyer.
+
+“Yes, sir, always,” replied the physician,--“always, and at all hazards,
+and whatever may happen. I am M. de Boiscoran’s friend; but I am still
+more the friend of truth. If Cocoleu is a wretched impostor, as I am
+firmly convinced, our duty is to unmask him.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos did not say--and he probably did not confess it to
+himself--that it was a personal matter between Cocoleu and himself. He
+thought Cocoleu had taken him in, and been the cause of a host of small
+witticisms, under which he had suffered cruelly, though he had allowed
+no one to see it. To unmask Cocoleu would have given him his revenge,
+and return upon his enemies the ridicule with which they had overwhelmed
+him.
+
+“I have made up my mind,” he said, “and, whatever you may resolve,
+I mean to go to work at once, and try to obtain the appointment of a
+commission.”
+
+“It might be prudent,” M. Folgat said, “to consider before doing any
+thing, to consult with M. Magloire.”
+
+“I do not want to consult with Magloire when duty calls.”
+
+“You will grant us twenty-four hours, I hope.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos frowned till he looked formidable.
+
+“Not an hour,” he replied; “and I go from here to M. Daubigeon, the
+commonwealth attorney.”
+
+Thereupon, taking his hat and cane, he bowed and left, as dissatisfied
+as possible, without stopping even to answer M. de Chandore, who asked
+him how Count Claudieuse was, who was, according to reports in town,
+getting worse and worse.
+
+“Hang the old original!” cried M. de Chandore before the doctor had left
+the passage.
+
+Then turning to M. Folgat, he added,--
+
+“I must, however, confess that you received the great news which he
+brought rather coldly.”
+
+“The very fact of the news being so very grave,” replied the advocate,
+“made me wish for time to consider. If Cocoleu pretends to be imbecile,
+or, at least, exaggerates his incapacity, then we have a confirmation
+of what M. de Boiscoran last night told Miss Dionysia. It would be the
+proof of an odious trap of a long-premeditated vengeance. Here is the
+turning-point of the affair evidently.”
+
+M. de Chandore was bitterly undeceived.
+
+“What!” he said, “you think so, and you refuse to support Dr. Seignebos,
+who is certainly an honest man?”
+
+The young lawyer shook his head.
+
+“I wanted to have twenty-four hours’ delay, because we must absolutely
+consult M. de Boiscoran. Could I tell the doctor so? Had I a right to
+take him into Miss Dionysia’s secret?”
+
+“You are right,” murmured M. de Chandore, “you are right.”
+
+But, in order to write to M. de Boiscoran, Dionysia’s assistance was
+necessary; and she did not reappear till the afternoon, looking very
+pale, but evidently armed with new courage.
+
+M. Folgat dictated to her certain questions to ask the prisoner.
+
+She hastened to write them in cipher; and about four o’clock the letter
+was sent to Mechinet, the clerk.
+
+The next evening the answer came.
+
+“Dr. Seignebos is no doubt right, my dear friends,” wrote Jacques. “I
+have but too good reasons to be sure that Cocoleu’s imbecility is partly
+assumed, and that his evidence has been prompted by others. Still I
+must beg you will take no steps that would lead to another medical
+investigation. The slightest imprudence may ruin me. For Heaven’s sake
+wait till the end of the preliminary investigation, which is now near at
+hand, from what M. Galpin tells me.”
+
+The letter was read in the family circle; and the poor mother uttered a
+cry of despair as she heard those words of resignation.
+
+“Are we going to obey him,” she said, “when we all know that he is
+ruining himself by his obstinacy?”
+
+Dionysia rose, and said,--
+
+“Jacques alone can judge his situation, and he alone, therefore, has the
+right to command. Our duty is to obey. I appeal to M. Folgat.”
+
+The young advocate nodded his head.
+
+“Every thing has been done that could be done,” he said. “Now we can
+only wait.”
+
+
+
+XII.
+
+The famous night of the fire at Valpinson had been a godsend to the
+good people of Sauveterre. They had henceforth an inexhaustible topic
+of discussion, ever new and ever rich in unexpected conjectures,--the
+Boiscoran case. When people met in the streets, they simply asked,--
+
+“What are they doing now?”
+
+Whenever, therefore, M. Galpin went from the court-house to the prison,
+or came striding up National Street with his stiff, slow step, twenty
+good housewives peeped from behind their curtains to read in his face
+some of the secrets of the trial. They saw, however, nothing there but
+traces of intense anxiety, and a pallor which became daily more marked.
+They said to each other,--
+
+“You will see poor M. Galpin will catch the jaundice from it.”
+
+The expression was commonplace; but it conveyed exactly the feelings of
+the ambitious lawyer. This Boiscoran case had become like a festering
+wound to him, which irritated him incessantly and intolerably.
+
+“I have lost my sleep by it,” he told the commonwealth attorney.
+Excellent M. Daubigeon, who had great trouble in moderating his zeal,
+did not pity him particularly. He would say in reply,--
+
+“Whose fault is it? But you want to rise in the world; and increasing
+fortune is always followed by increasing care.
+
+“Ah!” said the magistrate. “I have only done my duty, and, if I had to
+begin again, I would do just the same.”
+
+Still every day he saw more clearly that he was in a false position.
+Public opinion, strongly arrayed against M. de Boiscoran, was not, on
+that account, very favorable to him. Everybody believed Jacques guilty,
+and wanted him to be punished with all the rigor of the law; but, on the
+other hand, everybody was astonished that M. Galpin should choose to
+act as magistrate in such a case. There was a touch of treachery in this
+proceeding against a former friend, in looking everywhere for evidence
+against him, in driving him into court, that is to say, towards the
+galleys or the scaffold; and this revolted people’s consciences.
+
+The very way in which people returned his greeting, or avoided him
+altogether, made the magistrate aware of the feelings they entertained
+for him. This only increased his wrath against Jacques, and, with it his
+trouble. He had been congratulated, it is true, by the attorney-general;
+but there is no certainty in a trial, as long as the accused refuses to
+confess. The charges against Jacques, to be sure, were so overwhelming,
+that his being sent before the court was out of question. But by the
+side of the court there is still the jury.
+
+“And in fine, my dear,” said the commonwealth attorney, “you have not
+a single eye-witness. And from time immemorial an eye-witness has been
+looked upon as worth a hundred hearsays.”
+
+“I have Cocoleu,” said M. Galpin, who was rather impatient of all these
+objections.
+
+“Have the doctors decided that he is not an idiot?”
+
+“No: Dr. Seignebos alone maintains that doctrine.”
+
+“Well, at least Cocoleu is willing to repeat his evidence?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why, then you have virtually no witness!”
+
+Yes, M. Galpin understood it but too well, and hence his anxiety. The
+more he studied _his_ accused, the more he found him in an enigmatic and
+threatening position, which was ominous of evil.
+
+“Can he have an _alibi_?” he thought. “Or does he hold in reserve one of
+those unforeseen revelations, which at the last moment destroy the whole
+edifice of the prosecution, and cover the prosecuting attorney with
+ridicule?”
+
+Whenever these thoughts occurred to him, they made big drops of
+perspiration run down his temples; and then he treated his poor clerk
+Mechinet like a slave. And that was not all. Although he lived more
+retired than ever, since this case had begun, many a report reached him
+from the Chandore family.
+
+To be sure, he was a thousand miles from imagining that they had
+actually opened communications with the prisoner, and, what is more,
+that this intercourse was carried on by Mechinet, his own clerk. He
+would have laughed if one had come and told him that Dionysia had spent
+a night in prison, and paid Jacques a visit. But he heard continually
+of the hopes and the plans of the friends and relations of his prisoner;
+and he remembered, not without secret fear and trembling that they were
+rich and powerful, supported by relations in high places, beloved and
+esteemed by everybody. He knew that Dionysia was surrounded by devoted
+and intelligent men, by M. de Chandore, M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, M.
+Magloire, and, finally, that advocate whom the Marchioness de Boiscoran
+had brought down with her from Paris, M. Folgat.
+
+“And Heaven knows what they would not try,” he thought, “to rescue the
+guilty man from the hands of justice!”
+
+It may well be said, therefore, that never was prosecution carried on
+with as much passionate zeal or as much minute assiduity. Every one of
+the points upon which the prosecution relied became, for M. Galpin,
+a subject of special study. In less than a fortnight he examined
+sixty-seven witnesses in his office. He summoned the fourth part of the
+population of Brechy. He would have summoned the whole country, if he
+had dared.
+
+But all his efforts were fruitless. After weeks of furious
+investigations, the inquiry was still at the same point, the mystery was
+still impenetrable. The prisoner had not refuted any of the charges
+made against him; but the magistrate had, also, not obtained a single
+additional piece of evidence after those he had secured on the first
+day.
+
+There must be an end of this, however.
+
+One warm afternoon in July, the good ladies in National Street thought
+they noticed that M. Galpin looked even more anxious than usual. They
+were right. After a long conference with the commonwealth attorney
+and the presiding judge, the magistrate had made up his mind. When he
+reached the prison, he went to Jacques’s cell and there, concealing his
+embarrassment under the greatest stiffness, he said,--
+
+“My painful duty draws to an end, sir: the inquiry with which I have
+been charged will be closed. To-morrow the papers, with a list of the
+objects to be used as evidence, will be sent to the attorney-general, to
+be submitted to the court.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran did not move.
+
+“Well,” he said simply.
+
+“Have you nothing to add, sir?” asked M. Galpin.
+
+“Nothing, except that I am innocent.”
+
+M. Galpin found it difficult to repress his impatience. He said,--
+
+“Well, then, prove it. Refute the charges which have been brought
+against you, which overwhelm you, which induce me, the court, and
+everybody else, to consider you guilty. Speak, and explain your
+conduct.”
+
+Jacques kept obstinately silent.
+
+“Your resolution is fixed,” said the magistrate once more, “you refuse
+to say any thing?”
+
+“I am innocent.”
+
+M. Galpin saw clearly that it was useless to insist any longer.
+
+“From this moment,” he said, “you are no longer in close confinement.
+You can receive the visits of your family in the prison parlor. The
+advocate whom you will choose will be admitted to your cell to consult
+with you.”
+
+“At last!” exclaimed Jacques with explosive delight; and then he
+added,--
+
+“Am I at liberty to write to M. de Chandore?”
+
+“Yes,” replied M. Galpin, “and, if you choose to write at once, my clerk
+will be happy to carry your letter this evening to its destination.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran availed himself on the spot of this permission;
+and he had done very soon, for the note which he wrote, and handed to M.
+Mechinet, contained only the few words,--
+
+“I shall expect M. Magloire to-morrow morning at nine.
+
+“J.”
+
+Ever since the day on which they had come to the conclusion that a false
+step might have the most fatal consequences, Jacques de Boiscoran’s
+friends had abstained from doing anything. Besides, what would have been
+the use of any efforts? Dr. Seignebos’s request, though unsupported, had
+been at least partially granted; and the court had summoned a physician
+from Paris, a great authority on insanity, to determine Cocoleu’s mental
+condition. It was on a Saturday that Dr. Seignebos came triumphantly
+to announce the good news. It was the following Tuesday that he had to
+report his discomfiture. In a furious passion he said,--
+
+“There are asses in Paris as well as elsewhere! Or, rather, in these
+days of trembling egotism and eager servility, an independent man is
+as difficult to find in Paris as in the provinces. I was looking for
+a _savant_ who would be inaccessible to petty considerations; and they
+send me a trifling fellow, who does not dare to be disagreeable to the
+gentlemen of the bar. Ah, it was a cruel disappointment!”
+
+And all the time worrying his spectacles, he went on,--
+
+“I had been informed of the arrival of my learned brother; and I went
+to receive him myself at the railway station. The train comes in; and
+at once I make out my man in the crowd: a fine head, well set in grizzly
+hair, a noble eye, eloquent lips. ‘There he is!’ I say to myself. ‘Hm!’
+He looked rather dandyish, to be sure, a lot of decorations in his
+buttonhole, whiskers trimmed as carefully as the box in my garden,
+and, instead of honest spectacles, a pair of eye-glasses. But no man is
+perfect. I go up to him, I give him my name, we shake hands, I ask him
+to breakfast, he accepts; and here we are at table, he doing justice to
+my Bordeaux, and I explaining to him the case systematically. When we
+have done, he wishes to see Cocoleu. We go to the hospital; and there,
+after merely glancing at the creature, he says, ‘That man is simply the
+most complete idiot I have ever seen in my life!’ I was a little taken
+aback, and tried to explain the matter to him; but he refuses to listen
+to me. I beseech him to see Cocoleu once more: he laughs at me. I feel
+hurt, and ask him how he explains the evidence which this idiot gave
+on the night of the fire. He laughs again, and replies that he does
+not explain it. I begin to discuss the question; and he marches off to
+court. And do you know where he dined that day? At the hotel with my
+other learned brother of the commission; and there they drew up a report
+which makes of Cocoleu the most perfect imbecile that was ever dreamed
+of.”
+
+He was walking up and down in the room with long strides, and, unwilling
+to listen, he went on,--
+
+“But Master Galpin need not think of crowing over us yet. The end is not
+yet; they will not get rid of Dr. Seignebos so easily. I have said that
+Cocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, and
+I shall prove it. Boiscoran can count upon me.”
+
+He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added,--
+
+“And I say M. de Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons.
+I have formed very singular suspicions, sir,--very singular.”
+
+M. Folgat, Dionysia, and the marchioness urged him to explain; but he
+declared that the moment had not come yet, that he was not perfectly
+sure yet.
+
+And he left again, vowing that he was overworked, that he had forsaken
+his patients for forty-eight hours, and that the Countess Claudieuse was
+waiting for him, as her husband was getting worse and worse.
+
+“What can the old man suspect?” Grandpapa Chandore asked again, an hour
+after the doctor had left.
+
+M. Folgat might have replied that these probable suspicions were no
+doubt his own suspicions, only better founded, and more fully developed.
+But why should he say so, since all inquiry was prohibited, and a single
+imprudent word might ruin every thing? Why, also, should he excite new
+hopes, when they must needs wait patiently till it should seem good to
+M. Galpin to make an end to this melancholy suspense?
+
+They heard very little nowadays of Jacques de Boiscoran. The
+examinations took place only at long intervals; and it was sometimes
+four or five days before Mechinet brought another letter.
+
+“This is intolerable agony,” repeated the marchioness over and over
+again.
+
+The end was, however, approaching.
+
+Dionysia was alone one afternoon in the sitting-room, when she thought
+she heard the clerk’s voice in the hall. She went out at once and found
+him there.
+
+“Ah!” she cried, “the investigation is ended!” For she knew very well
+that nothing less would have emboldened Mechinet to show himself openly
+at their house.
+
+“Yes, indeed, madam!” replied the good man; “and upon M. Galpin’s own
+order I bring you this letter from M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+She took it, read it at a single glance, and forgetting every thing,
+half delirious with joy, she ran to her grandfather and M. Folgat,
+calling upon a servant at the same time to run and fetch M. Magloire.
+
+In less than an hour, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre arrived;
+and when Jacques’s letter had been handed to him, he said with some
+embarrassment,--
+
+“I have promised M. de Boiscoran my assistance, and he shall certainly
+have it. I shall be at the prison to-morrow morning as soon as the doors
+open, and I will tell you the result of our interview.”
+
+He would say nothing more. It was very evident that he did not believe
+in the innocence of his client, and, as soon as he had left, M. de
+Chandore exclaimed,--
+
+“Jacques is mad to intrust his defence to a man who doubts him.”
+
+“M. Magloire is an honorable man, papa,” said Dionysia; “and, if he
+thought he could compromise Jacques, he would resign.”
+
+Yes, indeed, M. Magloire was an honorable man, and quite accessible
+to tender sentiments; for he felt very reluctant to go and see the
+prisoner, charged as he was with an odious crime, and, as he thought,
+justly charged,--a man who had been his friend, and whom, in spite of
+all, he could not help loving still.
+
+He could not sleep for it that night; and noticed his anxious air as
+he crossed the street next morning on his way to the jail. Blangin the
+keeper was on the lookout for him, and cried,--
+
+“Ah, come quick, sir! The accused is devoured with impatience.”
+
+Slowly, and his heart beating furiously, the famous advocate went up the
+narrow stairs. He crossed the long passage; Blangin opened a door; he
+was in Jacques de Boiscoran’s cell.
+
+“At last you are coming,” exclaimed the unhappy young man, throwing
+himself on the lawyer’s neck. “At last I see an honest face, and hold
+a trusty hand. Ah! I have suffered cruelly, so cruelly, that I am
+surprised my mind has not given way. But now you are here, you are by my
+side, I am safe.”
+
+The lawyer could not speak. He was terrified by the havoc which grief
+had made of the noble and intelligent face of his friend. He was shocked
+at the distortion of his features, the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes,
+and the convulsive laugh on his lips.
+
+“Poor man!” he murmured at last.
+
+Jacques misunderstood him: he stepped back, as white as the walls of his
+cell.
+
+“You do not think me guilty?” he exclaimed.
+
+An inexpressibly sad expression convulsed his features.
+
+“To be sure,” he went on with his terrible convulsive laughter, “the
+charges must be overwhelming indeed, if they have convinced my best
+friends. Alas! why did I refuse to speak that first day? My honor!--what
+a phantom! And still, victimized as I am by an infamous conspiracy, I
+should still refuse to speak, if my life alone were at stake. But my
+honor is at stake. Dionysia’s honor, the honor of the Boiscorans. I
+shall speak. You, M. Magloire, shall know the truth, you shall see my
+innocence in a word.”
+
+And, seizing M. Magloire’s hand, he pressed it almost painfully, as he
+added in a hoarse voice,--
+
+“One word will explain the whole thing to you: I was the lover of the
+Countess Claudieuse!”
+
+
+
+XIII.
+
+If he had been less distressed, Jacques de Boiscoran would have seen how
+wisely he had acted in choosing for his defender the great advocate of
+Sauveterre. A stranger, M. Folgat, for instance, would have heard him
+silently, and would have seen in the revelation nothing but the fact
+without giving it a personal value. In M. Magloire, on the contrary, he
+saw what the whole country would feel. And M. Magloire, when he heard
+him declare that the Countess Claudieuse had been his mistress, looked
+indignant, and exclaimed,--
+
+“That is impossible.”
+
+At least Jacques was not surprised. He had been the first to say
+that they would refuse to believe him when he should speak; and this
+conviction had largely influenced him in keeping silence so long.
+
+“It is impossible, I know,” he said; “and still it is so.”
+
+“Give me proofs!” said M. Magloire.
+
+“I have no proofs.”
+
+The melancholy and sympathizing expression of the great lawyer changed
+instantly. He sternly glanced at the prisoner, and his eye spoke of
+amazement and indignation.
+
+“There are things,” he said, “which it is rash to affirm when one is not
+able to support them with proof. Consider”--
+
+“My situation forces me to tell all.”
+
+“Why, then, did you wait so long?”
+
+“I hoped I should be spared such a fearful extremity.”
+
+“By whom?”
+
+“By the countess.”
+
+M. Magloire’s face became darker and darker.
+
+“I am not often accused of partiality,” he said. “Count Claudieuse is,
+perhaps, the only enemy I have in this country; but he is a bitter,
+fierce enemy. To keep me out of the chamber, and to prevent my obtaining
+many votes, he stooped to acts unworthy of a gentleman. I do not like
+him. But in justice I must say that I look upon the countess as the
+loftiest, the purest, and noblest type of the woman, the wife, and the
+mother.”
+
+A bitter smile played on Jacques’s lips.
+
+“And still I have been her lover,” he said.
+
+“When? How? The countess lived at Valpinson: you lived in Paris.”
+
+“Yes; but every year the countess came and spent the month of September
+in Paris; and I came occasionally to Boiscoran.”
+
+“It is very singular that such an intrigue should never have been
+suspected even.”
+
+“We managed to take our precautions.”
+
+“And no one ever suspected any thing?”
+
+“No one.”
+
+But Jacques was at last becoming impatient at the attitude assumed by M.
+Magloire. He forgot that he had foreseen all the suspicions to which he
+found now he was exposed.
+
+“Why do you ask all these questions?” he said. “You do not believe me.
+Well, be it so! Let me at least try to convince you. Will you listen to
+me?”
+
+M. Magloire drew up a chair, and sitting down, not as usually, but
+across the chair, and resting his arms on the back, he said,--
+
+“I listen.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran, who had been almost livid, became crimson with
+anger. His eyes flashed wrath. That he, he should be treated thus! Never
+had all the haughtiness of M. Galpin offended him half as much as this
+cool, disdainful condescension on the part of M. Magloire. It occurred
+to him to order him out of his room. But what then? He was condemned
+to drain the bitter cup to the very dregs: for he must save himself; he
+must get out of this abyss.
+
+“You are cruel, Magloire,” he said in a voice of ill-suppressed
+indignation, “and you make me feel all the horrors of my situation to
+the full. Ah, do not apologize! It does not matter. Let me speak.”
+
+He walked up and down a few times in his cell, passing his hand
+repeatedly over his brow, as if to recall his memory. Then he began, in
+a calmer tone of voice,--
+
+“It was in the first days of the month of August, in 1866, and at
+Boiscoran, where I was on a visit to my uncle, that I saw the Countess
+Claudieuse for the first time. Count Claudieuse and my uncle were, at
+that time, on very bad terms with each other, thanks to that unlucky
+little stream which crosses our estates; and a common friend, M. de
+Besson, had undertaken to reconcile them at a dinner to which he had
+invited both. My uncle had taken me with him. The countess had come with
+her husband. I was just twenty years old; she was twenty-six. When I saw
+her, I was overcome. It seemed to me that I had never in all my life met
+a woman so perfectly beautiful and graceful; that I had never seen so
+charming a face, such beautiful eyes, and such a sweet smile.
+
+“She did not seem to notice me. I did not speak to her; and still I felt
+within me a kind of presentiment that this woman would play a great, a
+fatal part in my life.
+
+“This impression was so strong, that, as we left the house, I could not
+keep from mentioning it to my uncle. He only laughed, and said that
+I was a fool, and that, if my existence should ever be troubled by a
+woman, it would certainly not be by the Countess Claudieuse.
+
+“He was apparently right. It was hard to imagine that any thing should
+ever again bring me in contact with the countess. M. de Besson’s attempt
+at reconciliation had utterly failed; the countess lived at Valpinson;
+and I went back to Paris.
+
+“Still I was unable to shake off the impression; and the memory of the
+dinner at M. de Besson’s house was still in my mind, when a month
+later, at a party at my mother’s brother’s, M. de Chalusse, I thought
+I recognized the Countess Claudieuse. It was she. I bowed, and, seeing
+that she recognized me, I went up to her, trembling, and she allowed me
+to sit down by her.
+
+“She told me then that she had come up to Paris for a month, as she did
+every year, and that she was staying at her father’s, the Marquis de
+Tassar. She had come to this party much against her inclination, as she
+disliked going out. She did not dance; and thus I talked to her till the
+moment when she left.
+
+“I was madly in love when we parted; and still I made no effort to see
+her again. It was mere chance again which brought us together.
+
+“One day I had business at Melun, and, reaching the station rather late,
+I had but just time to jump into the nearest car. In the compartment
+was the countess. She told me--and that is all I ever recollected of the
+conversation--that she was on her way to Fontainebleau to see a friend,
+with whom she spent every Tuesday and Saturday. Usually she took the
+nine o’clock train.
+
+“This was on a Tuesday; and during the next three days a great struggle
+went on in my heart. I was desperately in love with the countess, and
+still I was afraid of her. But my evil star conquered; and the next
+Saturday, at nine o’clock, I was at the station again.
+
+“The countess has since confessed to me that she expected me. When she
+saw me, she made a sign; and, when they opened the doors, I managed to
+find a place by her side.”
+
+M. Magloire had for some minutes given signs of great impatience; now he
+broke forth,--
+
+“This is too improbable!”
+
+At first Jacques de Boiscoran made no reply. It was no easy task for
+a man, tried as he had been of late, to stir up thus the ashes of the
+past; and it made him shudder. He was amazed at seeing on his lips this
+secret which he had so long buried in his innermost heart. Besides, he
+had loved, loved in good earnest; and his love had been returned. And
+there are certain sensations which come to us only once in life, and
+which can never again be effaced. He was moved to tears. But as the
+eminent advocate of Sauveterre repeated his words, and even added,--
+
+“No, it is not credible!”
+
+“I do not ask you to believe me,” he said gently: “I only ask you to
+hear me.”
+
+And, overcoming with all his energy the kind of torpor which was
+mastering him, he continued,--
+
+“This trip to Fontainebleau decided our fate. Other trips followed. The
+countess spent her days with her friend, and I passed the long hours
+in roaming through the woods. But in the evening we met again at the
+station. We took a _coupe_, which I had engaged beforehand, and I
+accompanied her in a carriage to her father’s house.
+
+“Finally, one evening, she left her friend’s house at the usual hour;
+but she did not return to her father’s house till the day after.”
+
+“Jacques!” broke in M. Magloire, shocked, as if he had heard a
+curse,--“Jacques!”
+
+M. de Boiscoran remained unmoved.
+
+“Oh!” he said, “I know you must think it strange. You fancy that there
+is no excuse for the man who betrays the confidence of a woman who has
+once given herself to him. Wait, before you judge me.”
+
+And he went on, in a firmer tone of voice,--
+
+“At that time I thought I was the happiest man on earth; and my heart
+was full of the most absurd vanity at the thought that she was mine,
+this beautiful woman, whose purity was high above all calumny. I had
+tied around my neck one of those fatal ropes which death alone can
+sever, and, fool that I was, I considered myself happy.
+
+“Perhaps she really loved me at that time. At least she did not
+hesitate, and, overcome by the only real great passion of her life, she
+told me all that was in her innermost heart. At that time she did not
+think yet of protecting herself against me, and of making me her slave.
+She told me the secret of her marriage, which had at one time created
+such a sensation in the whole country.
+
+“When her father, the Marquis de Brissac, had given up his place, he had
+soon begun to feel his inactivity weigh upon him, and at the same time
+he had become impatient at the narrowness of his means. He had ventured
+upon hazardous speculations. He had lost every thing he had; and even
+his honor was at stake. In his despair he was thinking of suicide, when
+chance brought to his house a former comrade, Count Claudieuse. In a
+moment of confidence, the marquis confessed every thing; and the other
+had promised to rescue him, and save him from disgrace. That was noble
+and grand. It must have cost an immense sum. And the friends of our
+youth who are capable of rendering us such services are rare in our day.
+Unfortunately, Count Claudieuse could not all the time be the hero he
+had been at first. He saw Genevieve de Tassar. He was struck with
+her beauty; and overcome by a sudden passion--forgetting that she was
+twenty, while he was nearly fifty--he made his friend aware that he was
+still willing to render him all the services in his power, but that he
+desired to obtain Genevieve’s hand in return.
+
+“That very evening the ruined nobleman entered his daughter’s room, and,
+with tears in his eyes, explained to her his terrible situation. She did
+not hesitate a moment.
+
+“‘Above all,’ she said to her father, ‘let us save our honor, which
+even your death would not restore. Count Claudieuse is cruel to forget
+that he is thirty years older than I am. From this moment I hate and
+despise him. Tell him I am willing to be his wife.’
+
+“And when her father, overcome with grief, told her that the count would
+never accept her hand in this form, she replied,--
+
+“‘Oh, do not trouble yourself about that! I shall do the thing
+handsomely, and your friend shall have no right to complain. But I know
+what I am worth; and you must remember hereafter, that, whatever service
+he may render you, you owe him nothing.’
+
+“Less than a fortnight after this scene, Genevieve had allowed the count
+to perceive that he was not indifferent to her and a month later she
+became his wife.
+
+“The count, on his side, had acted with the utmost delicacy and tact;
+so that no one suspected the cruel position of the Marquis de Tassar. He
+had placed two hundred thousand francs in his hands to settle his most
+pressing debts. In his marriage-contract he had acknowledged having
+received with his wife a dower of the same amount; and finally, he had
+bound himself to pay to his father-in-law and his wife an annual income
+of ten thousand francs. This had absorbed more than half of all he
+possessed.”
+
+M. Magloire no longer thought of protesting. Sitting stiffly on his
+chair, his eyes wide open, like a man who asks himself whether he is
+asleep or awake, he murmured,--
+
+“That is incomprehensible! That is unheard of!”
+
+Jacques was becoming gradually excited. He went on,--
+
+“This is, at least, what the countess told me in her first hours of
+enthusiasm. But she told it to me calmly, coldly, like a thing that was
+perfectly natural. ‘Certainly,’ she said, ‘Count Claudieuse has never
+had to regret the bargain he made. If he has been generous, I have been
+faithful. My father owes his life to him; but I have given him years of
+happiness to which he was not entitled. If he has received no love, he
+has had all the appearance of it, and an appearance far more pleasant
+than the reality.’
+
+“When I could not conceal my astonishment, she added, laughing
+heartily,--
+
+“‘Only I brought to the bargain a mental reservation. I reserved to
+myself the right to claim my share of earthly happiness whenever it
+should come within my reach. That share is yours, Jacques; and do not
+fancy that I am troubled by remorse. As long as my husband thinks he is
+happy, I am within the terms of the contract.’
+
+“That was the way she spoke at that time, Magloire; and a man of more
+experience would have been frightened. But I was a child; I loved her
+with all my heart. I admired her genius; I was overcome by her sophisms.
+
+“A letter from Count Claudieuse aroused us from our dreams.
+
+“The countess had committed the only and the last imprudence of her
+whole life: she had remained three weeks longer in Paris than was agreed
+upon; and her impatient husband threatened to come for her.
+
+“‘I must go back to Valpinson,’ she said; ‘for there is nothing I would
+not do to keep up the reputation I have managed to make for myself.
+My life, your life, my daughter’s life--I would give them all, without
+hesitation, to protect my reputation.”
+
+“This happened--ah! the dates have remained fixed in my mind as if
+engraven on bronze--on the 12th October.
+
+“‘I cannot remain longer than a month,’ she said to me, ‘without seeing
+you. A month from to-day, that is to say, on 12th November, at three
+o’clock precisely, you must be in the forest of Rochepommier, at the Red
+Men’s Cross-roads. I will be there.’
+
+“And she left Paris. I was in such a state of depression, that I
+scarcely felt the pain of parting. The thought of being loved by such a
+woman filled me with extreme pride, and, no doubt, saved me from many
+an excess. Ambition was rising within me whenever I thought of her. I
+wanted to work, to distinguish myself, to become eminent in some way.
+
+“‘I want her to be proud of me,’ I said to myself, ashamed at being
+nothing at my age but the son of a rich father.”
+
+Ten times, at least, M. Magloire had risen from his chair, and moved his
+lips, as if about to make some objection. But he had pledged himself, in
+his own mind, not to interrupt Jacques, and he did his best to keep his
+pledge.
+
+“In the meantime,” Jacques went on, “the day fixed by the countess was
+drawing near. I went down to Boiscoran; and on the appointed day, at the
+precise hour, I was in the forest at the Red Men’s Cross-roads. I was
+somewhat behind time, and I was extremely sorry for it: but I did not
+know the forest very well, and the place chosen by the countess for the
+rendezvous is in the very thickest part of the old wood. The weather
+was unusually severe for the season. The night before, a heavy snow had
+fallen: the paths were all white; and a sharp wind blew the flakes
+from the heavily-loaded branches. From afar off, I distinguished
+the countess, as she was walking, up and down in a kind of feverish
+excitement, confining herself to a narrow space, where the ground was
+dry, and where she was sheltered from the wind by enormous masses of
+stone. She wore a dress of dark-red silk, very long, a cloak trimmed
+with fur, and a velvet hat to match her dress. In three minutes I was by
+her side. But she did not draw her hand from her muff to offer it to me;
+and, without giving me time to apologize for the delay, she said in a
+dry tone,--
+
+“‘When did you reach Boiscoran?’
+
+“‘Last night.’
+
+“‘How childish you are!’ she exclaimed, stamping her foot. ‘Last night!
+And on what pretext?’
+
+“‘I need no pretext to visit my uncle.’
+
+“‘And was he not surprised to see you drop from the clouds at this time
+of the year?’
+
+“‘Why, yes, a little,’ I answered foolishly, incapable as I was of
+concealing the truth.
+
+“Her dissatisfaction increased visibly.
+
+“‘And how did you get here?’ she commenced again. ‘Did you know this
+cross-road?’
+
+“‘No, I inquired about it.’
+
+“‘From whom?’
+
+“‘From one of my uncle’s servants; but his information was so
+imperfect, that I lost my way.’
+
+“She looked at me with such a bitter, ironical smile, that I stopped.
+
+“‘And all that, you think, is very simple,’ she broke in. ‘Do you
+really imagine people will think it very natural that you should thus
+fall like a bombshell upon Boiscoran, and immediately set out for
+the Red Men’s Cross-roads in the forest? Who knows but you have been
+followed? Who knows but behind one of these trees there may be eyes even
+now watching us?’
+
+“And as she looked around with all the signs of genuine fear, I
+answered,--
+
+“‘And what do you fear? Am I not here?’
+
+“I think I can even now see the look in her eyes as she said,--
+
+“‘I fear nothing in the world--do you hear me? nothing in the world,
+except being suspected; for I cannot be compromised. I like to do as I
+do; I like to have a lover. But I do not want it to be known; because,
+if it became known, there would be mischief. Between my reputation and
+my life I have no choice. If I were to be surprised here by any one, I
+would rather it should be my husband than a stranger. I have no love for
+the count, and I shall never forgive him for having married me; but
+he has saved my father’s honor, and I owe it to him to keep his honor
+unimpaired. He is my husband, besides, and the father of my child: I
+bear his name, and I want it to be respected. I should die with grief
+and shame and rage, if I had to give my arm to a man at whom people
+might look and smile. Wives are absurdly stupid when they do not feel
+that all the scorn with which their unfortunate husbands are received
+in the great world falls back upon them. No. I do not love the count,
+Jacques, and I love you. But remember, that, between him and you, I
+should not hesitate a moment, and that I should sacrifice your life and
+your honor, with a smile on my lips, even though my heart should break,
+if I could, by doing so, spare him the shadow of a suspicion.’
+
+“I was about to reply; but she said,--
+
+“‘No more! Every minute we stay here increases the danger. What pretext
+will you plead for your sudden appearance at Boiscoran?’
+
+“‘I do not know,’ I replied.
+
+“‘You must borrow some money from your uncle, a considerable sum, to
+pay your debts. He will be angry, perhaps; but that will explain your
+sudden fancy for travelling in the month of November. Good-by, good-by!’
+
+“All amazed, I cried,--
+
+“‘What! You will not let me see you again, at least from afar?’
+
+“‘During this visit that would be the height of imprudence. But, stop!
+Stay at Boiscoran till Sunday. Your uncle never stays away from high
+mass: go with him to church. But be careful, control yourself. A single
+imprudence, one blunder, and I should despise you. Now we must part. You
+will find in Paris a letter from me.’”
+
+Jacques paused here, looking to read in M. Magloire’s face what
+impression his recital had produced so far. But the famous lawyer
+remained impassive. He sighed, and continued,--
+
+“I have entered into all these details, Magloire, because I want you to
+know what kind of a woman the countess is, so that you may understand
+her conduct. You see that she did not treat me like a traitor: she had
+given me fair warning, and shown me the abyss into which I was going
+to fall. Alas! so far from being terrified, these dark sides of her
+character only attracted me the more. I admired her imperious air,
+her courage, and her prudence, even her total lack of principle, which
+contrasted so strangely with her fear of public opinion. I said to
+myself with foolish pride,--
+
+“‘She certainly is a superior woman!’
+
+“She must have been pleased with my obedience at church; for I managed
+to check even a slight trembling which seized me when I saw her and
+bowed to her as she passed so close to me that my hand touched her
+dress. I obeyed her in other ways also. I asked my uncle for six
+thousand francs, and he gave them to me, laughing; for he was the most
+generous man on earth: but he said at the same time,--
+
+“‘I thought you had not come to Boiscoran merely for the purpose of
+exploring the forest of Rochepommier.’
+
+“This trifling circumstance increased my admiration for the Countess
+Claudieuse. How well she had foreseen my uncle’s astonishment, when I
+had not even dreamed of it!
+
+“‘She has a genius for prudence,’ I thought.
+
+“Yes, indeed she had a genius for it, and a genius for calculation also,
+as I soon found out. When I reached Paris, I found a letter from her
+waiting for me; but it was nothing more than a repetition of all she
+had told me at our meeting. This letter was followed by several others,
+which she begged me to keep for her sake, and which all had a number in
+the upper corner.
+
+“The first time I saw her again, I asked her,--
+
+“‘What are these numbers?’
+
+“‘My dear Jacques,’ she replied, ‘a woman ought always to know how
+many letters she has written to her lover. Up to now, you must have had
+nine.’
+
+“This occurred in May, 1867, at Rochefort, where she had gone to be
+present at the launching of a frigate, and where I had followed her,
+at her suggestion, with a view to spending a few hours in each
+other’s company. Like a fool, I laughed at the idea of this epistolary
+responsibility, and then I thought no more of it. I was at that time too
+busy otherwise. She had recalled to me the fact that time was passing,
+in spite of the sadness of our separation, and that the month of
+September, the month of her freedom, was drawing near. Should we be
+compelled again, like the year before, to resort to these perilous trips
+to Fontainebleau? Why not get a house in a remote quarter of town?
+
+“Every wish of hers was an order for me. My uncle’s liberality knew no
+end. I bought a house.”
+
+At last in the midst of all of Jacques’s perplexities, there appeared a
+circumstance which might furnish tangible evidence.
+
+M. Magloire started, and asked eagerly,--
+
+“Ah, you bought a house?”
+
+“Yes, a nice house with a large garden, in Vine Street, Passy.”
+
+“And you own it still?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Of course you have the title-papers?”
+
+Jacques looked in despair.
+
+“Here, again, fate is against me. There is quite a tale connected with
+that house.”
+
+The features of the Sauveterre lawyer grew dark again, much quicker than
+they had brightened up just now.
+
+“Ah!” he said,--“a tale, ah!”
+
+“I was scarcely of age,” resumed Jacques, “when I wanted to purchase
+this house. I dreaded difficulties. I was afraid my father might hear
+of it; in fine, I wanted to be as prudent as the countess was. I asked,
+therefore, one of my English friends, Sir Francis Burnett, to purchase
+it in his name. He agreed; and he handed me, with the necessary bills of
+sale, also a paper in which he acknowledged my right as proprietor.”
+
+“But then”--
+
+“Oh! wait a moment. I did not take these papers to my rooms in my
+father’s house. I put them into a drawer of a bureau in my house at
+Passy. When the war broke out, I forgot them. I had left Paris before
+the siege began, you know, being in command of a company of volunteers
+from this department. During the two sieges, my house was successively
+occupied by the National Guards, the soldiers of the Commune, and the
+regular troops. When I got back there, I found the four walls pierced
+with holes by the shells; but all the furniture had disappeared, and
+with it the papers.”
+
+“And Sir Francis Burnett?”
+
+“He left France at the beginning of the invasion; and I do not know
+what has become of him. Two friends of his in England, to whom I wrote,
+replied,--the one that he was probably in Australia; the other that he
+was dead.”
+
+“And you have taken no other steps to secure your rights to a piece of
+property which legally belongs to you?”
+
+“No, not till now.”
+
+“You mean to say virtually that there is in Paris a house which has no
+owner, is forgotten by everybody, and unknown even to the tax-gatherer?”
+
+“I beg your pardon! The taxes have always been regularly paid; and the
+whole neighborhood knows that I am the owner. But the individuality is
+not the same. I have unceremoniously assumed the identity of my friend.
+In the eyes of the neighbors, the small dealers near by, the workmen and
+contractors whom I have employed, for the servants and the gardener, I
+am Sir Francis Burnett. Ask them about Jacques de Boiscoran, and they
+will tell you, ‘Don’t know.’ Ask them about Sir Francis Burnett, and
+they will answer, ‘Oh, very well!’ and they will give you my portrait.”
+
+M. Magloire shook his head as if he were not fully convinced.
+
+“Then,” he asked again, “you declare that the Countess Claudieuse has
+been at this house?”
+
+“More than fifty times in three years.”
+
+“If that is so, she must be known there.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But”--
+
+“Paris is not like Sauveterre, my dear friend; and people are not solely
+occupied with their neighbors’ doings. Vine Street is quite a deserted
+street; and the countess took the greatest precautions in coming and
+going.”
+
+“Well, granted, as far as the outside world is concerned. But within?
+You must have had somebody to stay in the house and keep it in order
+when you were away, and to wait upon you when you were there?”
+
+“I had an English maid-servant.”
+
+“Well, this girl must know the countess?”
+
+“She has never caught a glimpse of her even.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“When the countess was coming down, or when she was going away, or when
+we wanted to walk in the garden, I sent the girl on some errand. I have
+sent her as far as Orleans to get rid of her for twenty-four hours. The
+rest of the time we staid up stairs, and waited upon ourselves.”
+
+Evidently M. Magloire was suffering. He said,--
+
+“You must be under a mistake. Servants are curious, and to hide from
+them is only to make them mad with curiosity. That girl has watched you.
+That girl has found means to see the countess when she came there. She
+must be examined. Is she still in your service?”
+
+“No, she left me when the war broke out.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“She wanted to return to England.”
+
+“Then we cannot hope to find her again?”
+
+“I believe not.”
+
+“We must give it up, then. But your man-servant? Old Anthony was in your
+confidence. Did you never tell him any thing about it?”
+
+“Never. Only once I sent for him to come to Vine Street when I had
+sprained my foot in coming down stairs.”
+
+“So that it is impossible for you to prove that the Countess Claudieuse
+ever came to your house in Passy? You have no evidence of it, and no
+eye-witness?”
+
+“I used to have evidence. She had brought a number of small articles for
+her private use; but they have disappeared during the war.”
+
+“Ah, yes!” said M. Magloire, “always the war! It has to answer for every
+thing.”
+
+Never had any of M. Galpin’s examinations been half as painful to
+Jacques de Boiscoran as this series of quick questions, which betrayed
+such distressing incredulity.
+
+“Did I not tell you, Magloire,” he resumed, “that the countess had a
+genius for prudence? You can easily conceal yourself when you can spend
+money without counting it. Would you blame me for not having any proofs
+to furnish? Is it not the duty of every man of honor to do all he can to
+keep even a shadow of suspicion from her who has confided herself to
+his hands? I have done my duty, and whatever may come of it, I shall not
+regret it. Could I foresee such unheard-of emergencies? Could I foresee
+that a day might come when I, Jacques de Boiscoran, should have to
+denounce the Countess Claudieuse, and should be compelled to look for
+evidence and witnesses against her?”
+
+The eminent advocate of Sauveterre looked aside; and, instead of
+replying, he said in a somewhat changed voice,--
+
+“Go on, Jacques, go on!”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran tried to overcome the discouragement which
+well-nigh mastered him, and said,--
+
+“It was on the 2d September, 1867, that the Countess Claudieuse for
+the first time entered this house in Passy, which I had purchased and
+furnished for her; and during the five weeks which she spent in Paris,
+she came almost every day, and spent several hours there.
+
+“At her father’s house she enjoyed absolute and almost uncontrolled
+independence. She left her daughter--for she had at that time but one
+child--with her mother, the Marchioness de Tassar; and she was free to
+go and to come as she liked.
+
+“When she wanted still greater freedom, she went to see her friend in
+Fontainebleau; and every time she did this she secured twenty-four or
+forty-eight hours over and above the time for the journey. I, for my
+part, was as perfectly free from all control. Ostensibly, I had gone to
+Ireland; in reality, I lived in Vine Street.
+
+“These five weeks passed like a dream; and yet I must confess, the
+parting was not as painful as might have been supposed. Not that the
+bright prism was broken; but I always felt humiliated by the necessity
+of being concealed. I began to be tired of these incessant precautions;
+and I was quite ready to give up being Sir Francis Burnett, and to
+resume my identity.
+
+“We had, besides, promised each other never to remain a month without
+seeing each other, at least for a few hours; and she had invented a
+number of expedients by which we could meet without danger.
+
+“A family misfortune came just then to our assistance. My father’s
+eldest brother, that kind uncle who had furnished me the means to
+purchase my house in Passy, died, and left me his entire fortune. As
+owner of Boiscoran, I could, henceforth, live as much as I chose in
+the province; and at all events come there whenever I liked, without
+anybody’s inquiring for my reasons.”
+
+
+
+XIV.
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran was evidently anxious to have done with his
+recital, to come to that night of the fire at Valpinson, and to learn at
+last from the eminent advocate of Sauveterre what he had to fear or to
+hope. After a moment’s silence, for his breath was giving out, and after
+a few steps across his cell, he went on in a bitter tone of voice,--
+
+“But why trouble you with all these details, Magloire? Would you believe
+me any more than you do now, if I were to enumerate to you all my
+meetings with the Countess Claudieuse, or if I were to repeat all her
+most trifling words?
+
+“We had gradually learnt to calculate all our movements, and made
+our preparations so accurately, that we met constantly, and feared no
+danger. We said to each other at parting, or she wrote to me, ‘On such a
+day, at such an hour, at such a place;’ and however distant the day, or
+the hour, or the place, we were sure to meet. I had soon learned to know
+the country as well as the cleverest of poachers; and nothing was so
+useful to us as this familiarity with all the unknown hiding-places.
+The countess, on her side, never let three months pass by without
+discovering some urgent motive which carried her to Rochelle, to
+Angouleme, or to Paris; and I was there to meet her. Nothing kept her
+from these excursions; even when indisposed, she braved the fatigues of
+the journey. It is true, my life was well-nigh spent in travelling; and
+at any moment, when least expected, I disappeared for whole weeks. This
+will explain to you that restlessness at which my father sneered, and
+for which you, yourself, Magloire, used to blame me.”
+
+“That is true,” replied the latter. “I remember.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran did not seem to notice the encouragement.
+
+“I should not tell the truth if I were to say that this kind of life was
+unpleasant to me. Mystery and danger always add to the charms of love.
+The difficulties only increased my passion. I saw something sublime
+in this success with which two superior beings devoted all their
+intelligence and cleverness to the carrying-on of a secret intrigue. The
+more fully I became aware of the veneration with which the countess was
+looked up to by the whole country, the more I learned to appreciate her
+ability in dissembling and her profound perversity; and I was all the
+more proud of her. I felt the pride setting my cheeks aglow when I saw
+her at Brechy; for I came there every Sunday for her sake alone, to
+see her pass calm and serene in the imposing security of her lofty
+reputation. I laughed at the simplicity of all these honest, good
+people, who bowed so low to her, thinking they saluted a saint; and I
+congratulated myself with idiotic delight at being the only one who knew
+the true Countess Claudieuse,--she who took her revenge so bravely in
+our house in Passy!
+
+“But such delights never last long.
+
+“It had not taken me long to find out that I had given myself a master,
+and the most imperious and exacting master that ever lived. I had almost
+ceased to belong to myself. I had become her property; and I lived and
+breathed and thought and acted for her alone. She did not mind my tastes
+and my dislikes. She wished a thing, and that was enough. She wrote to
+me, ‘Come!’ and I had to be instantly on the spot: she said to me, ‘Go!’
+an I had to leave at once. At first I accepted these evidences of her
+despotism with joy; but gradually I became tired of this perpetual
+abdication of my own will. I disliked to have no control over myself,
+to be unable to dispose of twenty-four hours in advance. I began to feel
+the pressure of the halter around my neck. I thought of flight. One of
+my friends was to set out on a voyage around the world, which was to
+last eighteen months or two years, and I had an idea of accompanying
+him. There was nothing to retain me. I was, by fortune and position,
+perfectly independent. Why should I not carry out my plan?
+
+“Ah, why? The prism was not broken yet. I cursed the tyranny of the
+countess; but I still trembled when I heard her name mentioned. I
+thought of escaping from her; but a single glance moved me to the bottom
+of my heart. I was bound to her by the thousand tender threads of habit
+and of complicity,--those threads which seem to be more delicate than
+gossamer, but which are harder to break than a ship’s cable.
+
+“Still, this idea which had occurred to me brought it about that I
+uttered for the first time the word ‘separation’ in her presence, asking
+her what she would do if I should leave her. She looked at me with a
+strange air and asked me, after a moment’s hesitation,--
+
+“‘Are you serious? Is it a warning?’
+
+“I dared not carry matters any farther, and, making an effort to smile,
+I said,--
+
+“‘It is only a joke.’
+
+“‘Then,’ she said, ‘let us not say any thing more about it. If you
+should ever come to that, you would soon see what I would do.’
+
+“I did not insist; but that look remained long in my memory, and made me
+feel that I was far more closely bound than I had thought. From that day
+it became my fixed idea to break with her.”
+
+“Well, you ought to have made an end of it,” said Magloire.
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran shook his head.
+
+“That is easily said,” he replied. “I tried it; but I could not do
+it. Ten times I went to her, determined to say, ‘Let us part;’ and ten
+times, at the last moment, my courage failed me. She irritated me. I
+almost began to hate her; but I could not forget how much I had loved
+her, and how much she had risked for my sake. Then--why should I not
+confess it?--I was afraid of her.
+
+“This inflexible character, which I had so much admired, terrified me;
+and I shuddered, seized with vague and sombre apprehensions, when
+I thought what she was capable of doing. I was thus in the utmost
+perplexity, when my mother spoke to me of a match which she had long
+hoped for. This might be the pretext which I had so far failed to find.
+At all events, I asked for time to consider; and, the first time I saw
+the countess again, I gathered all my courage, and said to her,--
+
+“‘Do you know what has happened? My mother wants me to marry.’
+
+“She turned as pale as death; and looking me fixedly in the eyes, as if
+wanting to read my innermost thoughts, she asked,--
+
+“‘And you, what do you want?’
+
+“‘I,’ I replied with a forced laugh,--‘I want nothing just now. But
+the thing will have to be done sooner or later. A man must have a home,
+affections which the world acknowledges’--
+
+“‘And I,’ she broke in; ‘what am I to you?’
+
+“‘You,’ I exclaimed, ‘you, Genevieve! I love you with all the strength
+of my heart. But we are separated by a gulf: you are married.’
+
+“She was still looking at me fixedly.
+
+“‘In other words,’ she said, ‘you have loved me as a pastime. I have
+been the amusement of your youth, the poetry of twenty years, that
+love-romance which every man wants to have. But you are becoming
+serious; you want sober affections, and you leave me. Well, be it so.
+But what is to become of me when you are married?’
+
+“I was suffering terribly.
+
+“‘You have your husband,’ I stammered, ‘your children’--
+
+“She stopped me.
+
+“‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I shall go back go live at Valpinson, in that
+country full of associations, where every place recalls a rendezvous. I
+shall live with my husband, whom I have betrayed; with daughters, one of
+whom--That cannot be, Jacques.’
+
+“I had a fit of courage.
+
+“‘Still,’ I said, ‘I may have to marry. What would you do?’
+
+“‘Oh! very little,’ she replied. ‘I should hand all your letters to
+Count Claudieuse.’”
+
+During the thirty years which he had spent at the bar, M. Magloire had
+heard many a strange confession; but never in his life had all his ideas
+been overthrown as in this case.
+
+“That is utterly confounding,” he murmured.
+
+But Jacques went on,--
+
+“Was this threat of the countess meant in earnest? I did not doubt it;
+but affecting great composure, I said,--
+
+“‘You would not do that.’
+
+“‘By all that I hold dear and sacred in this world,’ she replied, ‘I
+would do it.’
+
+“Many months have passed by since that scene, Magloire, many events have
+happened; and still I feel as if it had taken place yesterday. I see the
+countess still, whiter than a ghost. I still hear her trembling voice;
+and I can repeat to you her words almost literally,--
+
+“‘Ah! you are surprised at my determination, Jacques. I understand
+that. Wives who have betrayed their husbands have not accustomed their
+lovers to be held responsible by them. When they are betrayed, they
+dare not cry out; when they are abandoned, they submit; when they are
+sacrificed, they hide their tears, for to cry would be to avow their
+wrong. Who would pity them, besides? Have they not received their
+well-known punishment? Hence it is that all men agree, and there are
+some of them cynical enough to confess it, that a married woman is a
+convenient lady-love, because she can never be jealous, and she may be
+abandoned at any time. Ah! we women are great cowards. If we had more
+courage, you men would look twice before you would dare speak of love to
+a married woman. But what no one dares I will dare. It shall not be said
+that in our common fault there are two parts, and that you shall have
+had all the benefit of it, and that I must bear all the punishment.
+What? You might be free to-morrow to console yourself with a new love;
+and I--I should have to sink under my shame and remorse. No, no! Such
+bonds as those that bind us, riveted by long years of complicity, are
+not broken so easily.
+
+“‘You belong to me; you are mine; and I shall defend you against all
+and every one, with such arms as I possess. I told you that I valued my
+reputation more than my life; but I never told you that I valued life.
+On the eve of your wedding-day, my husband shall know all. I shall not
+survive the loss of my honor; but at least I shall have my revenge. If
+you escape the hatred of Count Claudieuse, your name will be bound up
+with such a tragic affair that your life will be ruined forever.’
+
+“That was the way she spoke, Magloire, and with a passion of which I can
+give you no idea. It was absurd, it was insane, I admit. But is not
+all passion absurd and insane? Besides, it was by no means a sudden
+inspiration of her pride, which made her threaten me with such
+vengeance. The precision of her phrases, the accuracy of her words,
+all made me feel that she had long meditated such a blow, and carefully
+calculated the effect of every word.
+
+“I was thunderstruck.
+
+“And as I kept silence for some time, she asked me coldly,--
+
+“‘Well?’
+
+“I had to gain time, first of all.
+
+“‘Well,’ I said, ‘I cannot understand your passion. This marriage
+which I mentioned has never existed as yet, except in my mother’s
+imagination.’
+
+“‘True?’ she asked.
+
+“‘I assure you.’
+
+“She examined me with suspicious eyes. At last she said,--
+
+“‘Well, I believe you. But now you are warned: let us think no more of
+such horrors.’
+
+“She might think no more of them, but I could not.
+
+“I left her with fury in my heart.
+
+“She had evidently settled it all. I had for lifetime this halter around
+my neck, which held me tighter day by day and, at the slightest effort
+to free myself, I must be prepared for a terrible scandal; for one of
+those overwhelming adventures which destroy a man’s whole life. Could
+I ever hope to make her listen to reason? No, I was quite sure I could
+not.
+
+“I knew but too well that I should lose my time, if I were to recall to
+her that I was not quite as guilty as she would make me out; if I were
+to show her that her vengeance would fall less upon myself than upon her
+husband and her children; and that, although she might blame the count
+for the conditions of their marriage, her daughters, at least, were
+innocent.
+
+“I looked in vain for an opening out of this horrible difficulty. Upon
+my honor, Magloire, there were moments when I thought I would pretend
+getting married, for the purpose of inducing the countess to act, and of
+bringing upon myself these threats which were hanging over me. I fear no
+danger; but I cannot bear to know it to exist, and to wait for it with
+folded hands: I must go forth and meet it.
+
+“The thought that the countess should use her husband for the purpose of
+keeping me bound shocked me. It seemed to me ridiculous and ignoble that
+she should make her husband the guardian of her love. Did she think I
+was afraid of her?
+
+“In the meantime, my mother had asked me what was the result of my
+reflections on the subject of marriage; and I blushed with shame as I
+told her that I was not disposed to marry as yet, as I felt too young
+to accept the responsibility of a family. It was so; but, under other
+circumstances, I should hardly have put in that plea. I was thus
+hesitating, and thinking how and when I should be able to make an end of
+it, when the war broke out. I felt naturally bound to offer my services.
+I hastened to Boiscoran. They had just organized the volunteers of the
+district; and they made me their captain. With them I joined the army
+of the Loire. In my state of mind, war had nothing fearful for me:
+every excitement was welcome that made me forget the past. There was,
+consequently, no merit in my courage. Nevertheless, as the weeks passed,
+and then the months, without my hearing a word about the Countess
+Claudieuse, I began secretly to hope that she had forgotten me; and
+that, time and absence doing their work, she was giving me up.
+
+“When peace was made, I returned to Boiscoran; and the countess gave no
+more signs of life now than before. I began to feel reassured, and to
+recover possession of myself, when one day M. de Chandore invited me to
+dinner. I went. I saw Miss Dionysia.
+
+“I had known her already for some time; and the recollection of her had,
+perhaps, had its influence upon my desire to quit the countess. Still I
+had always had self-control enough to avoid her lest I should draw some
+fatal vengeance upon her. When I was brought in contact with her by her
+grandfather, I had no longer the heart to avoid her; and, on the day on
+which I thought I read in her eyes that she loved me I made up my mind,
+and I resolved to risk every thing.
+
+“But how shall I tell you what I suffered, Magloire, and with what
+anxiety I asked every evening when I returned to Boiscoran,--
+
+“‘No letter yet?’
+
+“None came; and still it was impossible that the Countess Claudieuse
+should not have heard of my marriage. My father had called on M. de
+Chandore, and asked him for the hand of his grand-daughter for me. I had
+been publicly acknowledged as her betrothed; and nothing was now to be
+done but to fix the wedding-day.
+
+“This silence frightened me.”
+
+Exhausted and out of breath, Jacque de Boiscoran paused here, pressing
+both of his hands on his chest, as if to check the irregular beating of
+his heart.
+
+He was approaching the catastrophe.
+
+And yet he looked in vain to the advocate for a word or a sign of
+encouragement. M. Magloire remained impenetrable: his face remained as
+impassive as an iron mask.
+
+At last, with a great effort, Jacques resumed,--
+
+“Yes, this calm frightened me more than a storm would have done. To
+win Dionysia’s love was too great happiness. I expected a catastrophe,
+something terrible. I expected it with such absolute certainty, that I
+had actually made up my mind to confess every thing to M. de Chandore.
+You know him, Magloire. The old gentleman is the purest and brightest
+type of honor itself. I could intrust my secrets to him with as perfect
+safety as I formerly intrusted Genevieve’s name to the night winds.
+
+“Alas! why did I hesitate? why did I delay?
+
+“One word might have saved me; and I should not be here, charged with
+an atrocious crime, innocent, and yet condemned to see how you doubt the
+truth of my words.
+
+“But fate was against me.
+
+“After having for a week postponed my confession every day to the next,
+one evening, after Dionysia and I had been talking of presentiments, I
+said to myself, ‘To-morrow it shall be done.’
+
+“The next morning, I went to Boiscoran much earlier than usual, and on
+foot, because I wanted to give some orders to a dozen workmen whom I
+employed in my vineyards. I took a short cut through the fields. Alas!
+not a single detail has escaped from my memory. When I had given my
+orders, I returned to the high road, and there met the priest from
+Brechy, who is a friend of mine.
+
+“‘You must,’ he said, ‘keep me company for a little distance. As you
+are on your way to Sauveterre, it will not delay you much to take the
+cross-road which passes by Valpinson and the forest of Rochepommier.’
+
+“On what trifles our fate depends!
+
+“I accompanied the priest, and only left him at the point where the
+high-road and the cross-road intersect. As soon as I was alone, I
+hastened on; and I was almost through the wood, when, all of a sudden,
+some twenty yards before me, I saw the Countess Claudieuse coming
+towards me. In spite of my emotion, I kept on my way, determined to bow
+to her, but to pass her without speaking. I did so, and had gone on a
+little distance, when I heard her call me,--
+
+“‘Jacques!’
+
+“I stopped; or, rather, I was nailed to the spot by that voice which for
+a long time had held such entire control over my heart. She came up to
+me, looking even more excited than I was. Her lips trembled, and her
+eyes wandered to and fro.
+
+“‘Well,’ she said, ‘it is no longer a fancy: this time you marry Miss
+Chandore.’
+
+“The time for half-measures had passed.
+
+“‘Yes,’ I replied.
+
+“‘Then it is really true,’ she said again. ‘It is all over now. I
+suppose it would be in vain to remind you of those vows of eternal love
+which you used to repeat over and over again. Look down there under that
+old oak. They are the same trees, this is the same landscape, and I am
+still the same woman; but your heart has changed.’
+
+“I made no reply.
+
+“‘You love her very much, do you?’ she asked me.
+
+“I kept obstinately silent.
+
+“‘I understand,’ she said, ‘I understand you but too well. And
+Dionysia? She loves you so much she cannot keep it to herself. She stops
+her friends to tell them all about her marriage, and to assure them
+of her happiness. Oh, yes, indeed, very happy! That love which was my
+disgrace is her honor. I was forced to conceal it like a crime: she can
+display it as a virtue. Social forms are, after all, very absurd and
+unjust; but a fool is he who tries to defy them.’
+
+“Tears, the very first tears I had ever seen her shed, glittered in her
+long silky eyelashes.
+
+“‘And to be nothing more to you,--nothing at all! Ah, I was too
+cautious! Do you recollect the morning after your uncle’s death, when
+you, now a rich man, proposed that we should flee? I refused; I clung to
+my reputation. I wanted to be respected. I thought it possible to divide
+life into two parts,--one to be devoted to pleasure; the other, to the
+hypocrisy of duty. Poor fool that I was! And still I discovered long ago
+that you were weary of me. I knew you so well! Your heart was like an
+open book to me, in which I read your most secret thoughts. Then I might
+have retained you. I ought to have been humble, obliging, submissive.
+Instead of that, I tried to command.
+
+“‘And you,’ she said after a short pause,--‘are you happy?’
+
+“‘I cannot be completely happy as long as I know that you are unhappy.
+But there is no sorrow which time does not heal. You will forget’--
+
+“‘Never!’ she cried.
+
+“And, lowering her voice, she added,--
+
+“‘Can I forget you? Alas! my crime is fearful; but the punishment is
+still more so.’
+
+“People were coming down the road.
+
+“‘Compose yourself,’ I said.
+
+“She made an effort to control her emotion. The people passed us,
+saluting politely. And after a moment she said again,--
+
+“‘Well, and when is the wedding?’
+
+“I trembled. She herself insisted upon an explanation.
+
+“‘No day has as yet been fixed,’ I replied. ‘Had I not to see you
+first? You uttered once grave threats.’
+
+“‘And you were afraid?’
+
+“‘No: I was sure I knew you too well to fear that you would punish me
+for having loved you, as if that had been a crime. So many things have
+happened since the day when you made those threats!’
+
+“‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘many things indeed! My poor father is
+incorrigible. Once more he has committed himself fearfully; and once
+more my husband has been compelled to sacrifice a large sum to save him.
+Ah, Count Claudieuse has a noble heart; and it is a great pity I should
+be the only one towards whom he has failed to show generosity. Every
+kindness which he shows me is a new grievance for me; but, having
+accepted them all, I have forfeited the right to strike him, as I had
+intended to do. You may marry Dionysia, Jacques; you have nothing to
+fear from me.’
+
+“Ah! I had not hoped for so much, Magloire. Overcome with joy, I seized
+her hand, and raising it to my lips, I said,--
+
+“‘You are the kindest of friends.’
+
+“But promptly, as if my lips had burnt her hand, she drew it back, and
+said, turning very pale,--
+
+“‘No, don’t do that!’
+
+“Then, overcoming her emotion to a certain degree, she added,--
+
+“‘But we must meet once more. You have my letters, I dare say.’
+
+“‘I have them all.’
+
+“‘Well, you must bring them to me. But where? And how? I can hardly
+absent myself at this time. My youngest daughter--our daughter,
+Jacques--is very ill. Still, an end must be made. Let us see, on
+Thursday--are you free then? Yes. Very well, then come on Thursday
+evening, towards nine o’clock, to Valpinson. You will find me at the
+edge of the wood, near the towers of the old castle, which my husband
+has repaired.’
+
+“‘Is that quite prudent?’ I asked.
+
+“‘Have I ever left any thing to chance?’ she replied, ‘and would I
+be apt, at this time, to be imprudent? Rely on me. Come, we must part,
+Jacques. Thursday, and be punctual!’
+
+“Was I really free? Was the chain really broken? And had I become once
+more my own master?
+
+“I thought so, and in my almost delirious joy I forgave the countess all
+the anxieties of the last year. What do I say? I began to accuse myself
+of injustice and cruelty. I admired her for sacrificing herself to my
+happiness. I felt, in the fulness of my gratitude, like kneeling down,
+and kissing the hem of her dress.
+
+“It had become useless now to confide my secret to M. de Chandore. I
+might have gone back to Boiscoran. But I was more than half-way; I kept
+on; and, when I reached Sauveterre, my face bore such evident trances of
+my relief, that Dionysia said to me,--
+
+“‘Something very pleasant must have happened to you, Jacques.’
+
+“Oh, yes, very pleasant! For the first time, I breathed freely as I sat
+by her side. I could love her now, without fearing that my love might be
+fatal to her.
+
+“This security did not last long. As I considered the matter, I thought
+it very singular that the countess should have chosen such a place for
+our meeting.
+
+“‘Can it be a trap?’ I asked, as the day drew nearer.
+
+“All day long on Thursday I had the most painful presentiments. If I had
+known how to let the countess know, I should certainly not have gone.
+But I had no means to send her word; and I knew her well enough to be
+sure that breaking my word would expose me to her full vengeance. I
+dined at the usual hour; and, when I had finished, I went up to my room,
+where I wrote to Dionysia not to expect me that evening, as I should be
+detained by a matter of the utmost importance.
+
+“I handed the note to Michael, the son of one of my tenants, and told
+him to carry it to town without losing a minute. Then I tied up all of
+the countess’s letters in a parcel, put it in my pocket, took my gun,
+and went out. It might have been eight o’clock; but it was still broad
+daylight.”
+
+Whether M. Magloire accepted every thing that the prisoner said as
+truth, or not, he was evidently deeply interested. He had drawn up his
+chair, and at every statement he uttered half-loud exclamations.
+
+“Under any other circumstances,” said Jacques, “I should have taken one
+of the two public roads in going to Valpinson. But troubled, as I was,
+by vague suspicions, I thought only of concealing myself and cut across
+the marshes. They were partly overflowed; but I counted upon my intimate
+familiarity with the ground, and my agility. I thought, moreover, that
+here I should certainly not be seen, and should meet no one. In this
+I was mistaken. When I reached the Seille Canal, and was just about to
+cross it, I found myself face to face with young Ribot, the son of a
+farmer at Brechy. He looked so very much surprised at seeing me in such
+a place, that I thought to give him some explanation; and, rendered
+stupid by my troubles, I told him I had business at Brechy, and was
+crossing the marshes to shoot some birds.
+
+“‘If that is so,’ he replied, laughing, ‘we are not after the same kind
+of game.’
+
+“He went his way; but this accident annoyed me seriously. I continued on
+my way, swearing, I fear, at young Ribot, and found that the path became
+more and more dangerous. It was long past nine when I reached Valpinson
+at last. But the night was clear, and I became more cautious than ever.
+
+“The place which the countess had chosen for our meeting was about two
+hundred yards from the house and the farm buildings, sheltered by other
+buildings, and quite close to the wood. I approached it through this
+wood.
+
+“Hid among the trees, I was examining the ground, when I noticed the
+countess standing near one of the old towers: she wore a simple costume
+of light muslin, which could be seen at a distance. Finding every thing
+quiet, I went up to her; and, as soon as she saw me, she said,--
+
+“‘I have been waiting for you nearly an hour.’
+
+“I explained to her the difficulties I had met with on my way there; and
+then I asked her,--
+
+“‘But where is your husband?’
+
+“‘He is laid up with rheumatism,’ she replied.
+
+“‘Will he not wonder at your absence?’
+
+“‘No: he knows I am sitting up with my youngest daughter. I left the
+house through the little door of the laundry.’
+
+“And, without giving me time to reply, she asked,--
+
+“‘Where are my letters?’
+
+“‘Here they are,’ I said, handing them to her.
+
+“She took them with feverish haste, saying in an undertone,--
+
+“‘There ought to be twenty-four.’
+
+“And, without thinking of the insult, she went to work counting them.
+
+“‘They are all here,’ she said when she had finished.
+
+“Then, drawing a little package from her bosom, she added,--
+
+“‘And here are yours.’
+
+“But she did not give them to me.
+
+“‘We’ll burn them,’ she said.
+
+“I started with surprise.
+
+“‘You cannot think of it,’ I cried, ‘here, and at this hour. The fire
+would certainly be seen.’
+
+“‘What? Are you afraid? However, we can go into the wood. Come, give me
+some matches.’
+
+“I felt in my pockets; but I had none.
+
+“‘I have no matches,’ I said.
+
+“‘Oh, come!--you who smoke all day long,--you who, even in my presence,
+could never give up your cigars.’
+
+“‘I left my match-box, yesterday, at M. de Chandore’s.’
+
+“She stamped her foot vehemently.
+
+“‘Since that is so, I’ll go in and get some.’
+
+“This would have delayed us, and thus would have been an additional
+imprudence. I saw that I must do what she wanted, and so I said,--
+
+“‘That is not necessary. Wait!’
+
+“All sportsmen know that there is a way to replace matches. I employed
+the usual means. I took a cartridge out of my gun, emptied it and its
+shot, and put in, instead a piece of paper. Then, resting my gun on the
+ground, so as to prevent a loud explosion, I made the powder flash up.
+
+“We had fire, and put the letters to the flame.
+
+“A few minutes later, and nothing was left of them but a few blackened
+fragments, which I crumbled in my hands, and scattered to the winds.
+Immovable, like a statue, the Countess Claudieuse had watched my
+operations.
+
+“‘And that is all,’ she said, ‘that remains of five years of our life,
+of our love, and of your vows,--ashes.’
+
+“I replied by a commonplace remark. I was in a hurry to be gone.
+
+“She felt this, and cried with great vehemence,--
+
+“‘Ah! I inspire you with horror.’
+
+“‘We have just committed a marvellous imprudence,’ I said.
+
+“‘Ah! what does it matter?’
+
+“Then, in a hoarse voice, she added,--
+
+“‘Happiness awaits you, and a new life full of intoxicating hopes: it
+is quite natural that you should tremble. I, whose life is ended, and
+who have nothing to look for,--I, in whom you have killed every hope,--I
+am not afraid.’
+
+“I saw her anger rising within her, and said very quietly,--
+
+“‘I hope you do not repent of your generosity, Genevieve.’
+
+“‘Perhaps I do,’ she replied, in an accent which made me tremble. ‘How
+you must laugh at me! What a wretched thing a woman is who is abandoned,
+who resigns, and sheds tears!’
+
+“Then she went on fiercely,--
+
+“‘Confess that you have never loved me really!’
+
+“‘Ah, you know very well the contrary!’
+
+“‘Still you abandon me for another,--for that Dionysia!’
+
+“‘You are married: you cannot be mine.’
+
+“‘Then if I were free--if I had been a widow’--
+
+“‘You would be my wife you know very well.’
+
+“She raised her arms to heaven, like a drowning person; and, in a voice
+which I thought they could hear at the house, she cried,--
+
+“‘His wife! If I were a widow, I would be his wife! O God! Luckily,
+that thought, that terrible thought, never occurred to me before.’”
+
+All of a sudden, at these words, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre rose
+from his chair, and, placing himself before Jacques de Boiscoran, he
+asked, looking at him with one of those glances which seem to pierce our
+innermost heart,--
+
+“And then?”
+
+Jacques had to summon all the energy that was left him to be able to
+continue with a semblance of calmness, at least,--
+
+“Then I tried every thing in the world to quiet the countess, to move
+her, and bring her back to the generous feelings of former days. I was
+so completely upset that I hardly knew what I was saying. I hated her
+bitterly, and still I could not help pitying her. I am a man; and there
+is no man living who would not feel deeply moved at seeing himself the
+object of such bitter regrets and such terrible despair. Besides, my
+happiness and Dionysia’s honor were at stake. How do I know what I said?
+I am not a hero of romance. No doubt I was mean. I humbled myself, I
+besought her, I told falsehoods, I vowed to her that it was my family,
+mainly, who made me marry. I hoped I should be able, by great kindness
+and caressing words, to soften the bitterness of the parting. She
+listened to me, remaining as impassive as a block of ice; and, when I
+paused, she said with a sinister laugh,--
+
+“‘And you tell me all that! Your Dionysia! Ah! if I were a woman like
+other women, I would say nothing to-day, and, before the year was over,
+you would again be at my feet.’
+
+“She must have been thinking of our meeting at the cross-roads. Or was
+this the last outburst of passion at the moment when the last ties were
+broken off? I was going to speak again; but she interrupted me bruskly,
+saying,--
+
+“‘Oh, that is enough! Spare me, at least, the insult of your pity! I’ll
+see. I promise nothing. Good-by!’
+
+“And she escaped toward the house, while I remained rooted to the spot,
+almost stupefied, and asking myself if she was not, perhaps at that
+moment, telling Count Claudieuse every thing. It was at that moment that
+I drew from my gun, almost mechanically, the burnt cartridge and put in
+a fresh one. Then, as nothing stirred, I went off with rapid strides.”
+
+“What time was it?” asked M. Magloire.
+
+“I could not tell you precisely. My state of mind was such, that I had
+lost all idea of time. I went back through the forest of Rochepommier.”
+
+“And you saw nothing?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Heard nothing?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Still, from your statement, you could not have been far from Valpinson
+when the fire broke out.”
+
+“That is true, and, in the open country, I should certainly have seen
+the fire; but I was in a dense wood: the trees cut off all view.”
+
+“And these same trees prevented the sound of the two shots fired at
+Count Claudieuse from reaching your ear?”
+
+“They might have helped to prevent it; but there was no need for that.
+I was walking against the wind, which was very high; and it is an
+established fact, that, under such circumstances, the sound of a gun is
+not heard beyond fifty yards.”
+
+M. Magloire once more could hardly restrain his impatience; and, utterly
+unconscious that he was even harsher than the magistrate, he said,--
+
+“And you think your statement explains every thing?”
+
+“I believe that my statement, which is founded upon the most exact
+truth, explains the charges brought against me by M. Galpin. It explains
+how I tried to keep my visit to Valpinson secret; how I was met in going
+and in coming back, and at hours which correspond with the time of the
+fire. It explains, finally, how I came at first to deny. It explains
+how one of my cartridge-cases was found near the ruins, and why I had to
+wash my hands when I reached home.”
+
+Nothing seemed to be able to shake the lawyer’s conviction. He asked,--
+
+“And the day after, when they came to arrest you, what was your first
+impression?”
+
+“I thought at once of Valpinson.”
+
+“And when you were told that a crime had been committed?”
+
+“I said to myself, ‘The countess wants to be a widow.’”
+
+All of M. Magloire’s blood seemed to rise in his face. He cried,--
+
+“Unhappy man! How can you dare accuse the Countess Claudieuse of such a
+crime?”
+
+Indignation gave Jacques strength to reply,--
+
+“Whom else should I accuse? A crime has been committed, and under such
+circumstances that it cannot have been committed by any one except by
+her or by myself. I am innocent: consequently she is guilty.”
+
+“Why did you not say so at once?”
+
+Jacques shrugged his shoulders, and replied in a tone of bitter irony,--
+
+“How many times, and in how many ways, do you want me to give you my
+reasons? I kept silent the first day, because I did not then know the
+circumstances of the crime, and because I was reluctant to accuse
+a woman who had given me her love, and who had become criminal from
+passion; because, in fine, I did not think at that time that I was in
+danger. After that I kept silent because I hoped justice would be able
+to discover the truth, or the countess would be unable to bear the idea
+that I, the innocent one, should be accused. Still later, when I saw my
+danger, I was afraid.”
+
+The advocates’ feelings seemed to be revolted. He broke in,--
+
+“You do not tell the truth, Jacques; and I will tell you why you kept
+silent. It is very difficult to make up a story which is to account for
+every thing. But you are a clever man: you thought it over, and you made
+out a story. There is nothing lacking in it, except probability. You
+might tell me that the Countess Claudieuse has unfairly enjoyed the
+reputation of a saint, and that she has given you her love; perhaps I
+might be willing to believe it. But when you say she has set her own
+house on fire, and taken up a gun to shoot her husband, that I can
+never, never admit.”
+
+“Still it is the truth.”
+
+“No; for the evidence of Count Claudieuse is precise. He has seen his
+murderer; it was a man who fired at him.”
+
+“And who tells you that Count Claudieuse does not know all, and wants to
+save his wife, and ruin me? There would be a vengeance for him.”
+
+The objection took the advocate by surprise; but he rejected it at once,
+and said,--
+
+“Ah! be silent, or prove.”
+
+“All the letters are burned.”
+
+“When one has been a woman’s lover for five years, there are always
+proofs.”
+
+“But you see there are none.”
+
+“Do not insist,” repeated M. Magloire.
+
+And, in a voice full of pity and emotion, he added,--
+
+“Unhappy man! Do you not feel, that, in order to escape from one crime,
+you are committing another which is a thousand times worse?”
+
+Jacques stood wringing his hand, and said--
+
+“It is enough to drive me mad.”
+
+“And even if I, your friend,” continued M. Magloire, “should believe
+you, how would that help you? Would any one else believe it? Look here I
+will tell you exactly what I think. Even if I were perfectly sure of all
+the facts you mention, I should never plead them in my defence, unless I
+had proofs. To plead them, understand me well, would be to ruin yourself
+inevitably.”
+
+“Still they must be pleaded; for they are the truth.”
+
+“Then,” said M. Magloire, “you must look for another advocate.”
+
+And he went toward the door. He was on the point of leaving, when
+Jacques cried out, almost in agony,--
+
+“Great God, he forsakes me!”
+
+“No,” replied the advocate; “but I cannot discuss matters with you in
+the state of excitement in which you now are. You will think it over,
+and I will come again to-morrow.”
+
+He left; and Jacques de Boiscoran fell, utterly undone, on one of the
+prison chairs.
+
+“It is all over,” he stammered: “I am lost.”
+
+
+
+XV.
+
+During all this time, they were suffering intense anxiety at M. de
+Chandore’s house. Ever since eight o’clock in the morning the two aunts,
+the old gentleman, the marchioness, and M. Folgat had been assembled in
+the dining-room, and were there waiting for the result of the interview.
+Dionysia had only come down later; and her grandfather could not help
+noticing that she had dressed more carefully than usual.
+
+“Are we not going to see Jacques again?” she replied with a smile full
+of confidence and joy.
+
+She had actually persuaded herself that one word from Jacques would
+suffice to convince the celebrated lawyer, and that he would reappear
+triumphant on M. Magloire’s arm. The others did not share these
+expectations. The two aunts, looking as yellow as their old laces, sat
+immovable in a corner. The marchioness was trying to hide her tears; and
+M. Folgat endeavored to look absorbed in a volume of engravings. M. de
+Chandore, who possessed less self-control, walked up and down in the
+room, repeating every ten minutes,--
+
+“It is wonderful how long time seems when you are waiting!”
+
+At ten o’clock no news had come.
+
+“Could M. Magloire have forgotten his promise?” said Dionysia, becoming
+anxious.
+
+“No, he has not forgotten it,” replied a newcomer, M. Seneschal. It
+was really the excellent mayor, who had met M. Magloire about an hour
+before, and who now came to hear the news, for his own sake, as he said,
+but especially for his wife’s sake, who was actually ill with anxiety.
+
+Eleven o’clock, and no news. The marchioness got up, and said,--
+
+“I cannot stand this uncertainty a minute longer. I am going to the
+prison.”
+
+“And I will go with you, dear mother,” declared Dionysia.
+
+But such a proceeding was hardly suitable. M. de Chandore opposed it,
+and was supported by M. Folgat, as well as by M. Seneschal.
+
+“We might at least send somebody,” suggested the two aunts timidly.
+
+“That is a good idea,” replied M. de Chandore.
+
+He rang the bell; and old Anthony came in. He had established himself
+the evening before in Sauveterre, having heard that the preliminary
+investigation was finished.
+
+As soon as he had been told what they wanted him to do, he said,--
+
+“I shall be back in half an hour.”
+
+He nearly ran down the steep street, hastened along National Street, and
+then climbed up more slowly Castle Street. When M. Blangin, the keeper,
+saw him appear, he turned very pale; for M. Blangin had not slept since
+Dionysia had given him the seventeen thousand francs. He, once upon a
+time the special friend of all gendarmes, now trembled when one of them
+entered the jail. Not that he felt any remorse about having betrayed his
+duty; oh, no! but he feared discovery.
+
+More than ten times he had changed the hiding-place of his precious
+stocking; but, wherever he put it, he always fancied that the eyes of
+his visitors were riveted upon that very spot. He recovered, however,
+from his fright when Anthony told him his errand, and replied in the
+most civil manner,--
+
+“M. Magloire came here at nine o’clock precisely. I took him immediately
+to M. de Boiscoran’s cell; and ever since they have been talking,
+talking.”
+
+“Are you quite sure?”
+
+“Of course I am. Must I not know every thing that happens in my jail? I
+went and listened. You can hear nothing from the passage: they have shut
+the wicket, and the door is massive.”
+
+“That is strange,” murmured the old servant.
+
+“Yes, and a bad sign,” declared the keeper with a knowing air. “I have
+noticed that the prisoners who take so long to state their case to their
+advocate always catch the maximum of punishment.”
+
+Anthony, of course, did not report to his masters the jailer’s mournful
+anticipations; but what he told them about the length of the interview
+did not tend to relieve their anxiety.
+
+Gradually the color had faded from Dionysia’s cheeks; and the clear ring
+of her voice was half drowned in tears, when she said, that it would
+have been better, perhaps, if she had put on mourning, and that seeing
+the whole family assembled thus reminded her of a funeral.
+
+The sudden arrival of Dr. Seignebos cut short her remarks. He was in a
+great passion, as usual; and as soon as he entered, he cried,--
+
+“What a stupid town Sauveterre is! Nothing but gossip and idle reports!
+The people are all of them old women. I feel like running away, and
+hiding myself. On my way here, twenty curious people have stopped me to
+ask me what M. de Boiscoran is going to do now. For the town is full of
+rumors. They know that Magloire is at the jail now; and everybody wants
+to be the first to hear Jacques’s story.”
+
+He had put his immense broad brimmed hat on the table, and, looking
+around the room at all the sad faces he asked,--
+
+“And you have no news yet?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied M. Seneschal and M. Folgat at the same breath.
+
+“And we are frightened by this delay,” added Dionysia.
+
+“And why?” asked the physician.
+
+Then taking down his spectacles, and wiping them diligently, he said,--
+
+“Did you think, my dear young lady, that Jacques de Boiscoran’s affair
+could be settled in five minutes? If they let you believe that, they did
+wrong. I, who despise all concealment, I will tell you the truth. At the
+bottom of all these occurrences at Valpinson, there lies, I am perfectly
+sure, some dark intrigue. Most assuredly we shall put Jacques out of his
+trouble; but I fear it will be hard work.”
+
+“M. Magloire!” announced old Anthony.
+
+The eminent advocate of Sauveterre entered. He looked so undone, and
+bore so evidently the traces of his excitement, that all had the same
+terrible thought which Dionysia expressed.
+
+“Jacques is lost!”
+
+M. Magloire did not say no.
+
+“I believe he is in danger.”
+
+“Jacques,” murmured the old marchioness,--“my son!”
+
+“I said in danger,” repeated the advocate; “but I ought to have said, he
+is in a strange, almost incredible, unnatural position.”
+
+“Let us hear,” said the marchioness.
+
+The lawyer was evidently very much embarrassed; and he looked with
+unmistakable distress, first at Dionysia, and then at the two old aunts.
+But nobody noticed this, and so he said,--
+
+“I must ask to be left alone with these gentlemen.”
+
+In the most docile manner the Misses Lavarande rose, and took their
+niece and Jacques’s mother with them: the latter was evidently near
+fainting. As soon as the door was shut, Grandpapa Chandore, half mad
+with grief, exclaimed,--
+
+“Thanks, M. Magloire, thanks for having given me time to prepare my poor
+child for the terrible blow. I see but too well what you are going to
+say. Jacques is guilty.”
+
+“Stop,” said the advocate: “I have said nothing of the kind. M. de
+Boiscoran still protests energetically that he is innocent; but he
+states in his defence a fact which is so entirely improbable, so utterly
+inadmissible”--
+
+“But what does he say?” asked M. Seneschal.
+
+“He says that the Countess Claudieuse has been his mistress.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos started, and, readjusting his spectacles, he cried
+triumphantly,--
+
+“I said so! I have guessed it!”
+
+M. Folgat had, on this occasion, very naturally, no deliberative voice.
+He came from Paris, with Paris ideas; and, whatever he might have been
+told, the name of the Countess Claudieuse revealed to him nothing. But,
+from the effect which it produced upon the others, he could judge what
+Jacques’s accusation meant. Far from being of the doctor’s opinion M.
+de Chandore and M. Seneschal both seemed to be as much shocked as M.
+Magloire.
+
+“That is incredible,” said one.
+
+“That is impossible,” added the other.
+
+M. Magloire shook his head, and said,--
+
+“That is exactly what I told Jacques.”
+
+But the doctor was not the man to be surprised at what public opinion
+said, much less to fear it. He exclaimed,--
+
+“Don’t you hear what I say? Don’t you understand me? The proof that
+the thing is neither so incredible nor so impossible is, that I had
+suspected it. And there were signs of it, I should think. Why on earth
+should a man like Jacques, young, rich, well made, in love with a
+charming girl, and beloved by her, why should he amuse himself with
+setting houses on fire, and killing people? You tell me he did not
+like Count Claudieuse. Upon my word! If everybody who does not like Dr.
+Seignebos were to come and fire at him forthwith, do you know my body
+would look like a sieve! Among you all, M. Folgat is the only one who
+has not been struck with blindness.”
+
+The young lawyer tried modestly to protest.
+
+“Sir”--
+
+But the other cut him short, and went on,--
+
+“Yes, sir, you saw it all; and the proof of it is, that you at once went
+to work in search of the real motive, the heart,--in fine, the woman at
+the bottom of the riddle. The proof of it is, that you went and asked
+everybody,--Anthony, M. de Chandore, M. Seneschal, and myself,--if M. de
+Boiscoran had not now, or had not had, some love-affair in the country.
+They all said No, being far from suspecting the truth. I alone, without
+giving you a positive answer, told you that I thought as you did, and
+told you so in M. de Chandore’s presence.”
+
+“That is so!” replied the old gentleman and M. Folgat.
+
+Dr. Seignebos was triumphant. Gesticulating, and continually handling
+his spectacles, he added,--
+
+“You see I have learnt to mistrust appearances; and hence I had my
+misgivings from the beginning. I watched the Countess Claudieuse the
+night of the fire; and I saw that she looked embarrassed, troubled,
+suspicious. I wondered at her readiness to yield to M. Galpin’s whim,
+and to allow Cocoleu to be examined; for I knew that she was the only
+one who could ever make that so-called idiot talk. You see I have good
+eyes, gentlemen, in spite of my spectacles. Well, I swear by all I hold
+most sacred, on my Republican faith, I am ready to affirm upon oath,
+that, when Cocoleu uttered Jacques de Boiscoran’s name, the countess
+exhibited no sign of surprise.”
+
+Never before, in their life, had the mayor of Sauveterre and Dr.
+Seignebos been able to agree on any subject. This question was not
+likely to produce such an effect all of a sudden: hence M. Seneschal
+said,--
+
+“I was present at Cocoleu’s examination, and I noticed, on the contrary,
+the amazement of the countess.”
+
+The doctor raised his shoulders, and said,--
+
+“Certainly she said, ‘Ah!’ But that is no proof. I, also, could very
+easily say, ‘Ah!’ if anybody should come and tell me that the mayor of
+Sauveterre was in the wrong; and still I should not be surprised.”
+
+“Doctor!” said M. de Chandore, anxious to conciliate,--“doctor!”
+
+But Dr. Seignebos had already turned to M. Magloire, whom he was anxious
+to convert, and went on,--
+
+“Yes, the face of the Countess Claudieuse, expressed amazement; but her
+eyes spoke of bitter, fierce hatred, of joy, and of vengeance. And that
+is not all. Will you please tell me, Mr. Mayor, when Count Claudieuse
+was roused by the fire, was the countess by him? No, she was nursing her
+youngest daughter, who had the measles. Hm! What do you think of measles
+which make sitting up at night necessary? And when the two shots were
+fired, where was the countess then? Still with her daughter, and on the
+other side of the house from where the fire was.”
+
+The mayor of Sauveterre was no less obstinate than the doctor. He at
+once objected,--
+
+“I beg you will notice, doctor, that Count Claudieuse himself deposed
+how, when he ran to the fire, he found the door shut from within, just
+as he had left it a few hours before.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos returned a most ironical bow, and then asked,--
+
+“Is there really only one door in the chateau at Valpinson?”
+
+“To my knowledge,” said M. de Chandore, “there are at least three.”
+
+“And I must say,” added M. Magloire, “that according to M. de
+Boiscoran’s statement, the countess, on that evening, had gone out by
+the laundry-door when she came to meet him.”
+
+“What did I say?” exclaimed the doctor.
+
+And, wiping his glasses in a perfect rage, he added,--
+
+“And the children! Does Mr. Mayor think it natural that the Countess
+Claudieuse, this incomparable mother in his estimation, should forget
+her children in the height of the fire?”
+
+“What! The poor woman is called out by the discharge of fire-arms;
+she sees her house on fire; she stumbles over the lifeless body of her
+husband: and you blame her for not having preserved all her presence of
+mind.”
+
+“That is one view of it; but it is not the one I take. I rather think
+that the countess, having been delayed out of doors, was prevented by
+the fire from getting in again. I think, also, that Cocoleu came very
+opportunely; and that it was very lucky Providence should inspire his
+mind with that sublime idea of saving the children at the risk of his
+life.”
+
+This time M. Seneschal made no reply.
+
+“Supported by all these facts,” continued the doctor, “my suspicions
+became so strong that I determined to ascertain the truth, if I could.
+The next day I questioned the countess, and, I must confess, rather
+treacherously. Her replies and her looks were not such as to modify
+my views. When I asked her, looking straight into her eyes, what she
+thought of Cocoleu’s mental condition, she nearly fainted; and she
+could hardly make me hear her when she said that she occasionally caught
+glimpses of intelligence in him. When I asked her if Cocoleu was fond of
+her, she said, in a most embarrassed manner, that his devotion was that
+of an animal which is grateful for the care taken of him. What do you
+think of that, gentlemen? To me it appeared that Cocoleu was at the
+bottom of the whole affair; that he knew the truth; and that I should
+be able to save Jacques, if I could prove Cocoleu’s imbecility to be
+assumed, and his speechlessness to be an imposture. And I would have
+proved it, if they had associated with me any one else but this ass and
+this jackanapes from Paris.”
+
+He paused for a few seconds; but, without giving anybody time to reply,
+he went on,--
+
+“Now, let us go back to our point of departure, and draw our
+conclusions. Why do you think it so improbable and impossible that the
+countess Claudieuse should have betrayed her duties? Because she has a
+world-wide reputation for purity and prudence. Well. But was not Jacques
+de Boiscoran’s reputation as a man of honor also above all doubt?
+According to your views, it is absurd to suspect the countess of having
+had a lover. According to my notions, it is absurd that Jacques should,
+overnight, have become a scoundrel.”
+
+“Oh! that is not the same thing,” said M. Seneschal.
+
+“Certainly not!” replied the doctor; “and there you are right, for once.
+If M. de Boiscoran had committed this crime, it would be one of those
+absurd crimes which are revolting to us; but, if committed by the
+countess, it is only the catastrophe prepared by Count Claudieuse on the
+day when he married a woman thirty years younger than he was.”
+
+The great wrath of Dr. Seignebos was not always as formidable as it
+looked. Even when he appeared to be almost beside himself, he never
+said more than he intended to say, possessed as he was of that admirable
+southern quality, which enabled him to pour forth fire and flames, and
+to remain as cold as ice within, But in this case he showed what he
+thought fully. He had said quite enough, too, and had presented the
+whole affair under such a new aspect, that his friends became very
+thoughtful.
+
+“You would have converted me, doctor,” said M. Folgat, “if I had not
+been of your opinion before.”
+
+“I am sure,” added M. de Chandore, after hearing the doctor, “the thing
+no longer looks impossible.”
+
+“Nothing is impossible,” said M. Seneschal, like a philosopher.
+
+The eminent advocate of Sauveterre alone remained unmoved.
+
+“Well,” said he, “I had rather admit one hour of utter insanity even
+than five years of such monstrous hypocrisy. Jacques may have committed
+the crime, and be nothing but a madman; but, if the countess is guilty,
+one might despair of mankind, and renounce all faith in this world. I
+have seen her, gentlemen, with her husband and her children. No one can
+feign such looks of tenderness and affection.”
+
+“He will never give her up!” growled Dr. Seignebos,--
+
+And touching his friend on the shoulder,--for M. Magloire had been his
+friend for many years, and they were quite intimate,--he said,--
+
+“Ah! There I recognize my friend, the strange lawyer, who judges others
+by himself, and refuses to believe any thing bad. Oh, do not protest!
+For we love and honor you for that very faith, and are proud to see you
+among us Republicans. But I must confess you are not the man to bring
+light into such a dark intrigue. At twenty-eight you married a girl
+whom you loved dearly: you lost her, and ever since you have remained
+faithful to her memory, and lived so far from all passions that you no
+longer believe in their existence. Happy man! Your heart is still at
+twenty; and with your grey hair you still believe in the smiles and
+looks of woman.”
+
+There was much truth in this; but there are certain truths which we are
+not overfond of hearing.
+
+“My simplicity has nothing to do with the matter,” said M. Magloire. “I
+affirm and maintain that a man who has been for five years the lover of
+a woman must have some proof of it.”
+
+“Well, there you are mistaken, master,” said the physician, arranging
+his spectacles with an air of self-conceit, which, under other
+circumstances, would have been irresistibly ludicrous.
+
+“When women determine to be prudent and suspicious,” remarked M. de
+Chandore, “they never are so by halves.”
+
+“It is evident, besides,” added M. Folgat, “that the Countess Claudieuse
+would never have determined upon so bold a crime, if she had not been
+quite sure, that after the burning of her letters, no proof could be
+brought against her.”
+
+“That is it!” cried the doctor.
+
+M. Magloire did not conceal his impatience. He said dryly,--
+
+“Unfortunately, gentlemen, it does not depend on you to acquit or
+condemn M. de Boiscoran. I am not here to convince you, or to be
+convinced: I came to discuss with M. de Boiscoran’s friends our line of
+conduct, and the basis of our defence.”
+
+And M. Magloire was evidently right in this estimate of his duty. He
+went and leaned against the mantelpiece; and, when the others had taken
+their seats around him, he began,--
+
+“In the first place, I will admit the allegations made by M. de
+Boiscoran. He is innocent. He has been the lover of Countess Claudieuse;
+but he has no proof. This being granted, what is to be done? Shall I
+advise him to send for the magistrate, and to confess it all?”
+
+No one replied at first. It was only after a long silence that Dr.
+Seignebos said,--
+
+“That would be very serious.”
+
+“Very serious, indeed,” repeated the famous lawyer. “Our own feelings
+give us the measure of what M. Galpin will think. First of all, he,
+also, will ask for proof, the evidence of a witness, any thing, in fact.
+And, when Jacques tells him that he has nothing to give but his word, M.
+Galpin will tell him that he does not speak the truth.”
+
+“He might, perhaps, consent to extend the investigation,” said M.
+Seneschal. “He might possibly summon the countess.”
+
+M. Magloire nodded, and said,--
+
+“He would certainly summon her. But, then, would she confess? It
+would be madness to expect that. If she is guilty, she is far too
+strong-minded to let the truth escape her. She would deny every thing,
+haughtily, magnificently, and in such a manner as not to leave a shadow
+of doubt.”
+
+“That is only too probable,” growled the doctor. “That poor Galpin is
+not the strongest of men.”
+
+“What would be the result of such a step?” asked M. Magloire. “M. de
+Boiscoran’s case would be a hundred times worse; for to his crime would
+now be added the odium of the meanest, vilest calumny.”
+
+M. Folgat was following with the utmost attention. He said,--
+
+“I am very glad to hear my honorable colleague give utterance to that
+opinion. We must give up all hope of delaying the proceedings, and let
+M. de Boiscoran go into court at once.”
+
+M. de Chandore raised his hands to heaven, as if in sheer despair.
+
+“But Dionysia will die of grief and shame,” he exclaimed.
+
+M. Magloire, absorbed in his own views, went on,--
+
+“Well, here we are now before the court at Sauveterre, before a jury
+composed of people from this district, incapable of prevarication, I
+am sure, but, unfortunately, under the influence of that public opinion
+which has long since condemned M. de Boiscoran. The proceedings begin;
+the judge questions the accused. Will he say what he told me,--that,
+after having been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse, he had gone to
+Valpinson to carry her back her letters, and to get his own, and that
+they are all burnt? Suppose he says so. Immediately then there will
+arise a storm of indignation; and he will be overwhelmed with curses
+and with contempt. Well, thereupon, the president of the court uses his
+discretionary powers, suspends the trial, and sends for the Countess
+Claudieuse. Since we look upon her as guilty, we must needs endow her
+with supernatural energy. She had foreseen what is coming, and has read
+over her part. When summoned, she appears, pale, dressed in black; and
+a murmur of respectful sympathy greets her at her entrance. You see her
+before you, don’t you? The president explains to her why she has been
+sent for, and she does not comprehend. She cannot possibly comprehend
+such an abominable calumny. But when she has comprehended it? Do you see
+the lofty look by which she crushes Jacques, and the grandeur with which
+she replies, ‘When this man had failed in trying to murder my husband,
+he tried to disgrace his wife. I intrust to you my honor as a mother
+and a wife, gentlemen. I shall not answer the infamous charges of this
+abject calumniator.’”
+
+“But that means the galleys for Jacques,” exclaimed M. de Chandore, “or
+even the scaffold!”
+
+“That would be the maximum, at all events,” replied the advocate of
+Sauveterre. “But the trial goes on; the prosecuting attorney demands an
+overwhelming punishment; and at last the prisoner’s council is called
+upon to speak. Gentlemen, you were impatient at my persistence. I do not
+credit, I confess, the statement made by M. de Boiscoran. But my young
+colleague here does credit it. Well, let him tell us candidly. Would he
+dare to plead this statement, and assert that the Countess Claudieuse
+had been Jacques’s mistress?”
+
+M. Folgat looked annoyed.
+
+“I don’t know,” he said in an undertone.
+
+“Well, I know you would not,” exclaimed M. Magloire; “and you would be
+right, for you would risk your reputation without the slightest chance
+of saving Jacques. Yes, no chance whatever! For after all, let us
+suppose, what can hardly be even supposed, you should prove that Jacques
+has told the truth, that he has been the lover of the countess. What
+would happen then? They arrest the countess. Do they release M. de
+Boiscoran on that account? Certainly not! They keep him in prison, and
+say to him. ‘This woman has attempted her husband’s life; but she had
+been your mistress, and you are her accomplice.’
+
+“That is the situation, gentlemen!”
+
+M. Magloire had stripped it of all unnecessary comments, of idle
+conjecture, and all sentimental phraseology, and placed it before them
+as it had to be looked at, in all its fearful simplicity.
+
+Grandpapa Chandore was terrified. He rose, and said in an almost
+inaudible voice,--
+
+“Ah, all is over indeed! Innocent, or guilty, Jacques de Boiscoran will
+be condemned.”
+
+M. Magloire made no reply.
+
+“And that is,” continued the old gentleman, “what you call justice!”
+
+“Alas!” sighed M. Seneschal, “it is useless to deny it: trials by jury
+are a lottery.”
+
+M. de Chandore, driven nearly to madness by his despair, interrupted
+him,--
+
+“In other words, Jacques’s honor and life depend at this hour on a
+chance,--on the weather on the day of the trial, or the health of a
+juror. And if Jacques was the only one! But there is Dionysia’s life,
+gentlemen, my child’s life, also at stake. If you strike Jacques, you
+strike Dionysia!”
+
+M. Folgat could hardly restrain a tear. M. Seneschal, and even the
+doctor, shuddered at such grief in an old man, who was threatened in all
+that was dearest to him,--in his one great love upon earth. He had
+taken the hand of the great advocate of Sauveterre, and, pressing it
+convulsively, he went on,--
+
+“You will save him, Magloire, won’t you? What does it matter whether he
+be innocent or guilty, since Dionysia loves him? You have saved so many
+in your life! It is well known the judges cannot resist the weight of
+your words. You will find means to save a poor, unhappy man who once was
+your friend.”
+
+The eminent lawyer looked cast-down, as if he had been guilty himself.
+When Dr. Seignebos saw this, he exclaimed,--
+
+“What do you mean, friend Magloire? Are you no longer the man whose
+marvellous eloquence is the pride of our country? Hold your head up: for
+shame! Never was a nobler cause intrusted to you.”
+
+But he shook his head, and murmured,--
+
+“I have no faith in it; and I cannot plead when my conscience does not
+furnish the arguments.”
+
+And becoming more and more embarrassed, he added,--
+
+“Seignebos was right in saying just now, I am not the man for such a
+cause. Here all my experience would be of no use. It will be better to
+intrust it to my young brother here.”
+
+For the first time in his life, M. Folgat came here upon a case such
+as enables a man to rise to eminence, and to open a great future before
+him. For the first time, he came upon a case in which were united all
+the elements of supreme interest,--greatness of crime, eminence
+of victim, character of the accused, mystery, variety of opinions,
+difficulty of defence, and uncertainty of issue,--one of those causes
+for which an advocate is filled with enthusiasm, which he seizes upon
+with all his energies, and in which he shares all the anxiety and all
+the hopes with his client.
+
+He would readily have given five years’ income to be offered the
+management of this case; but he was, above all, an honest man. He said,
+therefore,--
+
+“You would not think of abandoning M. de Boiscoran, M. Magloire?”
+
+“You will be more useful to him than I can be,” was the reply.
+
+Perhaps M. Folgat was inwardly of the same opinion. Still he said,--
+
+“You have not considered what an effect this would have.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“What would the public think if they heard all of a sudden that you
+had withdrawn? ‘This affair of M. de Boiscoran must be a very bad one
+indeed,’ they would say, ‘that M. Magloire should refuse to plead in
+it.’ And that would be an additional burden laid upon the unfortunate
+man.”
+
+The doctor gave his friend no time to reply.
+
+“Magloire is not at liberty to withdraw,” he said, “but he has the right
+to associate a brother-lawyer with himself. He must remain the
+advocate and counsel of M. de Boiscoran; but M. Folgat can lend him the
+assistance of his advice, the support of his youth and his activity, and
+even of his eloquence.”
+
+A passing blush colored the cheeks of the young lawyer.
+
+“I am entirely at M. Magloire’s service,” he said.
+
+The famous advocate of Sauveterre considered a while. After a few
+moments he turned to his young colleague, and asked him,--
+
+“Have you any plan? Any idea? What would you do?”
+
+To the astonishment of all, M. Folgat now revealed his true character
+to some extent. He looked taller, his face brightened up, his eyes shone
+brightly, and he said in a full, sonorous voice,--a voice which by its
+metallic ring made all hearts vibrate,--
+
+“First of all, I should go and see M. de Boiscoran. He alone should
+determine my final decision. But my plan is formed now. I, gentlemen,
+I have faith, as I told you before. The man whom Miss Dionysia loves
+cannot be a criminal. What would I do? I would prove the truth of M.
+de Boiscoran’s statement. Can that be done? I hope so. He tells us
+that there are no proofs or witnesses of his intimacy with the
+Countess Claudieuse. I am sure he is mistaken. She has shown, he says,
+extraordinary care and prudence. That may be. But mistrust challenges
+suspicion; and, when you take the greatest precautions, you are most
+likely to be watched. You want to hide, and you are discovered. You see
+nobody; but they see you.
+
+“If I were charged with the defence, I should commence to-morrow a
+counter-investigation. We have money, the Marquis de Boiscoran has
+influential connections; and we should have help everywhere. Before
+forty-eight hours are gone, I should have experienced agents at work.
+I know Vine Street in Passy: it is a lonely street; but it has eyes,
+as all streets have. Why should not some of these eyes have noticed the
+mysterious visits of the countess? My agents would inquire from house
+to house. Nor would it be necessary to mention names. They would not
+be charged with a search after the Countess Claudieuse, but after an
+unknown lady, dressed so and so; and, if they should discover any one
+who had seen her, and who could identify her, that man would be our
+first witness.
+
+“In the meantime, I should go in search of this friend of M. de
+Boiscoran’s, this Englishman, whose name he assumed; and the London
+police would aid me in my efforts. If that Englishman is dead, we would
+hear of it, and it would be a misfortune. If he is only at the other end
+of the world, the transatlantic cable enables us to question him, and to
+be answered in a week.
+
+“I should, at the same time, have sent detectives after that English
+maid-servant who attended to the house in Vine Street. M. de Boiscoran
+declares that she has never even caught a glimpse of the countess. I do
+not believe it. It is out of question that a servant should not wish for
+the means, and find them, of seeing the face of the woman who comes to
+see her master.
+
+“And that is not all. There were other people who came to the house in
+Vine Street. I should examine them one by one,--the gardener and his
+help, the water-carrier, the upholsterer, the errand-boys of all the
+merchants. Who can say whether one of them is not in possession of this
+truth which we are seeking?
+
+“Finally, when a woman has spent so many days in a house, it is almost
+impossible that she should not have left some traces of her passage
+behind her. Since then, you will say, there has been the war, and then
+the commune. Nevertheless, I should examine the ruins, every tree in the
+garden, every pane in the windows: I should compel the very mirrors that
+have escaped destruction to give me back the image which they have so
+often reflected.”
+
+“Ah, I call that speaking!” cried the doctor, full of enthusiasm.
+
+The others trembled with excitement. They felt that the struggle was
+commencing. But, unmindful of the impression he had produced, M. Folgat
+went on,--
+
+“Here in Sauveterre, the task would be more difficult; but, in case of
+success, the result, also, would be more decided. I should bring down
+from Paris one of those keen, subtle detectives who have made an art of
+their profession, and I should know how to stimulate his vanity. He, of
+course, would have to know every thing, even the names; but there would
+be no danger in that. His desire to succeed, the splendor of the reward,
+even his professional habits, would be our security. He would come down
+secretly, concealed under whatever disguise would appear to him most
+useful for his purpose; and he would begin once more, for the benefit of
+the defence, the investigation carried on by M. Galpin for the benefit
+of the prosecution. Would he find out any thing? We can but hope so. I
+know detectives, who, by the aid of smaller material, have unravelled
+far deeper mysteries.”
+
+Grandpapa Chandore, excellent M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, and even M.
+Magloire, were literally drinking in the words of the Paris lawyer.
+
+“Is that all, gentlemen?” he continued. “By no means! Thanks to
+his great experience, Dr. Seignebos had, on the very first day,
+instinctively guessed who was the most important personage of this
+mysterious drama.”
+
+“Cocoleu!”
+
+“Exactly, Cocoleu. Whether he be actor, confident, or eye-witness,
+Cocoleu has evidently the key to this mystery. This key we must make
+every effort to obtain from him. Medical experts have just declared him
+idiotic; nevertheless, we protest. We claim that the imbecility of this
+wretch is partly assumed. We maintain that his obstinate silence is
+a vile imposture. What! he should have intelligence enough to testify
+against us, and yet not have left enough of it now to explain, or even
+to repeat his evidence? That is inadmissible. We maintain that he keeps
+silent now just as he spoke that night,--by order. If his silence was
+less profitable for the prosecution, they would soon find means to break
+it. We demand that such means should be employed. We demand that the
+person who has before been able to loosen his tongue should be sent
+for, and ordered to try the experiment over again. We call for a
+new examination by experts: we cannot judge all of a sudden, and
+in forty-eight hours, what is the true mental condition of a man,
+especially when that man is suspected of being an impostor. And we
+require, above all, that these new experts should be qualified by
+knowledge and experience.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos was quivering with excitement. He heard all his own ideas
+repeated in a concise, energetic manner.
+
+“Yes,” he cried, “that is the way to do it! Let me have full power, and
+in less than a fortnight Cocoleu is unmasked.”
+
+Less expansive, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre simply shook hands
+with M. Folgat, and said,--
+
+“You see, M. de Boiscoran’s case ought to be put in your hands.”
+
+The young lawyer made no effort to protest. When he began to speak, his
+determination was already formed.
+
+“Whatever can humanly be done,” he replied, “I will do. If I accept the
+task, I shall devote myself body and soul to it. But I insist upon it,
+it is understood, and must be publicly announced, that M. Magloire does
+not withdraw from the case, and that I act only as his junior.”
+
+“Agreed,” said the old advocate.
+
+“Well. When shall we go and see M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“To-morrow morning.”
+
+“I can, of course, take no steps till I have seen him.”
+
+“Yes, but you cannot be admitted, except by a special permission from M.
+Galpin; and I doubt if we can procure that to-day.”
+
+“That is provoking.”
+
+“No, since we have our work all cut out for to-day. We have to go over
+all the papers of the proceedings, which the magistrate has placed in my
+hands.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos was boiling over with impatience. He broke in,--
+
+“Oh, what words! Go to work, Mr. Advocate, to work, I say. Come, shall
+we go?”
+
+They were leaving the room when M. de Chandore called them back by a
+gesture. He said,--
+
+“So far, gentlemen, we have thought of Jacques alone. And Dionysia?”
+
+The others looked at him, full of surprise.
+
+“What am I to say if she asks me what the result of M. Magloire’s
+interview with Jacques has been, and why you would say nothing in her
+presence?”
+
+Dr. Seignebos had confessed it more than once: he was no friend of
+concealment.
+
+“You will tell her the truth,” was his advice.
+
+“What? How can I tell her that Jacques has been the lover of the
+Countess Claudieuse?”
+
+“She will hear of it sooner or later. Miss Dionysia is a sensible,
+energetic girl.”
+
+“Yes; but Miss Dionysia is as ignorant as a holy angel,” broke in M.
+Folgat eagerly, “and she loves M. de Boiscoran. Why should we trouble
+the purity of her thoughts and her happiness? Is she not unhappy enough?
+M. de Boiscoran is no longer kept in close confinement. He will see his
+betrothed, and, if he thinks proper, he can tell her. He alone has the
+right to do so. I shall, however, dissuade him. From what I know of Miss
+Chandore’s character, it would be impossible for her to control herself,
+if she should meet the Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+“M. de Chandore ought not to say any thing,” said M. Magloire
+decisively. “It is too much already, to have to intrust the marchioness
+with the secret; for you must not forget, gentlemen, that the slightest
+indiscretion would certainly ruin all of M. Folgat’s delicate plans.”
+
+Thereupon all went out; and M. de Chandore, left alone, said to
+himself,--
+
+“Yes, they are right; but what am I to say?”
+
+He was thinking it over almost painfully, when a maid came in, and told
+him that Miss Dionysia wanted to see him.
+
+“I am coming,” he said.
+
+And he followed her with heavy steps, and trying to compose his features
+so as to efface all traces of the terrible emotions through which he
+had passed. The two aunts had taken Dionysia and the marchioness to
+the parlor in the upper story. Here M. de Chandore found them all
+assembled,--the marchioness, pale and overcome, extended in an
+easy-chair; but Dionysia, walking up and down with burning cheeks and
+blazing eyes. As soon as he entered, she asked him in a sharp, sad
+voice,--
+
+“Well? There is no hope, I suppose.”
+
+“More hope than ever, on the contrary,” he replied, trying to smile.
+
+“Then why did M. De Magloire send us all out?”
+
+The old gentleman had had time to prepare a fib.
+
+“Because M. Magloire had to tell us a piece of bad news. There is no
+chance of no true bill being found. Jacques will have to appear in
+court.”
+
+The marchioness jumped up like a piece of mechanism, and cried,--
+
+“What! Jacques before the assizes? My son? A Boiscoran?” And she fell
+back into her chair. Not a muscle in Dionysia’s face had moved. She said
+in a strange tone of voice,--
+
+“I was prepared for something worse. One may avoid the court.”
+
+With these words she left the room, shutting the door so violently, that
+both the Misses Lavarande hastened after her. Now M. de Chandore thought
+he might speak freely. He stood up before the marchioness, and gave vent
+to that fearful wrath which had been rising within him for a long time.
+
+“Your son,” he cried, “your Jacques, I wish he were dead a thousand
+times! The wretch who is killing my child, for you see he is killing
+her.”
+
+And, without pity, he told her the whole story of Jacques and the
+Countess Claudieuse. The marchioness was overcome. She had even ceased
+to sob, and had not strength enough left to ask him to have pity on her.
+And, when he had ended, she whispered to herself with an expression of
+unspeakable suffering,--
+
+“Adultery! Oh, my God! what punishment!”
+
+
+
+XVI.
+
+M. Folgat and M. Magloire went to the courthouse; and, as they descended
+the steep street from M. de Chandore’s house, the Paris lawyer said,--
+
+“M. Galpin must fancy himself wonderfully safe in his position, that
+he should grant the defence permission to see all the papers of the
+prosecution.”
+
+Ordinarily such leave is given only after the court has begun
+proceedings against the accused, and the presiding judge has questioned
+him. This looks like crying injustice to the prisoner; and hence
+arrangements can be made by which the rigor of the law is somewhat
+mitigated. With the consent of the commonwealth attorney, and upon
+his responsibility, the magistrate who had carried on the preliminary
+investigation may inform the accused, or his counsel, by word of mouth,
+or by a copy of all or of part, of what has happened during the first
+inquiry. That is what M. Galpin had done.
+
+And on the part of a man who was ever ready to interpret the law in its
+strictest meaning, and who no more dared proceed without authority for
+every step than a blind man without his staff,--or on the part of such
+a man, an enemy, too, of M. de Boiscoran, this permission granted to
+the defence was full of meaning. But did it really mean what M. Folgat
+thought it did?
+
+“I am almost sure you are mistaken,” said M. Magloire. “I know the
+good man, having practiced with him for many years. If he were sure
+of himself, he would be pitiless. If he is kind, he is afraid. This
+concession is a door which he keeps open, in case of defeat.”
+
+The eminent counsel was right. However well convinced M. Galpin might be
+of Jacques’s guilt, he was still very much troubled about his means of
+defence. Twenty examinations had elicited nothing from his prisoner but
+protestations of innocence. When he was driven to the wall, he would
+reply,--
+
+“I shall explain when I have seen my counsel.”
+
+This is often the reply of the most stupid scamp, who only wants to gain
+time. But M. Galpin knew his former friend, and had too high an opinion
+of his mind, not to fear that there was something serious beneath his
+obstinate silence.
+
+What was it? A clever falsehood? a cunningly-devised _alibi_? Or
+witnesses bribed long beforehand?
+
+M. Galpin would have given much to know. And it was for the purpose
+of finding it out sooner, that he had given the permission. Before he
+granted it, however, he had conferred with the commonwealth attorney.
+Excellent M. Daubigeon, whom he found, as usual, admiring the beautiful
+gilt edging of his beloved books, had treated him badly.
+
+“Do you come for any more signatures?” he had exclaimed. “You shall have
+them. If you want any thing else, your servant.
+
+“‘When the blunder is made,
+It is too late, I tell thee, to come for advice.’”
+
+However discouraging such a welcome might be, M. Galpin did not give up
+his purpose. He said in his bitterest tone,--
+
+“You still insist that it is a blunder to do one’s duty. Has not a crime
+been committed? Is it not my duty to find out the author, and to have
+him punished? Well? Is it my fault if the author of this crime is an old
+friend of mine, and if I was once upon a time on the point of marrying
+a relation of his? There is no one in court who doubts M. de Boiscoran’s
+guilt; there is no one who dares blame me: and yet they are all as cold
+as ice towards me.”
+
+“Such is the world,” said M. Daubigeon with a face full of irony. “They
+praise virtue; but they hate it.”
+
+“Well, yes! that is so,” cried M. Galpin in his turn. “Yes, they blame
+people who have done what they had not the courage to do. The attorney
+general has congratulated me, because he judges things from on high
+and impartially. Here cliques are all-powerful. Even those who ought
+to encourage and support me, cry out against me. My natural ally, the
+commonwealth attorney, forsakes me and laughs at me. The president
+of the court, my immediate superior, said to me this morning with
+intolerable irony, ‘I hardly know any magistrate who would be able as
+you are to sacrifice his relations and his friends to the interests of
+truth and justice. You are one of the ancients: you will rise high.’”
+
+His friend could not listen any further. He said,--
+
+“Let us break off there: we shall never understand each other. Is
+Jacques de Boiscoran innocent, or guilty? I do not know. But I do know
+that he was the pleasantest man in the world, an admirable host, a good
+talker, a scholar, and that he owned the finest editions of Horace and
+Juvenal that I have ever seen. I liked him. I like him still; and it
+distresses me to think of him in prison. I know that we had the most
+pleasant relations with each other, and that now they are broken off.
+And you, you complain! Am I the ambitious man? Do I want to have my
+name connected with a world-famous trial? M. de Boiscoran will in all
+probability be condemned. You ought to be delighted. And still you
+complain? Why, one cannot have everything. Who ever undertook a great
+enterprise, and never repented of it?”
+
+After that there was nothing left for M. Galpin but to go away. He did
+go in a fury, but at the same time determined to profit by the rude
+truths which M. Daubigeon had told him; for he knew very well that his
+friend represented in his views nearly the whole community. He was
+fully prepared to carry out his plan. Immediately after his return, he
+communicated the papers of the prosecution to the defence, and directed
+his clerk to show himself as obliging as he could. M. Mechinet was not
+a little surprised at these orders. He knew his master thoroughly,--this
+magistrate, whose shadow he had been now for so many years.
+
+“You are afraid, dear sir,” he had said to himself.
+
+And as M. Galpin repeated the injunction, adding that the honor of
+justice required the utmost courtesy when rigor was not to be employed,
+the old clerk replied very gravely,--
+
+“Oh! be reassured, sir. I shall not be wanting in courtesy.”
+
+But, as soon as the magistrate turned his back, Mechinet laughed aloud.
+
+“He would not recommend me to be obliging,” he thought, “if he suspected
+the truth, and knew how far I am devoted to the defence. What a fury
+he would be in, if he should ever find out that I have betrayed all the
+secrets of the investigation, that I have carried letters to and from
+the prisoner, that I have made of Trumence an accomplice, and of Blangin
+the jailer an agent, that I have helped Miss Dionysia to visit her
+betrothed in jail!”
+
+For he had done all this four times more than enough to be dismissed
+from his place, and even to become, at least for some months, one of
+Blangin’s boarders. He shivered all down his back when he thought of
+this; and he had been furiously angry, when, one evening, his sisters,
+the devout seamstresses, had taken it into their heads to say to him,--
+
+“Certainly, Mechinet, you are a different man ever since that visit of
+Miss Chandore.”
+
+“Abominable talkers!” he had exclaimed, in a tone of voice which
+frightened them out of their wits. “Do you want to see me hanged?”
+
+But, if he had these attacks of rage, he felt not a moment’s remorse.
+Miss Dionysia had completely bewitched him; and he judged M. Galpin’s
+conduct as severely as she did.
+
+To be sure, M. Galpin had done nothing contrary to law; but he had
+violated the spirit of the law. Having once summoned courage to
+begin proceedings against his friend, he had not been able to remain
+impartial. Afraid of being charged with timidity, he had exaggerated his
+severity. And, above all, he had carried on the inquiry solely in the
+interests of a conviction, as if the crime had been proved, and the
+prisoner had not protested his innocence.
+
+Now, Mechinet firmly believed in this innocence; and he was fully
+persuaded that the day on which Jacques de Boiscoran saw his counsel
+would be the day of his justification. This will show with what
+eagerness he went to the court-house to wait for M. Magloire.
+
+But at noon the great lawyer had not yet come. He was still consulting
+with M. de Chandore.
+
+“Could any thing amiss have happened?” thought the clerk.
+
+And his restlessness was so great, that, instead of going home to
+breakfast with his sisters, he sent an office-boy for a roll and a glass
+of water. At last, as three o’clock struck, M. Magloire and M. Folgat
+arrived; and Mechinet saw at once in their faces, that he had been
+mistaken, and that Jacques had not explained. Still, before M. Magloire,
+he did not dare inquire.
+
+“Here are the papers,” he said simply, putting upon the table an immense
+box.
+
+Then, drawing M. Folgat aside, he asked,--
+
+“What is the matter, pray?”
+
+The clerk had certainly acted so well, that they could have no secret
+from him; and he so was fully committed, that there was no danger in
+relying upon his discretion. Still M. Folgat did not dare to mention the
+name of the Countess Claudieuse; and he replied evasively,--
+
+“This is the matter: M. de Boiscoran explains fully; but he had no
+proofs for his statement, and we are busy collecting proofs.”
+
+Then he went and sat down by M. Magloire, who was already deep in the
+papers. With the help of those documents, it was easy to follow step by
+step M. Galpin’s work, to see the efforts he had made, and to comprehend
+his strategy.
+
+First of all, the two lawyers looked for the papers concerning Cocoleu.
+They found none. Of the statement of the idiot on the night of the
+fire, of the efforts made since to obtain from him a repetition of this
+evidence, of the report of the experts,--of all this there was not a
+trace to be found.
+
+M. Galpin dropped Cocoleu. He had a right to do so. The prosecution, of
+course, only keeps those witnesses which it thinks useful, and drops all
+the others.
+
+“Ah, the scamp is clever!” growled M. Magloire in his disappointment.
+
+It was really very well done. M. Galpin deprived by this step the
+defence of one of their surest means, of one of those incidents in a
+trial which are apt to affect the mind of the jury so powerfully.
+
+“We can, however, summon him at any time,” said M. Magloire.
+
+They might do so, it is true; but what a difference it would make! If
+Cocoleu appeared for M. Galpin, he was a witness for the prosecution,
+and the defence could exclaim with indignation,--
+
+“What! You suspect the prisoner upon the evidence of such a creature?”
+
+But, if he had to be summoned by the defence, he became prisoner’s
+evidence, that is to say, one of those witnesses whom the jury always
+suspect; and then the prosecution would exclaim,--
+
+“What do you hope for from a poor idiot, whose mental condition is such,
+that we refused his evidence when it might have been most useful to us?”
+
+“If we have to go into court,” murmured M. Folgat, “here is certainly a
+considerable chance of which we are deprived. The whole character of the
+case is changed. But, then, how can M. Galpin prove the guilt?”
+
+Oh! in the simplest possible manner. He started from the fact that Count
+Claudieuse was able to give the precise hour at which the crime was
+committed. Thence he passed on immediately to the deposition of young
+Ribot, who had met M. de Boiscoran on his way to Valpinson, crossing the
+marshes, before the crime, and to that of Gaudry, who had seen him come
+back from Valpinson through the woods, after the crime. Three other
+witnesses who had turned up during the investigation confirmed this
+evidence; and by these means alone, and by comparing the hours, M.
+Galpin succeeded in proving, almost beyond doubt, that the accused had
+gone to Valpinson, and nowhere else, and that he had been there at the
+time the crime was committed.
+
+What was he doing there?
+
+To this question the prosecution replied by the evidence taken on the
+first day of the inquiry, by the water in which Jacques had washed his
+hands, the cartridge-case found near the house, and the identity of the
+shot extracted from the count’s wounds with those seized with the gun at
+Boiscoran.
+
+Every thing was plain, precise, and formidable, admitting of no
+discussion, no doubt, no suggestion. It looked like a mathematical
+deduction.
+
+“Whether he be innocent or guilty,” said M. Magloire to his young
+colleague, “Jacques is lost, if we cannot get hold of some evidence
+against the Countess Claudieuse. And even in that case, even if it
+should be established that she is guilty, Jacques will always be looked
+upon as her accomplice.”
+
+Nevertheless, they spent a part of the night in going over all the
+papers carefully, and in studying every point made by the prosecution.
+
+Next morning, about nine o’clock, having had only a few hours’ sleep,
+they went together to the prison.
+
+
+
+XVII.
+
+The night before, the jailer of Sauveterre had said to his wife, at
+supper,--
+
+“I am tired of the life I am leading here. They have paid me for my
+place, have not they? Well, I mean to go.”
+
+“You are a fool!” his wife had replied. “As long as M. de Boiscoran is
+a prisoner there is a chance of profit. You don’t know how rich those
+Chandores are. You ought to stay.”
+
+Like many other husbands, Blangin fancied he was master in his own
+house.
+
+He remonstrated. He swore to make the ceiling fall down upon him. He
+demonstrated by the strength of his arm that he was master. But--
+
+But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Blangin having decided that he
+should stay, he did stay. Sitting in front of his jail, and given up to
+the most dismal presentiments, he was smoking his pipe, when M. Magloire
+and M. Folgat appeared at the prison, and handed him M. Galpin’s permit.
+He rose as they came in. He was afraid of them, not knowing whether they
+were in Miss Dionysia’s secret or not. He therefore politely doffed his
+worsted cap, took his pipe from his mouth, and said,--
+
+“Ah! You come to see M. de Boiscoran, gentlemen? I will show you in:
+just give me time to go for my keys.”
+
+M. Magloire held him back.
+
+“First of all,” he said, “how is M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“Only so-so,” replied the jailer.
+
+“What is the matter?”
+
+“Why, what is the matter with all prisoners when they see that things
+are likely to turn out badly for them?”
+
+The two lawyers looked at each other sadly.
+
+It was clear that Blangin thought Jacques guilty, and that was a bad
+omen. The persons who stand guard over prisoners have generally a very
+keen scent; and not unfrequently lawyers consult them, very much as
+an author consults the actors of the theatre on which his piece is to
+appear.
+
+“Has he told you any thing?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+“Me personally, nothing,” replied the jailer.
+
+And shaking his head, he added,--
+
+“But you know we have our experience. When a prisoner has been with
+his counsel, I almost always go up to see him, and to offer him
+something,--a little trifle to set him up again. So yesterday, after M.
+Magloire had been here, I climbed up”--
+
+“And you found M. de Boiscoran sick?”
+
+“I found him in a pitiful condition, gentlemen. He lay on his stomach on
+his bed, his head in the pillow, and stiff as a corpse. I was some time
+in his cell before he heard me. I shook my keys, I stamped, I coughed.
+No use. I became frightened. I went up to him, and took him by the
+shoulder. ‘Eh, sir!’ Great God! he leaped up as if shot and, sitting
+up, he said, ‘What to you want?’ Of course, I tried to console him, to
+explain to him that he ought to speak out; that it is rather unpleasant
+to appear in court, but that people don’t die of it; that they even come
+out of it as white as snow, if they have a good advocate. I might just
+as well have been singing, ‘O sensible woman.’ The more I said, the
+fiercer he looked; and at last he cried, without letting me finish, ‘Get
+out from here! Leave me!’”
+
+He paused a moment to take a whiff at his pipe; but it had gone out: he
+put it in his pocket, and went on,--
+
+“I might have told him that I had a right to come into the cells
+whenever I liked, and to stay there as long as it pleases me. But
+prisoners are like children: you must not worry them. But I opened the
+wicket, and I remained there, watching him. Ah, gentlemen, I have been
+here twenty years, and I have seen many desperate men; but I never saw
+any despair like this young man’s. He had jumped up as soon as I turned
+my back, and he was walking up and down, sobbing aloud. He looked
+as pale as death; and the big tears were running down his cheeks in
+torrents.”
+
+M. Magloire felt each one of these details like a stab at his heart. His
+opinion had not materially changed since the day before; but he had had
+time to reflect, and to reproach himself for his harshness.
+
+“I was at my post for an hour at least,” continued the jailer, “when all
+of a sudden M. de Boiscoran throws himself upon the door, and begins
+to knock at it with his feet, and to call as loud as he can. I keep him
+waiting a little while, so he should not know I was so near by, and then
+I open, pretending to have hurried up ever so fast. As soon as I show
+myself he says, ‘I have the right to receive visitors, have I not? And
+nobody has been to see me?’--‘No one.’--‘Are you sure?’--‘Quite sure.’ I
+thought I had killed him. He put his hands to his forehead this way; and
+then he said, ‘No one!--no mother, no betrothed, no friend! Well, it
+is all over. I am no longer in existence. I am forgotten, abandoned,
+disowned.’ He said this in a voice that would have drawn tears from
+stones; and I, I suggested to him to write a letter, which I would send
+to M. de Chandore. But he became furious at once, and cried, ‘No, never!
+Leave me. There is nothing left for me but death.’”
+
+M. Folgat had not uttered a word; but his pallor betrayed his emotions.
+
+“You will understand, gentlemen,” Blangin went on, “that I did not
+feel quite reassured. It is a bad cell that in which M. de Boiscoran is
+staying. Since I have been at Sauveterre, one man has killed himself
+in it, and one man has tried to commit suicide. So I called Trumence, a
+poor vagrant who assists me in the jail; and we arranged it that one of
+us would always be on guard, never losing the prisoner out of sight for
+a moment. But it was a useless precaution. At night, when they carried
+M. de Boiscoran his supper, he was perfectly calm; and he even said he
+would try to eat something to keep his strength. Poor man! If he has no
+other strength than what his meal would give him, he won’t go far. He
+had not swallowed four mouthfuls, when he was almost smothered; and
+Trumence and I at one time thought he would die on our hands: I almost
+thought it might be fortunate. However, about nine o’clock he was a
+little better; and he remained all night long at his window.”
+
+M. Magloire could stand it no longer.
+
+“Let us go up,” he said to his colleague.
+
+They went up. But, as they entered the passage, they noticed Trumence,
+who was making signs to them to step lightly.
+
+“What is the matter?” they asked in an undertone.
+
+“I believe he is asleep,” replied the prisoner. “Poor man! Who knows but
+he dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?”
+
+M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. He
+had heard steps and voices, and he had just risen. Blangin, therefore,
+opened the door; and at once M. Magloire said the prisoner,--
+
+“I bring you reenforcements,--M. Folgat, my colleague, who has come down
+from Paris, with your mother.”
+
+Coolly, and without saying a word, M. de Boiscoran bowed.
+
+“I see you are angry with me,” continued M. Magloire. “I was too quick
+yesterday, much too quick.”
+
+Jacques shook his head, and said in an icy tone,--
+
+“I was angry; but I have reflected since, and now I thank you for your
+candor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go into
+court, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shall
+prefer not going into court at all.”
+
+“Poor man! But all hope is not lost.”
+
+“Yes. Who would believe me, if you, my friend, cannot believe me?”
+
+“I would,” said M. Folgat promptly, “I, who, without knowing you, from
+the beginning believed in your innocence,--I who, now that I have seen
+you, adhere to my conviction.”
+
+Quicker than thought, M. de Boiscoran had seized the young advocate’s
+hand, and, pressing it convulsively, said,--
+
+“Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faith
+you have in me!”
+
+This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felt
+a ray of hope. Alas! it passed in a second. His eye became dim again;
+his brow clouded over; and he said in a hoarse voice,--
+
+“Unfortunately, nothing can be done for me now. No doubt M. Magloire has
+told you my sad history and my statement. I have no proof; or at least,
+to furnish proof, I would have to enter into details which the court
+would refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, I should
+be ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spoken
+of, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted.
+It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous and
+dishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended.”
+
+What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such a
+decision?
+
+His counsel trembled as they thought they guessed it.
+
+“You have no right,” said M. Folgat, “to give yourself up thus.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you have
+relations, friends, and”--
+
+A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as
+he broke in,--
+
+“What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for
+the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless
+verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown
+person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first
+expression of sympathy.”
+
+“Ah, that is not so,” exclaimed M. Magloire, “you know very well.”
+
+Jacques did not seem to hear him. He went on,--
+
+“Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M.
+Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become my
+judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who
+is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my
+assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a
+hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and
+that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavored
+to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied.”
+
+Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it
+was in vain.
+
+“Relations!” continued Jacques with a voice trembling with
+indignation--“oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother.
+Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is
+struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?
+
+“My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usual
+pleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; and
+she has been told that I am at liberty to receive visitors: but in vain.
+I was hoping for her yesterday; but the wretch who is accused of a crime
+is no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I stand
+alone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose of
+myself.”
+
+M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It would
+have been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said,--
+
+“You forget Miss Chandore, sir.”
+
+Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all his
+limbs,--
+
+“Dionysia!”
+
+“Yes, Dionysia,” said the young advocate. “You forget her courage, her
+devotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandons
+and denies you,--she who set aside all her reserve and her timidity
+for your sake, and came and spent a whole night in this prison? She was
+risking nothing less than her maidenly honor; for she might have been
+discovered or betrayed. She knew that very well, nevertheless she did
+not hesitate.”
+
+“Ah! you are cruel, sir,” broke in Jacques.
+
+And pressing the lawyer’s arm hard, he went on,--
+
+“And do you not understand that her memory kills me, and that my misery
+is all the greater as I know but too well what bliss I am losing? Do you
+not see that I love Dionysia as woman never was loved before? Ah, if my
+life alone was at stake! I, at least, I have to make amends for a great
+wrong; but she--Great God, why did I ever come across her path?”
+
+He remained for a moment buried in thought; then he added,--
+
+“And yet she, also, did not come yesterday. Why? Oh! no doubt they have
+told her all. They have told her how I came to be at Valpinson the night
+of the crime.”
+
+“You are mistaken, Jacques,” said M. Magloire. “Miss Chandore knows
+nothing.”
+
+“Is it possible?”
+
+“M. Magloire did not speak in her presence,” added M. Folgat; “and we
+have bound over M. de Chandore to secrecy. I insisted upon it that you
+alone had the right to tell the truth to Miss Dionysia.”
+
+“Then how does she explain it to herself that I am not set free?”
+
+“She cannot explain it.”
+
+“Great God! she does not also think I am guilty?”
+
+“If you were to tell her so yourself, she would not believe you.”
+
+“And still she never came here yesterday.”
+
+“She could not. Although they told her nothing, your mother had to be
+told. The marchioness was literally thunderstruck. She remained for more
+than an hour unconscious in Miss Dionysia’s arms. When she recovered her
+consciousness, her first words were for you; but it was then too late to
+be admitted here.”
+
+When M. Folgat mentioned Miss Dionysia’s name, he had found the surest,
+and perhaps the only means to break Jacques’s purpose.
+
+“How can I ever sufficiently thank you, sir?” asked the latter.
+
+“By promising me that you will forever abandon that fatal resolve which
+you had formed,” replied the young advocate. “If you were guilty, I
+should be the first to say, ‘Be it so!’ and I would furnish you with the
+means. Suicide would be an expiation. But, as you are innocent, you have
+no right to kill yourself: suicide would be a confession.”
+
+“What am I to do?”
+
+“Defend yourself. Fight.”
+
+“Without hope?”
+
+“Yes, even without hope. When you faced the Prussians, did you ever
+think of blowing out your brains? No! and yet you knew that they were
+superior in numbers, and would conquer, in all probability. Well, you
+are once more in face of the enemy; and even if you were certain of
+being conquered, that is to say, of being condemned, and it was the
+day before you should have to mount the scaffold, I should still say,
+‘Fight. You must live on; for up to that hour something may happen which
+will enable us to discover the guilty one.’ And, if no such event
+should happen, I should repeat, nevertheless, ‘You must wait for the
+executioner in order to protest from the scaffold against the judicial
+murder, and once more to affirm your innocence.’”
+
+As M. Folgat uttered these words, Jacques had gradually recovered his
+bearing; and now he said,--
+
+“Upon my honor, sir, I promise you I will hold out to the bitter end.”
+
+“Well!” said M. Magloire,--“very well!”
+
+“First of all,” replied M. Folgat, “I mean to recommence, for our
+benefit the investigation which M. Galpin has left incomplete. To-night
+your mother and I will leave for Paris. I have come to ask you for the
+necessary information, and for the means to explore your house in Vine
+Street, to discover the friend whose name you assumed, and the servant
+who waited upon you.”
+
+The bolts were drawn as he said this; and at the open wicket appeared
+Blangin’s rubicund face.
+
+“The Marchioness de Boiscoran,” he said, “is in the parlor, and begs you
+will come down as soon as you have done with these gentlemen.”
+
+Jacques turned very pale.
+
+“My mother,” he murmured. Then he added, speaking to the jailer,--
+
+“Do not go yet. We have nearly done.”
+
+His agitation was too great: he could not master it. He said to the two
+lawyers,--
+
+“We must stop here for to-day. I cannot think now.”
+
+But M. Folgat had declared he would leave for Paris that very night; and
+he was determined to do so. He said, therefore,--
+
+“Our success depends on the rapidity of our movements. I beg you will
+let me insist upon your giving me at once the few items of information
+which I need for my purposes.”
+
+Jacques shook his head sadly. He began,--
+
+“The task is out of your power, sir.”
+
+“Nevertheless, do what my colleague asks you,” urged M. Magloire.
+Without any further opposition, and, who knows? Perhaps with a secret
+hope which he would not confess to himself, Jacques informed the young
+advocate of the most minute details about his relations to the Countess
+Claudieuse. He told him at what hour she used to come to the house, what
+roads she took, and how she was most commonly dressed. The keys of the
+house were at Boiscoran, in a drawer which Jacques described. He had
+only to ask Anthony for them. Then he mentioned how they might find
+out what had become of that Englishman whose name he had borrowed.
+Sir Francis Burnett had a brother in London. Jacques did not know his
+precise address; but he knew he had important business-relations with
+India, and had, once upon a time, been cashier in the great house of
+Gilmour and Benson.
+
+As to the English servant-girl who had for three years attended to
+his house in Vine Street, Jacques had taken her blindly, upon the
+recommendation of an agency in the suburbs; and he had had nothing to
+do with her, except to pay her her wages, and, occasionally, some little
+gratuity besides. All he could say, and even that he had learned by mere
+chance, was, that the girl’s name was Suky Wood; that she was a native
+of Folkstone, where her parents kept a sailor’s tavern; and that,
+before coming to France, she had been a chambermaid at the Adelphi in
+Liverpool.
+
+M. Folgat took careful notes of all he could learn. Then he said,--
+
+“This is more than enough to begin the campaign. Now you must give me
+the name and address of your tradesmen in Passy.”
+
+“You will find a list in a small pocket-book which is in the same drawer
+with the keys. In the same drawer are also all the deeds and other
+papers concerning the house. Finally, you might take Anthony with you:
+he is devoted to me.”
+
+“I shall certainly take him, if you permit me,” replied the lawyer. Then
+putting up his notes, he added,--
+
+“I shall not be absent more than three or four days; and, as soon as I
+return, we will draw up our plan of defence. Till then, my dear client,
+keep up your courage.”
+
+They called Blangin to open the door for them; and, after having shaken
+hands with Jacques de Boiscoran, M. Folgat and M. Magloire went away.
+
+“Well, are we going down now?” asked the jailer.
+
+But Jacques made no reply.
+
+He had most ardently hoped for his mother’s visit; and now, when he
+was about to see her, he felt assailed by all kinds of vague and sombre
+apprehensions. The last time he had kissed her was in Paris, in the
+beautiful parlor of their family mansion. He had left her, his heart
+swelling with hopes and joy, to go to his Dionysia; and his mother, he
+remembered distinctly, had said to him, “I shall not see you again till
+the day before the wedding.”
+
+And now she was to see him again, in the parlor of a jail, accused of an
+abominable crime. And perhaps she was doubtful of his innocence.
+
+“Sir, the marchioness is waiting for you,” said the jailer once more. At
+the man’s voice, Jacques trembled.
+
+“I am ready,” he replied: “let us go!” And, while descending the stairs,
+he tried his best to compose his features, and to arm himself with
+courage and calmness.
+
+“For,” he said, “She must not become aware of it, how horrible my
+position is.”
+
+At the foot of the steps, Blangin pointed at a door, and said,--
+
+“That is the parlor. When the marchioness wants to go, please call me.”
+
+On the threshold, Jacques paused once more.
+
+The parlor of the jail at Sauveterre is an immense vaulted hall, lighted
+up by two narrow windows with close, heavy iron gratings. There is no
+furniture save a coarse bench fastened to the damp, untidy wall; and on
+this bench, in the full light of the sun, sat, or rather lay, apparently
+bereft of all strength, the Marchioness of Boiscoran.
+
+When Jacques saw her, he could hardly suppress a cry of horror and
+grief. Was that really his mother,--that thin old lady with the sallow
+complexion, the red eyes, and trembling hands?
+
+“O God, O God!” he murmured.
+
+She heard him, for she raised her head; and, when she recognized him,
+she wanted to rise; but her strength forsook her, and she sank back upon
+the bench, crying,--
+
+“O Jacques, my child!”
+
+She, also, was terrified when she saw what two months of anguish and
+sleeplessness had done for Jacques. But he was kneeling at her feet upon
+the muddy pavement, and said in a barely intelligible voice,--
+
+“Can you pardon me the great grief I cause you?”
+
+She looked at him for a moment with a bewildered air; and then, all of
+a sudden, she took his head in her two hands, kissed him with passionate
+vehemence, and said,--
+
+“Will I pardon you? Alas, what have I to pardon? If you were guilty, I
+should love you still; and you are innocent.”
+
+Jacques breathed more freely. In his mother’s voice he felt that she, at
+least, was sure of him.
+
+“And father?” he asked.
+
+There was a faint blush on the pale cheeks of the marchioness.
+
+“I shall see him to-morrow,” she replied; “for I leave to-night with M.
+Folgat.”
+
+“What! In this state of weakness?”
+
+“I must.”
+
+“Could not father leave his collections for a few days? Why did he not
+come down? Does he think I am guilty?”
+
+“No; it is just because he is so sure of your innocence, that he remains
+in Paris. He does not believe you in danger. He insists upon it that
+justice cannot err.”
+
+“I hope so,” said Jacques with a forced smile.
+
+Then changing his tone,--
+
+“And Dionysia? Why did she not come with you?”
+
+“Because I would not have it. She knows nothing. It has been agreed upon
+that the name of the Countess Claudieuse is not to be mentioned in her
+presence; and I wanted to speak to you about that abominable woman.
+Jacques, my poor child, where has that unlucky passion brought you!”
+
+He made no reply.
+
+“Did you love her?” asked the marchioness.
+
+“I thought I did.”
+
+“And she?”
+
+“Oh, she! God alone knows the secret of that strange heart.”
+
+“There is nothing to hope from her, then, no pity, no remorse?”
+
+“Nothing. I have given her up. She has had her revenge. She had
+forewarned me.”
+
+The marchioness sighed.
+
+“I thought so,” she said. “Last Sunday, when I knew as yet of nothing,
+I happened to be close to her at church, and unconsciously admired
+her profound devotion, the purity of her eye, and the nobility of her
+manner. Yesterday, when I heard the truth, I shuddered. I felt how
+formidable a woman must be who can affect such calmness at a time when
+her lover lies in prison accused of the crime which she has committed.”
+
+“Nothing in the world would trouble her, mother.”
+
+“Still she ought to tremble; for she must know that you have told us
+every thing. How can we unmask her?”
+
+But time was passing; and Blangin came to tell the marchioness that she
+had to withdraw. She went, after having kissed her son once more.
+
+That same evening, according to their arrangement, she left for Paris,
+accompanied by M. Folgat and old Anthony.
+
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+At Sauveterre, everybody, M. de Chandore as much as Jacques himself,
+blamed the Marquis de Boiscoran. He persisted in remaining in Paris, it
+is true: but it was certainly not from indifference; for he was dying
+with anxiety. He had shut himself up, and refused to see even his oldest
+friends, even his beloved dealers in curiosities. He never went out; the
+dust accumulated on his collections; and nothing could arouse him from
+this state of prostration, except a letter from Sauveterre.
+
+Every morning he received three or four,--from the marchioness or M.
+Folgat, from M. Seneschal or M. Magloire, from M. de Chandore, Dionysia,
+or even from Dr. Seignebos. Thus he could follow at a distance all the
+phases, and even the smallest changes, in the proceedings. Only one
+thing he would not do: he would not come down, however important his
+coming might be for his son. He did not move.
+
+Once only he had received, through Dionysia’s agency, a letter from
+Jacques himself; and then he ordered his servant to get ready his
+trunks for the same evening. But at the last moment he had given
+counter-orders, saying that he had reconsidered, and would not go.
+
+“There is something extraordinary going on in the mind of the marquis,”
+ said the servants to each other.
+
+The fact is, he spent his days, and a part of his nights, in his
+cabinet, half-buried in an arm-chair, resting little, and sleeping still
+less, insensible to all that went on around him. On his table he had
+arranged all his letters from Sauveterre in order; and he read and
+re-read them incessantly, examining the phrases, and trying, ever in
+vain, to disengage the truth from this mass of details and statements.
+He was no longer as sure of his son as at first: far from it! Every day
+had brought him a new doubt; every letter, additional uncertainty. Hence
+he was all the time a prey to most harassing apprehensions. He put them
+aside; but they returned, stronger and more irresistible than before
+like the waves of the rising tide.
+
+He was thus one morning in his cabinet. It was very early yet; but he
+was more than ever suffering from anxiety, for M. Folgat had written,
+“To-morrow all uncertainty will end. To-morrow the close confinement
+will be raised, and M. Jacques will see M. Magloire, the counsel whom he
+has chosen. We will write immediately.”
+
+It was for this news the marquis was waiting now. Twice already he had
+rung to inquire if the mail had not come yet, when all of a sudden his
+valet appeared and with a frightened air said,--
+
+“The marchioness. She has just come with Anthony, M. Jacques’s own man.”
+
+He hardly said so, when the marchioness herself entered, looking even
+worse than she had done in the prison parlor; for she was overcome by
+the fatigue of a night spent on the road.
+
+The marquis had started up suddenly. As soon as the servant had left
+the room, and shut the door again, he said with trembling voice, as if
+wishing for an answer, and still fearing to hear it,--
+
+“Has any thing unusual happened?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Good or bad?”
+
+“Sad.”
+
+“Great God! Jacques has not confessed?”
+
+“How could he confess when he is innocent?”
+
+“Then he has explained?”
+
+“As far as I am concerned, and M. Folgat, Dr. Seignebos, and all who
+know him and love him, yes, but not for the public, for his enemies, or
+the law. He has explained every thing; but he has no proof.”
+
+The mournful features of the marquis settled into still deeper gloom.
+
+“In other words, he has to be believed on his own word?” he asked.
+
+“Don’t you believe him?”
+
+“I am not the judge of that, but the jury.”
+
+“Well, for the jury he will find proof. M. Folgat, who has come in the
+same train with me, and whom you will see to-day, hopes to discover
+proof.”
+
+“Proof of what?”
+
+Perhaps the marchioness was not unprepared for such a reception. She
+expected it, and still she was disconcerted.
+
+“Jacques,” she began, “has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” broke in the marquis.
+
+And, in a tone of offensive irony, he added,--
+
+“No doubt another story of adultery; eh?”
+
+The marchioness did not answer. She quietly went on,--
+
+“When the countess heard of Jacques’s marriage, and that he abandoned
+her, she became exasperated, and determined to be avenged.”
+
+“And, in order to be avenged, she attempted to murder her husband; eh?”
+
+“She wished to be free.”
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran interrupted his wife with a formidable oath.
+Then he cried,--
+
+“And that is all Jacques could invent! And to come to such an abortive
+story--was that the reason of his obstinate silence?”
+
+“You do not let me finish. Our son is the victim of unparalleled
+coincidences.”
+
+“Of course! Unparalleled coincidences! That is what every one of the
+thousand or two thousand rascals say who are sentenced every year. Do
+you think they confess? Not they! Ask them, and they will prove to you
+that they are the victims of fate, of some dark plot, and, finally, of
+an error of judgment. As if justice could err in these days of ours,
+after all these preliminary examinations, long inquiries, and careful
+investigations.”
+
+“You will see M. Folgat. He will tell you what hope there is.”
+
+“And if all hope fails?”
+
+The marchioness hung her head.
+
+“All would not be lost yet. But then we should have to endure the pain
+of seeing our son brought up in court.”
+
+The tall figure of the old gentleman had once more risen to its full
+height; his face grew red; and the most appalling wrath flashed from his
+eyes.
+
+“Jacques brought up in court?” he cried, with a formidable voice. “And
+you come and tell me that coolly, as if it were a very simple and quite
+natural matter! And what will happen then, if he is in court? He will be
+condemned; and a Boiscoran will go to the galleys. But no, that cannot
+be! I do not say that a Boiscoran may not commit a crime, passion makes
+us do strange things; but a Boiscoran, when he regains his senses, knows
+what becomes him to do. Blood washes out all stains. Jacques prefers the
+executioner; he waits; he is cunning; he means to plead. If he but save
+his head, he is quite content. A few years at hard labor, I suppose,
+will be a trifle to him. And that coward should be a Boiscoran: my blood
+should flow in his veins! Come, come, madam, Jacques is no son of mine.”
+
+Crushed as the marchioness had seemed to be till now, she rose under
+this atrocious insult.
+
+“Sir!” she cried.
+
+But M. de Boiscoran was not in a state to listen to her.
+
+“I know what I am saying,” he went on. “I remember every thing, if you
+have forgotten every thing. Come, let us go back to your past. Remember
+the time when Jacques was born, and tell me what year it was when M. de
+Margeril refused to meet me.”
+
+Indignation restored to the marchioness her strength. She cried,--
+
+“And you come and tell me this to-day, after thirty years, and God knows
+under what circumstances!”
+
+“Yes, after thirty years. Eternity might pass over these recollections,
+and it would not efface them. And, but for these circumstances to which
+you refer, I should never have said any thing. At the time to which I
+allude, I had to choose between two evils,--either to be ridiculous, or
+to be hated. I preferred to keep silence, and not to inquire too far.
+My happiness was gone; but I wished to save my peace. We have lived
+together on excellent terms; but there has always been between us this
+high wall, this suspicion. As long as I was doubtful, I kept silent. But
+now, when the facts confirm my doubts, I say again, ‘Jacques is no son
+of mine!’”
+
+Overcome with grief, shame, and indignation, the Marchioness de
+Boiscoran was wringing her hands; then she cried,--
+
+“What a humiliation! What you are saying is too horrible. It is unworthy
+of you to add this terrible suffering to the martyrdom which I am
+enduring.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran laughed convulsively.
+
+“Have I brought about this catastrophe?”
+
+“Well then yes! One day I was imprudent and indiscreet. I was young; I
+knew nothing of life; the world worshipped me; and you, my husband, my
+guide, gave yourself up to your ambition, and left me to myself. I could
+not foresee the consequences of a very inoffensive piece of coquetry.”
+
+“You see, then, now these consequences. After thirty years, I disown the
+child that bears my name; and I say, that, if he is innocent, he suffers
+for his mother’s sins. Fate would have it that your son should covet his
+neighbor’s wife, and, having taken her, it is but justice that he should
+die the death of the adulterer.”
+
+“But you know very well that I have never forgotten my duty.”
+
+“I know nothing.”
+
+“You have acknowledged it, because you refused to hear the explanation
+which would have justified me.”
+
+“True, I did shrink from an explanation, which, with your unbearable
+pride, would necessarily have led to a rupture, and thus to a fearful
+scandal.”
+
+The marchioness might have told her husband, that, by refusing to hear
+her explanation, he had forfeited all right to utter a reproach; but she
+felt it would be useless, and thus he went on,--
+
+“All I do know is, that there is somewhere in this world a man whom I
+wanted to kill. Gossiping people betrayed his name to me. I went to him,
+and told him that I demanded satisfaction, and that I hoped he would
+conceal the real reason for our encounter even from our seconds. He
+refused to give me satisfaction, on the ground that he did not owe me
+any, that you had been calumniated, and that he would meet me only if I
+should insult him publicly.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“What could I do after that? Investigate the matter? You had no doubt
+taken your precautions, and it would have amounted to nothing. Watch
+you? I should only have demeaned myself uselessly; for you were no doubt
+on your guard. Should I ask for a divorce? The law afforded me that
+remedy. I might have dragged you into court, held you up to the sarcasms
+of my counsel, and exposed you to the jests of your own. I had a right
+to humble you, to dishonor my name, to proclaim your disgrace, to
+publish it in the newspapers. Ah, I would have died rather!”
+
+The marchioness seemed to be puzzled.
+
+“That was the explanation of your conduct?”
+
+“Yes, that was my reason for giving up public life, ambitious as I
+was. That was the reason why I withdrew from the world; for I thought
+everybody smiled as I passed. That is why I gave up to you the
+management of our house and the education of your son, why I became a
+passionate collector, a half-mad original. And you find out only to-day
+that you have ruined my life?”
+
+There was more compassion than resentment in the manner in which the
+marchioness looked at her husband.
+
+“You had mentioned to me your unjust suspicions,” she replied; “but I
+felt strong in my innocence, and I was in hope that time and my conduct
+would efface them.”
+
+“Faith once lost never comes back again.”
+
+“The fearful idea that you could doubt of your paternity had never even
+occurred to me.”
+
+The marquis shook his head.
+
+“Still it was so,” he replied. “I have suffered terribly. I loved
+Jacques. Yes, in spite of all, in spite of myself, I loved him. Had he
+not all the qualities which are the pride and the joy of a family?
+Was he not generous and noble-hearted, open to all lofty sentiments,
+affectionate, and always anxious to please me? I never had to complain
+of him. And even lately, during this abominable war, has he not again
+shown his courage, and valiantly earned the cross which they gave him?
+At all times, and from all sides, I have been congratulated on his
+account. They praised his talents and his assiduity. Alas! at the very
+moment when they told me what a happy father I was, I was the most
+wretched of men. How many times would I have drawn him to my heart! But
+immediately that terrible doubt rose within me, if he should not be my
+son; and I pushed him back, and looked in his features for a trace of
+another man’s features.”
+
+His wrath had cooled down, perhaps by its very excess.
+
+He felt a certain tenderness in his heart, and sinking into his chair,
+and hiding his face in his hands, he murmured,--
+
+“If he should be my son, however; if he should be innocent! Ah, this
+doubt is intolerable! And I who would not move from here,--I who have
+done nothing for him,--I might have done every thing at first. It would
+have been easy for me to obtain a change of venue to free him from this
+Galpin, formerly his friend, and now his enemy.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran was right when he said that his wife’s pride was
+unmanageable. And still, as cruelly wounded as woman well could be, she
+now suppressed her pride, and, thinking only of her son, remained quite
+humble. Drawing from her bosom the letter which Jacques had sent to
+her the day before she left Sauveterre, she handed it to her husband,
+saying,--
+
+“Will you read what our son says?”
+
+The marquis’s hand trembled as he took the letter; and, when he had torn
+it open, he read,--
+
+“Do you forsake me too, father, when everybody forsakes me? And yet I
+have never needed your love as much as now. The peril is imminent. Every
+thing is against me. Never has such a combination of fatal circumstances
+been seen before. I may not be able to prove my innocence; but you,--you
+surely cannot think your son guilty of such an absurd and heinous crime!
+Oh, no! surely not. My mind is made up. I shall fight to the bitter end.
+To my last breath I shall defend, not my life, but my honor. Ah, if you
+but knew! But there are things which cannot be written, and which only
+a father can be told. I beseech you come to me, let me see you, let me
+hold your hand in mine. Do not refuse this last and greatest comfort to
+your unhappy son.”
+
+The marquis had started up.
+
+“Oh, yes, very unhappy indeed!” he cried.
+
+And, bowing to his wife, he said,--
+
+“I interrupted you. Now, pray tell me all.”
+
+Maternal love conquered womanly resentment. Without a shadow of
+hesitation, and as if nothing had taken place, the marchioness gave
+her husband the whole of Jacques’s statement as he had made it to M.
+Magloire.
+
+The marquis seemed to be amazed.
+
+“That is unheard of!” he said.
+
+And, when his wife had finished, he added,--
+
+“That was the reason why Jacques was so very angry when you spoke of
+inviting the Countess Claudieuse, and why he told you, that, if he
+saw her enter at one door, he would walk out of the other. We did not
+understand his aversion.”
+
+“Alas! it was not aversion. Jacques only obeyed at that time the cunning
+lessons given him by the countess.”
+
+In less than one minute the most contradictory resolutions seemed to
+flit across the marquis’s face. He hesitated, and at last he said,--
+
+“Whatever can be done to make up for my inaction, I will do. I will go
+to Sauveterre. Jacques must be saved. M. de Margeril is all-powerful. Go
+to him. I permit it. I beg you will do it.”
+
+The eyes of the marchioness filled with tears, hot tears, the first she
+had shed since the beginning of this scene.
+
+“Do you not see,” she asked, “that what you wish me to do is now
+impossible? Every thing, yes, every thing in the world but that. But
+Jacques and I--we are innocent. God will have pity on us. M. Folgat will
+save us.”
+
+
+
+XIX.
+
+M. Folgat was already at work. He had confidence in his cause, a
+firm conviction of the innocence of his client, a desire to solve the
+mystery, a love of battle, and an intense thirst for success: all these
+motives combined to stimulate the talents of the young advocate, and to
+increase his activity.
+
+And, above all this, there was a mysterious and indefinable sentiment
+with which Dionysia had inspired him; for he had succumbed to her
+charms, like everybody else. It was not love, for he who says love says
+hope; and he knew perfectly well that altogether and forever Dionysia
+belonged to Jacques. It was a sweet and all-powerful sentiment, which
+made him wish to devote himself to her, and to count for something in
+her life and in her happiness.
+
+It was for her sake that he had sacrificed all his business, and
+forgotten his clients, in order to stay at Sauveterre. It was for her
+sake, above all, that he wished to save Jacques.
+
+He had no sooner arrived at the station, and left the Marchioness de
+Boiscoran in old Anthony’s care, than he jumped into a cab, and had
+himself driven to his house. He had sent a telegram the day before; and
+his servant was waiting for him. In less than no time he had changed his
+clothes. Immediately he went back to his carriage, and went in search
+of the man, who, he thought, was most likely to be able to fathom this
+mystery.
+
+This was a certain Goudar, who was connected with the police department
+in some capacity or other, and at all events received an income large
+enough to make him very comfortable. He was one of those agents for
+every thing whom the police keep employed for specially delicate
+operations, which require both tact and keen scent, an intrepidity
+beyond all doubt, and imperturbable self-possession. M. Folgat had had
+opportunities of knowing and appreciating him in the famous case of the
+Mutual Discount Society.
+
+He was instructed to track the cashier who had fled, having a deficit
+of several millions. Goudar had caught him in Canada, after pursuing him
+for three months all over America; but, on the day of his arrest, this
+cashier had in his pocket-book and his trunk only some forty thousand
+francs.
+
+What had become of the millions?
+
+When he was questioned, he said he had spent them. He had gambled in
+stocks, he had become unfortunate, etc.
+
+Everybody believed him except Goudar.
+
+Stimulated by the promise of a magnificent reward, he began his campaign
+once more; and, in less than six weeks, he had gotten hold of sixteen
+hundred thousand francs which the cashier had deposited in London with a
+woman of bad character.
+
+The story is well known; but what is not known is the genius, the
+fertility of resources, and the ingenuity of expedients, which Goudar
+displayed in obtaining such a success. M. Folgat, however, was fully
+aware of it; for he had been the counsel of the stockholders of the
+Mutual Discount Society; and he had vowed, that, if ever the opportunity
+should come, he would employ this marvellously able man.
+
+Goudar, who was married, and had a child, lived out of the world on the
+road to Versailles, not far from the fortifications. He occupied with
+his family a small house which he owned,--a veritable philosopher’s
+home, with a little garden in front, and a vast garden behind, in which
+he raised vegetables and admirable fruit, and where he kept all kinds of
+animals.
+
+When M. Folgat stepped out of his carriage before this pleasant home,
+a young woman of twenty-five or twenty-six, of surpassing beauty, young
+and fresh, was playing in the front garden with a little girl of three
+or four years, all milk and roses.
+
+“M. Goudar, madam?” asked M. Folgat, raising his hat.
+
+The young woman blushed slightly, and answered modestly, but without
+embarrassment, and in a most pleasing voice,--
+
+“My husband is in the garden; and you will find him, if you will walk
+down this path around the house.”
+
+The young man followed the direction, and soon saw his man at a
+distance. His head covered with an old straw hat, without a coat, and
+in slippers, with a huge blue apron such as gardeners wear, Goudar had
+climbed up a ladder, and was busy dropping into a horsehair bag the
+magnificent Chasselas grapes of his trellises. When he heard the sand
+grate under the footsteps of the newcomer, he turned his head, and at
+once said,--
+
+“Why, M. Folgat? Good morning, sir!”
+
+The young advocate was not a little surprised to see himself recognized
+so instantaneously. He should certainly never have recognized the
+detective. It was more than three years since they had seen each other;
+and how often had they seen each other then? Twice, and not an hour each
+time.
+
+It is true that Goudar was one of those men whom nobody remembers. Of
+middle height, he was neither stout nor thin, neither dark nor light
+haired, neither young nor old. A clerk in a passport office would
+certainly have written him down thus: Forehead, ordinary; nose,
+ordinary; mouth, ordinary, eyes, neutral color; special marks, none.
+
+It could not be said that he looked stupid; but neither did he
+look intelligent. Every thing in him was ordinary, indifferent, and
+undecided. Not one marked feature. He would necessarily pass unobserved,
+and be forgotten as soon as he had passed.
+
+“You find me busy securing my crops for the winter,” he said to M.
+Folgat. “A pleasant job. However, I am at your service. Let me put these
+three bunches into their three bags, and I’ll come down.”
+
+This was the work of an instant; and, as soon as he had reached the
+ground, he turned round, and asked,--
+
+“Well, and what do you think of my garden?”
+
+And at once he begged M. Folgat to visit his domain, and, with all
+the enthusiasm of the land-owner, he praised the flavor of his duchess
+pears, the bright colors of his dahlias, the new arrangements in his
+poultry-yard, which was full of rabbit-houses, and the beauty of his
+pond, with its ducks of all colors and all possible varieties.
+
+In his heart, M. Folgat swore at this enthusiasm. What time he was
+losing! But, when you expect a service from a man, you must, at least,
+flatter his weak side. He did not spare praise, therefore. He even
+pulled out his cigar-case, and, still with a view to win the great man’s
+good graces, he offered it to him, saying,--
+
+“Can I offer you one?”
+
+“Thanks! I never smoke,” replied Goudar.
+
+And, when he saw the astonishment of the advocate, he explained,--
+
+“At least not at home. I am disposed to think the odor is unpleasant to
+my wife.”
+
+Positively, if M. Folgat had not known the man, he would have taken him
+for some good and simple retired grocer, inoffensive, and any thing but
+bright, and, bowing to him politely, he would have taken his leave.
+But he had seen him at work; and so he followed him obediently to his
+greenhouse, his melon-house, and his marvellous asparagus-beds.
+
+At last Goudar took his guest to the end of the garden, to a bower in
+which were some chairs and a table, saying,--
+
+“Now let us sit down, and tell me your business; for I know you did not
+come solely for the pleasure of seeing my domain.”
+
+Goudar was one of those men who have heard in their lives more
+confessions than ten priests, ten lawyers, and ten doctors all
+together. You could tell him every thing. Without a moment’s hesitation,
+therefore, and without a break, M. Folgat told him the whole story of
+Jacques and the Countess Claudieuse. He listened, without saying a word,
+without moving a muscle in his face. When the lawyer had finished, he
+simply said,--
+
+“Well?”
+
+“First of all,” replied M. Folgat, “I should like to hear your opinion.
+Do you believe the statement made by M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“Why not? I have seen much stranger cases than that.”
+
+“Then you think, that, in spite of the charges brought against him, we
+must believe in his innocence?”
+
+“Pardon me, I think nothing at all. Why, you must study a matter before
+you can have an opinion.”
+
+He smiled; and, looking at the young advocate, he said,--
+
+“But why all these preliminaries? What do you want of me?”
+
+“Your assistance to get at the truth.”
+
+The detective evidently expected something of the kind. After a minute’s
+reflection, he looked fixedly at M. Folgat, and said,--
+
+“If I understand you correctly, you would like to begin a
+counter-investigation for the benefit of the defence?”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“And unknown to the prosecution?”
+
+“Precisely.”
+
+“Well, I cannot possibly serve you.”
+
+The young advocate knew too well how such things work not to be prepared
+for a certain amount of resistance; and he had thought of means to
+overcome it.
+
+“That is not your final decision, my dear Goudar?” he said.
+
+“Pardon me. I am not my own master. I have my duty to fulfil, and my
+daily occupation.”
+
+“You can at any time obtain leave of absence for a month.”
+
+“So I might; but they would certainly wonder at such a furlough at
+headquarters. They would probably have me watched; and, if they found
+out that I was doing police work for private individuals, they would
+scold me grievously, and deprive themselves henceforth of my services.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“There is no ‘oh!’ about it. They would do what I tell you, and they
+would be right; for, after all, what would become of us, and what would
+become of the safety and liberty of us all, if any one could come and
+use the agents of the police for his private purposes? And what would
+become of me if I should lose my place?”
+
+“M. de Boiscoran’s family is very rich, and they would prove their
+gratitude magnificently to the man who would save him.”
+
+“And if I did not save him? And if, instead of gathering proof of his
+innocence, I should only meet with more evidence of his guilt?”
+
+The objection was so well founded, that M. Folgat preferred not to
+discuss it.
+
+“I might,” he said, “hand you at once, and as a retainer, a considerable
+sum, which you could keep, whatever the result might be.”
+
+“What sum? A hundred Napoleons? Certainly a hundred Napoleons are not to
+be despised; but what would they do for me if I were turned out? I have
+to think of somebody else besides myself. I have a wife and a child;
+and my whole fortune consists in this little cottage, which is not even
+entirely paid for. My place is not a gold-mine; but, with the special
+rewards which I receive, it brings me, good years and bad years, seven
+or eight thousand francs, and I can lay by two or three thousand.”
+
+The young lawyer stopped him by a friendly gesture, and said,--
+
+“If I were to offer you ten thousand francs?”
+
+“A year’s income.”
+
+“If I offered you fifteen thousand!”
+
+Goudar made no reply; but his eyes spoke.
+
+“It is a most interesting case, this case of M. de Boiscoran,” continued
+M. Folgat, “and such as does not occur often. The man who should expose
+the emptiness of the accusation would make a great reputation for
+himself.”
+
+“Would he make friends also at the bar?”
+
+“I admit he would not.”
+
+The detective shook his head.
+
+“Well, I confess,” he said, “I do not work for glory, nor from love of
+my art. I know very well that vanity is the great motive-power with
+some of my colleagues; but I am more practical. I have never liked my
+profession; and, if I continue to practise it, it is because I have not
+the money to go into any other. It drives my wife to despair, besides:
+she is only half alive as long as I am away; and she trembles every
+morning for fear I may be brought home with a knife between my
+shoulders.”
+
+M. Folgat had listened attentively; but at the same time he had pulled
+out a pocket-book, which looked decidedly plethoric, and placed it on
+the table.
+
+“With fifteen thousand francs,” he said, “a man may do something.”
+
+“That is true. There is a piece of land for sale adjoining my garden,
+which would suit me exactly. Flowers bring a good price in Paris, and
+that business would please my wife. Fruit, also yields a good profit.”
+
+The advocate knew now that he had caught his man.
+
+“Remember, too, my dear Goudar, that, if you succeed, these fifteen
+thousand francs would only be a part payment. They might, perhaps,
+double the sum. M. de Boiscoran is the most liberal of men, and he would
+take pleasure in royally rewarding the man who should have saved him.”
+
+As he spoke, he opened the pocket-book, and drew from it fifteen
+thousand-franc notes, which he spread out on the table.
+
+“To any one but to you,” he went on, “I should hesitate to pay such
+a sum in advance. Another man might take the money, and never trouble
+himself about the affair. But I know your uprightness; and, if you give
+me your word in return for the notes, I shall be satisfied. Come, shall
+it be so?”
+
+The detective was evidently not a little excited; for, self-possessed
+as he was, he had turned somewhat pale. He hesitated, handled the
+bank-notes, and then, all of a sudden, said,--
+
+“Wait two minutes.”
+
+He got up instantly, and ran towards the house.
+
+“Is he going to consult his wife?” M. Folgat asked himself.
+
+He did so; for the next moment they appeared at the other end of the
+walk, engaged in a lively discussion. However, the discussion did not
+last long. Goudar came back to the bower, and said,--
+
+“Agreed! I am your man!”
+
+The advocate was delighted, and shook his hand.
+
+“Thank you!” he cried; “for, with your assistance, I am almost sure
+of success. Unfortunately, we have no time to lose. When can you go to
+work?”
+
+“This moment. Give me time to change my costume; and I am at your
+service. You will have to give me the keys of the house in Passy.”
+
+“I have them here in my pocket.”
+
+“Well, then let us go there at once; for I must, first of all,
+reconnoitre the ground. And you shall see if it takes me long to dress.”
+
+In less than fifteen minutes he reappeared in a long overcoat, with
+gloves on, looking, for all the world, like one of those retired
+grocers who have made a fortune, and settled somewhere outside of the
+corporation of Paris, displaying their idleness in broad daylight, and
+repenting forever that they have given up their occupation.
+
+“Let us go,” he said to the lawyer.
+
+After having bowed to Mrs. Goudar, who accompanied them with a radiant
+smile, they got into the carriage, calling out to the driver,--
+
+“Vine Street, Passy, No. 23.”
+
+This Vine Street is a curious street, leading nowhere, little known, and
+so deserted, that the grass grows everywhere. It stretches out long and
+dreary, is hilly, muddy, scarcely paved, and full of holes, and looks
+much more like a wretched village lane than like a street belonging
+to Paris. No shops, only a few homes, but on the right and the left
+interminable walls, overtopped by lofty trees.
+
+“Ah! the place is well chosen for mysterious rendezvouses,” growled
+Goudar. “Too well chosen, I dare say; for we shall pick up no
+information here.”
+
+The carriage stopped before a small door, in a thick wall, which bore
+the traces of the two sieges in a number of places.
+
+“Here is No. 23,” said the driver; “but I see no house.”
+
+It could not be seen from the street; but, when they got in, Mr. Folgat
+and Goudar saw it, rising in the centre of an immense garden, simple and
+pretty, with a double porch, a slate roof, and newly-painted blinds.
+
+“Great God!” exclaimed the detective, “what a place for a gardener!”
+
+And M. Folgat felt so keenly the man’s ill-concealed desire, that he at
+once said,--
+
+“If we save M. de Boiscoran, I am sure he will not keep this house.”
+
+“Let us go in,” cried the detective, in a voice which revealed all his
+intense desire to succeed.
+
+Unfortunately, Jacques de Boiscoran had spoken but too truly, when he
+said that no trace was left of former days. Furniture, carpets, all
+was new; and Goudar and M. Folgat in vain explored the four rooms down
+stairs, and the four rooms up stairs, the basement, where the kitchen
+was, and finally the garret.
+
+“We shall find nothing here,” declared the detective. “To satisfy my
+conscience, I shall come and spend an afternoon here; but now we have
+more important business. Let us go and see the neighbors!”
+
+There are not many neighbors in Vine Street.
+
+A teacher and a nurseryman, a locksmith and a liveryman, five or
+six owners of houses, and the inevitable keeper of a wine-shop and
+restaurant, these were the whole population.
+
+“We shall soon make the rounds,” said Goudar, after having ordered the
+coachman to wait for them at the end of the street.
+
+Neither the head master nor his assistants knew any thing. The
+nurseryman had heard it said that No. 23 belonged to an Englishman; but
+he had never seen him, and did not even know his name.
+
+The locksmith knew that he was called Francis Burnett. He had done
+some work for him, for which he had been well paid, and thus he had
+frequently seen him; but it was so long since, that he did not think he
+would recognize him.
+
+“We are unlucky,” said M. Folgat, after this visit.
+
+The memory of the liveryman was more trustworthy. He said he knew the
+Englishman of No. 23 very well, having driven him three or four
+times; and the description he gave of him answered fully to Jacques de
+Boiscoran. He also remembered that one evening, when the weather was
+wretched, Sir Burnett had come himself to order a carriage. It was for
+a lady, who had got in alone, and who had been driven to the Place de la
+Madeleine. But it was a dark night; the lady wore a thick veil; he had
+not been able to distinguish her features, and all he could say was that
+she looked above medium height.
+
+“It is always the same story,” said Goudar. “But the wine-merchant ought
+to be best informed. If I were alone I would breakfast there.”
+
+“I shall breakfast with you,” said M. Folgat.
+
+They did so, and they did wisely.
+
+The wine-merchant did not know much; but his waiter, who had been
+with him five or six years, knew Sir Burnett, as everybody called
+the Englishman, by sight, and was quite well acquainted with the
+servant-girl, Suky Wood. While he was bringing in breakfast, he told
+them all he knew.
+
+Suky, he said, was a tall, strapping girl, with hair red enough to set
+her bonnets on fire, and graceful enough to be mistaken for a heavy
+dragoon in female disguise. He had often had long talks with her when
+she came to fetch some ready-made dish, or to buy some beer, of which
+she was very fond. She told him she was very pleased with her place, as
+she got plenty of money, and had, so to say, nothing to do, being left
+alone in the house for nine months in the year. From her the waiter had
+also learned that Sir Burnett must have another house, and that he came
+to Vine Street only to receive visits from a lady.
+
+This lady troubled Suky very much. She declared she had never been able
+to see the end of her nose even, so very cautious was she in all her
+movements; but she intended to see her in spite of all.
+
+“And you may be sure she managed to do it some time or other,” Goudar
+whispered into M. Folgat’s ear.
+
+Finally they learned from this waiter, that Suky had been very intimate
+with the servant of an old gentleman who lived quite alone in No. 27.
+
+“We must see her,” said Goudar.
+
+Luckily the girl’s master had just gone out, and she was alone in the
+house. At first she was a little frightened at being called upon and
+questioned by two unknown men; but the detective knew how to reassure
+her very quickly, and, as she was a great talker, she confirmed all the
+waiter at the restaurant had told them, and added some details.
+
+Suky had been very intimate with her; she had never hesitated to tell
+her that Burnett was not an Englishman; that his name was not Burnett,
+and that he was concealing himself in Vine Street under a false name,
+for the purpose of meeting there his lady-love, who was a grand, fine
+lady, and marvellously beautiful. Finally, at the outbreak of the war,
+Suky had told her that she was going back to England to her relations.
+When they left the old bachelor’s house, Goudar said to the young
+advocate,--
+
+“We have obtained but little information, and the jurymen would pay
+little attention to it; but there is enough of it to confirm, at least
+in part, M. de Boiscoran’s statement. We can prove that he met a lady
+here who had the greatest interest in remaining unknown. Was this, as he
+says, the Countess Claudieuse? We might find this out from Suky; for she
+has seen her, beyond all doubt. Hence we must hunt up Suky. And now, let
+us take our carriage, and go to headquarters. You can wait for me at the
+café near the Palais de Justice. I shall not be away more than a quarter
+of an hour.”
+
+It took him, however, a good hour and a half; M. Folgat was beginning to
+be troubled, when he at last reappeared, looking very well pleased.
+
+“Waiter, a glass of beer!” he said.
+
+And, sitting down so as to face the advocate, he said,--
+
+“I stayed away rather long; but I did not lose any time. In the first
+place, I procured a month’s leave of absence; then I put my hand upon
+the very man whom I wanted to send after Sir Burnett and Miss Suky.
+He is a good fellow, called Barousse, fine like a needle, and speaks
+English like a native. He demands twenty-five francs a day, his
+travelling-expenses, and a gratuity of fifteen hundred francs if he
+succeeds. I have agreed to meet him at six to give him a definite
+answer. If you accept the conditions, he will leave for England
+to-night, well drilled by me.”
+
+Instead of any answer, M. Folgat drew from his pocket-book a
+thousand-franc note, and said,--
+
+“Here is something to begin with.”
+
+Goudar had finished his beer, and said,--
+
+“Well, then, I must leave you. I am going to hang abut M. de Tassar’s
+house, and make my inquiries. Perhaps I may pick up something there.
+To-morrow I shall spend my day in searching the house in Vine Street and
+in questioning all the tradesmen on your list. The day after to-morrow
+I shall probably have finished here. So that in four or five days there
+will arrive in Sauveterre a somebody, who will be myself.” And as he got
+up, he added,--
+
+“For I must save M. de Boiscoran. I will and I must do it. He has too
+nice a house. Well, we shall see each other at Sauveterre.”
+
+It struck four o’clock. M. Folgat left the café immediately after
+Goudar, and went down the river to University Street. He was anxious to
+see the marquis and the marchioness.
+
+“The marchioness is resting,” said the valet; “but the marquis is in his
+cabinet.”
+
+M. Folgat was shown in, and found him still under the effects of the
+terrible scene he had undergone in the morning. He had said nothing to
+his wife that he did not really think; but he was distressed at having
+said it under such circumstances. And yet he felt a kind of relief; for,
+to tell the truth, he felt as if the horrible doubts which he had kept
+secret so many years had vanished as soon as they were spoken out. When
+he saw M. Folgat, he asked in a sadly-changed voice,--
+
+“Well?”
+
+The young advocate repeated in detail the account given by the
+marchioness; but he added what the latter had not been able to mention,
+because she did not know it, the desperate resolution which Jacques had
+formed. At this revelation the marquis looked utterly overcome.
+
+“The unhappy man!” he cried. “And I accused him of--He thought of
+killing himself!”
+
+“And we had a great trouble, M. Magloire, and myself,” added M. Folgat,
+“to overcome his resolution, great trouble to make him understand,
+that never, under any circumstances, ought an innocent man to think of
+committing suicide.”
+
+A big tear rolled down the furrowed cheek of the old gentleman; and he
+murmured,--
+
+“Ah! I have been cruelly unjust. Poor, unhappy child!”
+
+Then he added aloud,--
+
+“But I shall see him. I have determined to accompany the marchioness to
+Sauveterre. When will you leave?”
+
+“Nothing keeps me here in Paris. I have done all that could be done, and
+I might return this evening. But I am really too tired. I think I shall
+to-morrow take the train at 10.45.”
+
+“If you do so, we shall travel in company; you understand? To-morrow
+at ten o’clock at the Orleans station. We shall reach Sauveterre by
+midnight.”
+
+
+
+XX.
+
+When the Marchioness de Boiscoran, on the day of her departure for
+Paris, had gone to see her son, Dionysia had asked her to let her go
+with her. She resisted, and the young girl did not insist.
+
+“I see they are trying to conceal something from me,” she said simply;
+“but it does not matter.”
+
+And she had taken refuge in the sitting-room; and there, taking her
+usual seat, as in the happy days when Jacques spent all his evenings by
+her side, she had remained long hours immovable, looking as if, with her
+mind’s eye, she was following invisible scenes far away.
+
+Grandpapa Chandore and the two aunts were indescribably anxious. They
+knew their Dionysia, their darling child, better than she knew herself,
+having nursed and watched her for twenty years. They knew every
+expression of her face, every gesture, every intonation of voice, and
+could almost read her thoughts in her features.
+
+“Most assuredly Dionysia is meditating upon something very serious,”
+ they said. “She is evidently calculating and preparing for a great
+resolution.”
+
+The old gentleman thought so too, and asked her repeatedly,--
+
+“What are you thinking of, dear child?”
+
+“Of nothing, dear papa,” she replied.
+
+“You are sadder than usual: why are you so?”
+
+“Alas! How do I know? Does anybody know why one day we have sunshine in
+our hearts, and another day dismal clouds?”
+
+But the next day she insisted upon being taken to her seamstresses, and
+finding Mechinet, the clerk, there, she remained a full half-hour in
+conference with him. Then, in the evening, when Dr. Seignebos, after a
+short visit, was leaving the room, she lay in wait for him, and kept him
+talking a long time at the door. Finally, the day after, she asked once
+more to be allowed to go and see Jacques. They could no longer refuse
+her this sad satisfaction; and it was agreed that the older of the two
+Misses Lavarande, Miss Adelaide, should accompany her.
+
+About two o’clock on that day they knocked at the prison-door, and asked
+the jailer, who had come to open the door, to let them see Jacques.
+
+“I’ll go for him at once, madam,” replied Blangin. “In the meantime pray
+step in here: the parlor is rather damp, and the less you stay in it,
+the better it will be.”
+
+Dionysia did so, or rather, she did a great deal more; for, leaving
+her aunt down stairs, she drew Mrs. Blangin to the upper room, having
+something to say to her, as she pretended.
+
+When they came down again, Blangin told them that M. de Boiscoran was
+waiting for them.
+
+“Come!” said the young girl to her aunt.
+
+But she had not taken ten steps in the long narrow passage which led
+to the parlor, when she stopped. The damp which fell from the vaulted
+ceiling like a pall upon her, and the emotions which were agitating her
+heart, combined to overwhelm her. She tottered, and had to lean against
+the wall, reeking as it was with wet and with saltpetre.
+
+“O Lord, you are ill!” cried Miss Adelaide.
+
+Dionysia beckoned to her to be silent.
+
+“Oh, it is nothing!” she said. “Be quiet!”
+
+And gathering up all her strength, and putting her little hand upon the
+old lady’s shoulder, she said,--
+
+“My darling aunty, you must render us an immense service. It is all
+important that I should speak to Jacques alone. It would be very
+dangerous for us to be overheard. I know they often set spies to listen
+to prisoners’ talk. Do please, dear aunt, remain here in the passage,
+and give us warning, if anybody should come.”
+
+“You do not think of it, dear child. Would it be proper?”
+
+The young girl stopped her again.
+
+“Was it proper when I came and spent a night here? Alas! in our
+position, every thing is proper that may be useful.”
+
+And, as Aunt Lavarande made no reply, she felt sure of her perfect
+submission, and went on towards the parlor.
+
+“Dionysia!” cried Jacques as soon as she entered,--“Dionysia!”
+
+He was standing in the centre of this mournful hall, looking whiter than
+the whitewash on the wall, but apparently calm, and almost smiling. The
+violence with which he controlled himself was horrible. But how could he
+allow his betrothed to see his despair? Ought he not, on the contrary,
+do every thing to reassure her?
+
+He came up to her, took her hands in his, and said,--
+
+“Ah, it is so kind in you to come! and yet I have looked for you ever
+since the morning. I have been watching and waiting, and trembling at
+every noise. But will you ever forgive me for having made you come to
+a place like this, untidy and ugly, without the fatal poetry of horror
+even?”
+
+She looked at him with such obstinate fixedness, that the words expired
+on his lips.
+
+“Why will you tell me a falsehood?” she said sadly.
+
+“I tell you a falsehood!”
+
+“Yes. Why do you affect this gayety and tranquillity, which are so far
+from your heart? Have you no longer confidence in me? Do you think I am
+a child, from whom the truth must be concealed, or so feeble and good
+for nothing, that I cannot bear my share of your troubles? Do not smile,
+Jacques; for I know you have no hope.”
+
+“You are mistaken, Dionysia, I assure you.”
+
+“No, Jacques. They are concealing something from me, I know, and I do
+not ask you to tell me what it is. I know quite enough. You will have to
+appear in court.”
+
+“I beg your pardon. That question has not yet been decided.”
+
+“But it will be decided, and against you.”
+
+Jacques knew very well it would be so, and dreaded it; but he still
+insisted upon playing his part.
+
+“Well,” he said, “if I appear in court, I shall be acquitted.”
+
+“Are you quite sure of that?”
+
+“I have ninety-nine chances out of a hundred for me.”
+
+“There is one, however, against you,” cried the young girl. And seizing
+Jacques’s hands, and pressing them with a force of which he would never
+have suspected her, she added,--
+
+“You have no right to run that one chance.”
+
+Jacques trembled in all his limbs. Was it possible? Did he understand
+her? Did Dionysia herself come and suggest to him that act of supreme
+despair, from which his counsel had so strongly dissuaded him?
+
+“What do you mean?” he said with trembling voice.
+
+“You must escape.”
+
+“Escape?”
+
+“Nothing so easy. I have considered the whole matter thoroughly. The
+jailers are in our pay. I have just come to an understanding with
+Blangin’s wife. One evening, as soon as night falls, they will open the
+doors to you. A horse will be ready for you outside of town, and relays
+have been prepared. In four hours you can reach Rochelle. There, one
+of those pilot-boats which can stand any storm takes you on board, and
+carries you to England.”
+
+Jacques shook his head.
+
+“That cannot be,” he replied. “I am innocent. I cannot abandon all I
+hold dear,--you, Dionysia.”
+
+A deep flush covered the young girl’s cheeks. She stammered,--
+
+“I have expressed myself badly. You shall not go alone.”
+
+He raised his hands to heaven, as if in utter despair.
+
+“Great God! Thou grantest me this consolation!”
+
+But Dionysia went on speaking in a firmer voice.
+
+“Did you think I would be mean enough to forsake the friend who
+is betrayed by everybody else? No, no! Grandpapa and my aunts will
+accompany me, and we will meet you in England. You will change your
+name, and go across to America; and we will look out, far in the West,
+for some new country where we can establish ourselves. It won’t be
+France, to be sure. But our country, Jacques, is the country where we
+are free, where we are beloved, where we are happy.”
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran was moved to the last fibre of his innermost heart,
+and in a kind of ecstasy which did not allow him to keep up any longer
+his mask of impassive indifference. Was there a man upon earth who could
+receive a more glorious proof of love and devotion? And from what a
+woman! From a young girl, who united in herself all the qualities of
+which a single one makes others proud,--intelligence and grace, high
+rank and fortune, beauty and angelic purity.
+
+Ah! she did not hesitate like that other one; she did not think of
+asking for securities before she granted the first favor; she did not
+make a science of duplicity, nor hypocrisy her only virtue. She gave
+herself up entirely, and without the slightest reserve.
+
+And all this at the moment when Jacques saw every thing else around him
+crumbled to pieces, when he was on the very brink of utter despair, just
+then this happiness came to him, this great and unexpected happiness,
+which well-nigh broke his heart.
+
+For a moment he could not move, he could not think.
+
+Then all of a sudden, drawing his betrothed to him, pressing her
+convulsively to his bosom, and covering her hair with a thousand kisses,
+he cried,--
+
+“I bless you, oh, my darling! I bless you, my well beloved! I shall
+mourn no longer. Whatever may happen, I have had my share of heavenly
+bliss.”
+
+She thought he consented. Palpitating like the bird in the hand of a
+child, she drew back, and looking at Jacques with ineffable love and
+tenderness, she said,--
+
+“Let us fix the day!”
+
+“What day?”
+
+“The day for your flight.”
+
+This word alone recalled Jacques to a sense of his fearful position. He
+was soaring in the supreme heights of the ether, and he was plunged down
+into the vile mud of reality. His face, radiant with celestial joy, grew
+dark in an instant, and he said hoarsely,--
+
+“That dream is too beautiful to be realized.”
+
+“What do you say?” she stammered.
+
+“I can not, I must not, escape!”
+
+“You refuse me, Jacques?”
+
+He made no reply.
+
+“You refuse me, when I swear to you that I will join you, and share your
+exile? Do you doubt my word? Do you fear that my grandfather or my aunts
+might keep me here in spite of myself?”
+
+As this suppliant voice fell upon his ears, Jacques felt as if all his
+energy abandoned him, and his will was shaken.
+
+“I beseech you, Dionysia,” he said, “do not insist, do not deprive me of
+my courage.”
+
+She was evidently suffering agonies. Her eyes shone with unbearable
+fire. Her dry lips were trembling.
+
+“You will submit to being brought up in court?” she asked.
+
+“Yes!”
+
+“And if you are condemned?”
+
+“I may be, I know.”
+
+“This is madness!” cried the young girl.
+
+In her despair she was wringing her hands; and then the words escaped
+from her lips, almost unconsciously,--
+
+“Great God,” she said, “inspire me! How can I bend him? What must I say?
+Jacques, do you love me no longer? For my sake, if not for your own, I
+beseech you, let us flee! You escape disgrace; you secure liberty. Can
+nothing touch you? What do you want? Must I throw myself at your feet?”
+
+And she really let herself fall at his feet.
+
+“Flee!” she repeated again and again. “Oh, flee!”
+
+Like all truly energetic men, Jacques recovered in the very excess of
+his emotion all his self-possession. Gathering his bewildered thoughts
+by a great effort of mind, he raised Dionysia, and carried her, almost
+fainting, to the rough prison bench; then, kneeling down by her side,
+and taking her hands he said,--
+
+“Dionysia, for pity’s sake, come to yourself and listen to me. I am
+innocent; and to flee would be to confess that I am guilty.”
+
+“Ah! what does that matter?”
+
+“Do you think that my escape would stop the trial? No. Although absent,
+I should still be tried, and found guilty without any opposition: I
+should be condemned, disgraced, irrevocably dishonored.”
+
+“What does it matter?”
+
+Then he felt that such arguments would never bring her back to reason.
+He rose, therefore, and said in a firm voice,--
+
+“Let me tell you what you do not know. To flee would be easy, I agree.
+I think, as you do, we could reach England readily enough, and we might
+even take ship there without trouble. But what then? The cable is faster
+than the fastest steamer; and, upon landing on American soil, I should,
+no doubt, be met by agents with orders to arrest me. But suppose even I
+should escape this first danger. Do you think there is in all this world
+an asylum for incendiaries and murderers? There is none. At the extreme
+confines of civilization I should still meet with police-agents and
+soldiers, who, an extradition treaty in hand, would give me up to the
+government of my country. If I were alone, I might possibly escape all
+these dangers. But I should never succeed if I had you near me, and
+Grandpapa Chandore, and your two aunts.”
+
+Dionysia was forcibly struck by these objections, of which she had had
+no idea. She said nothing.
+
+“Still, suppose we might possibly escape all such dangers. What would
+our life be! Do you know what it would mean to have to hide and to
+run incessantly, to have to avoid the looks of every stranger, and to
+tremble, day by day, at the thought of discovery? With me, Dionysia,
+your existence would be that of the wife of one of those banditti whom
+the police are hunting down in his dens. And you ought to know that such
+a life is so intolerable, that hardened criminals have been unable to
+endure it, and have given up their life for the boon of a night’s quiet
+sleep.”
+
+Big tears were silently rolling down the poor girl’s cheeks. She
+murmured,--
+
+“Perhaps you are right, Jacques. But, O Jacques, if they should condemn
+you!”
+
+“Well, I should at least have done my duty. I should have met fate,
+and defended my honor. And, whatever the sentence may be, it will not
+overthrow me; for, as long as my heart beats within me, I mean to defend
+myself. And, if I die before I succeed in proving my innocence, I
+shall leave it to you, Dionysia, to your kindred, and to my friends, to
+continue the struggle, and to restore my honor.”
+
+She was worthy of comprehending and of appreciating such sentiments.
+
+“I was wrong, Jacques,” she said, offering him her hand: “you must
+forgive me.”
+
+She had risen, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, was about to leave
+the room, when Jacques retained her, saying,--
+
+“I do not mean to escape; but would not the people who have agreed to
+favor my evasion be willing to furnish me the means for passing a few
+hours outside of my prison?”
+
+“I think they would,” replied the young girl; “And, if you wish it, I
+will make sure of it.”
+
+“Yes. That might be a last resort.”
+
+With these words they parted, exhorting each other to keep up their
+courage, and promising each other to meet again during the next days.
+
+Dionysia found her poor aunt Lavarande very tired of the long watch; and
+they hastened home.
+
+“How pale you are!” exclaimed M. de Chandore, when he saw his
+grand-daughter; “and how red your eyes are! What has happened?”
+
+She told him every thing; and the old gentleman felt chilled to the
+marrow of his bones, when he found that it had depended on Jacques alone
+to carry off his grandchild. But he had not done so.
+
+“Ah, he is an honest man!” he said.
+
+And, pressing his lips on Dionysia’s brow, he added,--
+
+“And you love him more than ever?”
+
+“Alas!” she replied, “is he not more unhappy than ever?”
+
+
+
+XXI.
+
+“Have you heard the news?”
+
+“No: what is it?”
+
+“Dionysia de Chandore has been to see M. de Boiscoran in prison.”
+
+“Is it possible?”
+
+“Yes, indeed! Twenty people have seen her come back from there, leaning
+on the arm of the older Miss Lavarande. She went in at ten minutes past
+ten, and she did not come out till a quarter-past three.”
+
+“Is the young woman mad?”
+
+“And the aunt--what do you think of the aunt?”
+
+“She must be as mad as the niece.”
+
+“And M. de Chandore?”
+
+“He must have lost his senses to allow such a scandal. But you know very
+well, grandfather and aunts never had any will but Dionysia’s.”
+
+“A nice training!”
+
+“And nice fruits of such an education! After such a scandal, no man will
+be bold enough to marry her.”
+
+Such were the comments on Dionysia’s visit to Jacques, when the news
+became known. It flew at once all over town. The ladies “in society”
+ could not recover from it; for people are exceedingly virtuous at
+Sauveterre, and hence they claim the right of being exceedingly strict
+in their judgment. There is no trifling permitted on the score of
+propriety.
+
+The person who defies public opinion is lost. Now, public opinion was
+decidedly against Jacques de Boiscoran. He was down, and everybody was
+ready to kick him.
+
+“Will he get out of it?”
+
+This problem, which was day by day discussed at the “Literary Club,” had
+called forth torrents of eloquence, terrible discussions, and even one
+or two serious quarrels, one of which had ended in a duel. But nobody
+asked any longer,--
+
+“Is he innocent?”
+
+Dr. Seignebos’s eloquence, the influence of M. Seneschal, and the
+cunning plots of Mechinet, had all failed.
+
+“Ah, what an interesting trial it will be!” said many people, who were
+all eagerness to know who would be the presiding judge, in order to
+ask him for tickets of admission. Day by day the interest in the trial
+became deeper; and all who were in any way connected with it were
+watched with great curiosity. Everybody wanted to know what they were
+doing, what they thought, and what they had said.
+
+They saw in the absence of the Marquis de Boiscoran an additional proof
+of Jacques’s guilt. The continued presence of M. Folgat also created no
+small wonder. His extreme reserve, which they ascribed to his excessive
+and ill-placed pride, had made him generally disliked. And now they
+said,--
+
+“He must have hardly any thing to do in Paris, that he can spend so many
+months in Sauveterre.”
+
+The editor of “The Sauveterre Independent” naturally found the affair
+a veritable gold-mine for his paper. He forgot his old quarrel with the
+editor of “The Impartial Journal,” whom he accused of Bonapartism, and
+who retaliated by calling him a Communist. Each day brought, in addition
+to the usual mention under the “local” head, some article on the
+“Boiscoran Case.” He wrote,--
+
+“The health of Count C., instead of improving, is declining visibly. He
+used to get up occasionally when he first came to Sauveterre; and now he
+rarely leaves his bed. The wound in the shoulder, which at first seemed
+to be the least dangerous, has suddenly become much inflamed, owing
+to the tropical heat of the last days. At one time gangrene was
+apprehended, and it was feared that amputation would become necessary.
+Yesterday Dr. S. seemed to be much disturbed.
+
+“And, as misfortunes never come singly, the youngest daughter of Count
+C. is very ill. She had the measles at the time of the fire; and the
+fright, the cold, and the removal, have brought on a relapse, which may
+be dangerous.
+
+“Amid all these cruel trials, the Countess C. is admirable in her
+devotion, her courage, and her resignation. Whenever she leaves the
+bedside of her dear patients to pray at church for them, she is received
+with the most touching sympathy and the most sincere admiration by the
+whole population.”
+
+“Ah, that wretch Boiscoran!” cried the good people of Sauveterre when
+they read such an article.
+
+The next day, they found this,--
+
+“We have sent to the hospital to inquire from the lady superior how the
+poor idiot is, who has taken such a prominent part in the bloody drama
+at Valpinson. His mental condition remains unchanged since he has been
+examined by experts. The spark of intelligence which the crime had
+elicited seems to be extinguished entirely and forever. It is impossible
+to obtain a word from him. He is, however, not locked up. Inoffensive
+and gentle, like a poor animal that has lost its master, he wanders
+mournfully through the courts and gardens of the hospital. Dr. S., who
+used to take a lively interest in him, hardly ever sees him now.
+
+“It was thought at one time, that C. would be summoned to give evidence
+in the approaching trial. We are informed by high authority, that such
+a dramatic scene must not be expected to take place. C. will not appear
+before the jury.”
+
+“Certainly, Cocoleu’s deposition must have been an interposition of
+Providence,” said people who were not far from believing that it was a
+genuine miracle.
+
+The next day the editor took M. Galpin in hand.
+
+“M. G., the eminent magistrate, is very unwell just now, and very
+naturally so after an investigation of such length and importance as
+that which preceded the Boiscoran trial. We are told that he only awaits
+the decree of the court, to ask for a furlough and to go to one of the
+rural stations of the Pyrenees.”
+
+Then came Jacques’s turn,--
+
+“M. J. de B. stands his imprisonment better than could be expected.
+According to direct information, his health is excellent, and his
+spirits do not seem to have suffered. He reads much, and spends part of
+the night in preparing his defence, and making notes for his counsel.”
+
+Then came, from day to day, smaller items,--
+
+“M. J. de B. is no longer in close confinement.”
+
+Or,--
+
+“M. de B. had this morning an interview with his counsel, M. M., the
+most eminent member of our bar, and M. F., a young but distinguished
+advocate from Paris. The conference lasted several hours. We abstain
+from giving details; but our readers will understand the reserve
+required in the case of an accused who insists upon protesting
+energetically that he is innocent.”
+
+And, again,--
+
+“M. de B. was yesterday visited by his mother.”
+
+Or, finally,--
+
+“We hear at the last moment that the Marchioness de B. and M. Folgat
+have left for Paris. Our correspondent in P. writes us that the decree
+of the court will not be delayed much longer.”
+
+Never had “The Sauveterre Independent” been read with so much interest.
+And, as everybody endeavored to be better informed than his neighbor,
+quite a number of idle men had assumed the duty of watching Jacques’s
+friends, and spent their days in trying to find out what was going on
+at M. de Chandore’s house. Thus it came about, that, on the evening
+of Dionysia’s visit to Jacques, the street was full of curious people.
+Towards half-past ten, they saw M. de Chandore’s carriage come out of
+the courtyard, and draw up at the door. At eleven o’clock M. de Chandore
+and Dr. Seignebos got in, the coachman whipped the horse, and they drove
+off.
+
+“Where can they be going?” asked they.
+
+They followed the carriage. The two gentlemen drove to the station.
+They had received a telegram, and were expecting the return of the
+marchioness and M. Folgat, accompanied, this time, by the old marquis.
+
+They reached there much too soon. The local branch railway which goes to
+Sauveterre is not famous for regularity, and still reminds its patrons
+occasionally of the old habits of stage-coaches, when the driver or the
+conductor had, at the last moment, to stop to pick up something they
+had forgotten. At a quarter-past midnight the train, which ought to
+have been there twenty minutes before, had not yet been signalled.
+Every thing around was silent and deserted. Through the windows the
+station-master might be seen fast asleep in his huge leather chair.
+Clerks and porters all were asleep, stretched out on the benches of the
+waiting-room. But people are accustomed to such delays at Sauveterre;
+they are prepared for being kept waiting: and the doctor and M. de
+Chandore were walking up and down the platform, being neither astonished
+nor impatient at the irregularity. Nor would they have been much
+surprised if they had been told that they were closely watched all the
+time: they knew their good town. Still it was so. Two curious men,
+more obstinate than the others, had jumped into the omnibus which runs
+between the station and the town; and now, standing a little aside, they
+said to each other,--
+
+“I say, what can they be waiting for?”
+
+At last towards one o’clock, a bell rang, and the station seemed
+to start into life. The station-master opened his door, the porters
+stretched themselves and rubbed their eyes, oaths were heard, doors
+slammed, and the large hand-barrows came in sight.
+
+Then a low thunder-like noise came nearer and nearer; and almost
+instantly a fierce red light at the far end of the track shone out
+in the dark night like a ball of fire. M. de Chandore and the doctor
+hastened to the waiting-room.
+
+The train stopped. A door opened, and the marchioness appeared, leaning
+on M. Folgat’s arm. The marquis, a travelling-bag in hand, followed
+next.
+
+“That was it!” said the volunteer spies, who had flattened their noses
+against the window-panes.
+
+And, as the train brought no other passengers, they succeeded in making
+the omnibus conductor start at once, eager as they were to proclaim the
+arrival of the prisoner’s father.
+
+The hour was unfavorable: everybody was asleep; but they did not give up
+the hope of finding somebody yet at the club. People stay up very late
+at the club, for there is play going on there, and at times pretty heavy
+play: you can lose your five hundred francs quite readily there. Thus
+the indefatigable news-hunters had a fair chance of finding open ears
+for their great piece of news. And yet, if they had been less eager to
+spread it, they might have witnessed, perhaps not entirely unmoved, this
+first interview between M. de Chandore and the Marquis de Boiscoran.
+
+By a natural impulse they had both hastened forward, and shook hands in
+the most energetic manner. Tears stood in their eyes. They opened their
+lips to speak; but they said nothing. Besides, there was no need of
+words between them. That close embrace had told Jacques’s father clearly
+enough what Dionysia’s grandfather must have suffered. They remained
+thus standing motionless, looking at each other, when Dr. Seignebos, who
+could not be still for any length of time, came up, and asked,--
+
+“The trunks are on the carriage: shall we go?”
+
+They left the station. The night was clear; and on the horizon, above
+the dark mass of the sleeping town, there rose against the pale-blue
+sky the two towers of the old castle, which now served as prison to
+Sauveterre.
+
+“That is the place where my Jacques is kept,” murmured the marquis.
+“There my son is imprisoned, accused of horrible crimes.”
+
+“We will get him out of it,” said the doctor cheerfully, as he helped
+the old gentleman into the carriage.
+
+But in vain did he try, during the drive, to rouse, as he called it, the
+spirits of his companions. His hopes found no echo in their distressed
+hearts.
+
+M. Folgat inquired after Dionysia, whom he had been surprised not to see
+at the station. M. de Chandore replied that she had staid at home with
+the Misses Lavarande, to keep M. Magloire company; and that was all.
+
+There are situations in which it is painful to talk. The marquis had
+enough to do to suppress the spasmodic sobs which now and then
+would rise in his throat. He was upset by the thought that he was at
+Sauveterre. Whatever may be said to the contrary, distance does not
+weaken our emotions. Shaking hands with M. de Chandore in person had
+moved him more deeply than all the letters he had received for a month.
+And when he saw Jacques’s prison from afar, he had the first clear
+notion of the horrible tortures endured by his son. The marchioness was
+utterly exhausted: she felt as if all the springs in her system were
+broken.
+
+M. de Chandore trembled when he looked at them, and saw how they all
+were on the point of succumbing. If they despaired, what could he
+hope for,--he, who knew how indissolubly Dionysia’s fate in life was
+connected with Jacques?
+
+At length the carriage stopped before his house. The door opened
+instantly, and the marchioness found herself in Dionysia’s arms, and
+soon after comfortably seated in an easy-chair. The others had followed
+her. It was past two o’clock; but every minute now was valuable.
+Arranging his spectacles, Dr. Seignebos said,--
+
+“I propose that we exchange our information. I, for my part, I am still
+at the same point. But you know my views. I do not give them up. Cocoleu
+is an impostor, and it shall be proved. I appear to notice him no
+longer; but, in reality, I watch him more closely than ever.”
+
+Dionysia interrupted him, saying,--
+
+“Before any thing is decided, there is one fact which you all ought to
+know. Listen.”
+
+Pale like death, for it cost her a great struggle to reveal thus the
+secret of her heart, but with a voice full of energy, and an eye full of
+fire, she told them what she had already confessed to her grandfather;
+viz., the propositions she had made to Jacques, and his obstinate
+refusal to accede to them.
+
+“Well done, madame!” said Dr. Seignebos, full of enthusiasm. “Well done!
+Jacques is very unfortunate, and still he is to be envied.”
+
+Dionysia finished her recital. Then, turning with a triumphant air to M.
+Magloire, she added,--
+
+“After that, is there any one yet who could believe that Jacques is a
+vile assassin?”
+
+The eminent advocate of Sauveterre was not one of those men who prize
+their opinions more highly than truth itself.
+
+“I confess,” he said, “that, if I were to go and see Jacques to-morrow
+for the first time, I should not speak to him as I did before.”
+
+“And I,” exclaimed the Marquis de Boiscoran,--“I declare that I answer
+for my son as for myself, and I mean to tell him so to-morrow.”
+
+Then turning towards his wife, and speaking so low, that she alone could
+hear him, he added,--
+
+“And I hope you will forgive me those suspicions which now fill me with
+horror.”
+
+But the marchioness had no strength left: she fainted, and had to be
+removed, accompanied by Dionysia and the Misses Lavarande. As soon as
+they were out of the room, Dr. Seignebos locked the door, rested his
+elbow on the chimney, and, taking off his spectacles to wipe them, said
+to M. Folgat,--
+
+“Now we can speak freely. What news do you bring us?”
+
+
+
+XXII.
+
+It had just struck eleven o’clock, when the jailer, Blangin, entered
+Jacques’s cell in great excitement, and said,--
+
+“Sir, your father is down stairs.”
+
+The prisoner jumped up, thunderstruck.
+
+The night before he had received a note from M. de Chandore, informing
+him of the marquis’s arrival; and his whole time had since been spent in
+preparing himself for the interview. How would it be? He had nothing by
+which to judge. He had therefore determined to be quite reserved. And,
+whilst he was following Blangin along the dismal passage and down the
+interminable steps, he was busily composing respectful phrases, and
+trying to look self-possessed.
+
+But, before he could utter a single word, he was in his father’s arms.
+He felt himself pressed against his heart, and heard him stammer,--
+
+“Jacques, my dear son, my unfortunate child!”
+
+In all his life, long and stormy as it had been, the marquis had not
+been tried so severely. Drawing Jacques to one of the parlor-windows,
+and leaning back a little, so as to see him better, he was amazed how he
+could ever have doubted his son. It seemed to him that he was standing
+there himself. He recognized his own feature and carriage, his own frank
+but rather haughty expression, his own clear, bright eye.
+
+Then, suddenly noticing details, he was shocked to see Jacques so much
+reduced. He found him looking painfully pale, and he actually discovered
+at the temples more than one silvery hair amid his thick black curls.
+
+“Poor child!” he said. “How you must have suffered!”
+
+“I thought I should lose my senses,” replied Jacques simply.
+
+And with a tremor in his voice, he asked,--
+
+“But, dear father, why did you give me no sign of life? Why did you stay
+away so long?”
+
+The marquis was not unprepared for such a question. But how could he
+answer it? Could he ever tell Jacques the true secret of his hesitation?
+Turning his eyes aside, he answered,--
+
+“I hoped I should be able to serve you better by remaining in Paris.”
+ But his embarrassment was too evident to escape Jacques.
+
+“You did not doubt your own child, father?” he asked sadly.
+
+“Never!” cried the marquis, “I never doubted a moment. Ask your mother,
+and she will tell you that it was this proud assurance I felt which kept
+me from coming down with her. When I heard of what they accused you, I
+said ‘It is absurd!’”
+
+Jacques shook his head, and said,--
+
+“The accusation was absurd; and yet you see what it has brought me to.”
+
+Two big tears, which he could no longer retain, burnt in the eyes of the
+old gentleman.
+
+“You blame me, Jacques,” he said. “You blame your father.”
+
+There is not a man alive who could see his father shed tears, and not
+feel his heart melt within him. All the resolutions Jacques had formed
+vanished in an instant. Pressing his father’s hand in his own, he
+said,--
+
+“No, I do not blame you, father. And still I have no words to tell
+you how much your absence has added to my sufferings. I thought I was
+abandoned, disowned.”
+
+For the first time since his imprisonment, the unfortunate man found a
+heart to whom he could confide all the bitterness that overflowed in his
+own heart. With his mother and with Dionysia, honor forbade him to
+show despair. The incredulity of M. Magloire had made all confidence
+impossible; and M. Folgat, although as sympathetic as man could be was,
+after all, a perfect stranger.
+
+But now he had near him a friend, the dearest and most precious friend
+that a man can ever have,--his father: now he had nothing to fear.
+
+“Is there a human being in this world,” he said, “whose misfortunes
+equal mine? To be innocent, and not to be able to prove it! To know the
+guilty one, and not to dare mention the name. Ah! at first I did not
+take in the whole horror of my situation. I was frightened, to be sure;
+but I had recovered, thinking that surely justice would not be slow in
+discovering the truth. Justice! It was my friend Galpin who represented
+it, and he cared little enough for truth: his only aim was to prove that
+the man whom he accused was the guilty man. Read the papers, father,
+and you will see how I have been victimized by the most unheard-of
+combination of circumstances. Every thing is against me. Never has that
+mysterious, blind, and absurd power manifested itself so clearly,--that
+awful power which we call fate.
+
+“First I was kept by a sense of honor from mentioning the name of the
+Countess Claudieuse, and then by prudence. The first time I mentioned
+it to M. Magloire, he told me I lied. Then I thought every thing lost. I
+saw no other end but the court, and, after the trial, the galleys or the
+scaffold. I wanted to kill myself. My friends made me understand that I
+did not belong to myself, and that, as long as I had a spark of energy
+and a ray of intelligence left me, I had no right to dispose of my
+life.”
+
+“Poor, poor child!” said the marquis. “No, you have no such right.”
+
+“Yesterday,” continued Jacques, “Dionysia came to see me. Do you
+know what brought her here? She offered to flee with me. Father, that
+temptation was terrible. Once free, and Dionysia by my side, what cared
+I for the world? She insisted, like the matchless girl that she is; and
+look there, there, on the spot where you now stand, she threw herself at
+my feet, imploring me to flee. I doubt whether I can save my life; but I
+remain here.”
+
+He felt deeply moved, and sank upon the rough bench, hiding his face in
+his hands, perhaps to conceal his tears.
+
+Suddenly, however, he was seized with one of those attacks of rage
+which had come to him but too often during his imprisonment, and he
+exclaimed,--
+
+“But what have I done to deserve such fearful punishment?”
+
+The brow of the marquis suddenly darkened; and he replied solemnly,--
+
+“You have coveted your neighbor’s wife, my son.”
+
+Jacques shrugged his shoulders. He said,--
+
+“I loved the Countess Claudieuse, and she loved me.”
+
+“Adultery is a crime, Jacques.”
+
+“A crime? Magloire said the same thing. But, father, do you really think
+so? Then it is a crime which has nothing appalling about it, to which
+every thing invites and encourages, of which everybody boasts, and at
+which the world smiles. The law, it is true, gives the husband the right
+of life and death; but, if you appeal to the law, it gives the guilty
+man six months’ imprisonment, or makes him pay a few thousand francs.”
+
+Ah, if he had known, the unfortunate man!
+
+“Jacques,” said the marquis, “the Countess Claudieuse hints, as you say,
+that one of her daughters, the youngest, is your child?”
+
+“That may be so.”
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran shuddered. Then he exclaimed bitterly,--
+
+“That may be so! You say that carelessly, indifferently, madman! Did you
+never think of the grief Count Claudieuse would feel if he should learn
+the truth? And even if he merely suspected it! Can you not comprehend
+that such a suspicion is quite sufficient to embitter a whole life, to
+ruin the life of that girl? Have you never told yourself that such a
+doubt inflicts a more atrocious punishment than any thing you have yet
+suffered?”
+
+He paused. A few words more, and he would have betrayed his secret.
+Checking his excitement by an heroic effort, he said,--
+
+“But I did not come here to discuss this question; I came to tell you,
+that, whatever may happen, your father will stand by you, and that, if
+you must undergo the disgrace of appearing in court, I will take a seat
+by your side.”
+
+In spite of his own great trouble, Jacques had not been able to avoid
+seeing his father’s unusual excitement and his sudden vehemence. For
+a second, he had a vague perception of the truth; but, before the
+suspicion could assume any shape, it had vanished before this promise
+which his father made, to face by his side the overwhelming humiliation
+of a judgment in court,--a promise full of divine self-abnegation and
+paternal love. His gratitude burst forth in the words,--
+
+“Ah, father! I ought to ask your pardon for ever having doubted your
+heart for a moment.”
+
+M. de Boiscoran tried his best to recover his self-possession. At last
+he said in an earnest voice,--
+
+“Yes, I love you, my son; and still you must not make me out more of a
+hero than I am. I still hope we may be spared the appearance in court.”
+
+“Has any thing new been discovered?”
+
+“M. Folgat has found some traces which justify legitimate hopes,
+although, as yet, no real success has been achieved.”
+
+Jacques looked rather discouraged.
+
+“Traces?” he asked.
+
+“Be patient. They are feeble traces, I admit, and such as could not be
+produced in court; but from day to day they may become decisive. And
+already they have had one good effect: they have brought us back M.
+Magloire.”
+
+“O God! Could I really be saved?”
+
+“I shall leave to M. Folgat,” continued the marquis, “the satisfaction
+of telling you the result of his efforts. He can explain their bearing
+better than I could. And you will not have long to wait; for last night,
+or rather this morning, when we separated, he and M. Magloire agreed to
+meet here at the prison, before two o’clock.”
+
+A few minutes later a rapid step approached in the passage; and Trumence
+appeared, the prisoner of whom Blangin had made an assistant, and whom
+Mechinet had employed to carry Jacques’s letters to Dionysia. He was a
+tall well-made man of twenty-five or six years, whose large mouth and
+small eyes were perpetually laughing. A vagabond without hearth or home,
+Trumence had once been a land-owner. At the death of his parents, when
+he was only eighteen years old, Trumence had come into possession of a
+house surrounded by a yard, a garden, several acres of land, and a salt
+meadow; all worth about fifteen thousand francs. Unfortunately the time
+for the conscription was near. Like many young men of that district,
+Trumence believed in witchcraft, and had gone to buy a charm, which cost
+him fifty francs. It consisted of three tamarind-branches gathered on
+Christmas Eve, and tied together by a magic number of hairs drawn from
+a dead man’s head. Having sewed this charm into his waistcoat, Trumence
+had gone to town, and, plunging his hand boldly into the urn, had drawn
+number three. This was unexpected. But as he had a great horror of
+military service, and, well-made as he was, felt quite sure that he
+would not be rejected, he determined to employ a chance much more
+certain to succeed; namely, to borrow money in order to buy a
+substitute.
+
+As he was a land-owner, he found no difficulty in meeting with an
+obliging person, who consented to lend him for two years thirty-five
+hundred francs, in return for a first mortgage on his property. When the
+papers were signed, and Trumence had the money in his pocket, he set out
+for Rochefort, where dealers in substitutes abounded; and for the sum of
+two thousand francs, exclusive of some smaller items, they furnished him
+a substitute of the best quality.
+
+Delighted with the operation, Trumence was about to return home, when
+his evil star led him to sup at his inn with a countryman, a former
+schoolmate, who was now a sailor on board a coal-barge. Of course,
+countrymen when they meet must drink. They did drink; and, as the sailor
+very soon scented the twelve hundred francs which remained in Trumence’s
+pockets, he swore that he was going to have a jolly time, and would
+not return on board his barge as long as there remained a cent in his
+friend’s pocket. So it happened, that, after a fortnight’s carouse,
+the sailor was arrested and put in jail; and Trumence was compelled to
+borrow five francs from the stage-driver to enable him to get home.
+
+This fortnight was decisive for his life. During these days he had lost
+all taste for work, and acquired a real passion for taverns where they
+played with greasy cards. After his return he tried to continue this
+jolly life; and, to do so, he made more debts. He sold, piece after
+piece, all he possessed that was salable, down to his mattress and his
+tools. This was not the way to repay the thirty-five hundred francs
+which he owed. When pay-day came, the creditor, seeing that his security
+was diminishing every day, lost no time. Before Trumence was well aware
+of what was going on, an execution was in the house; his lands were
+sold; and one fine day he found himself in the street, possessing
+literally nothing in the world but the wretched clothes on his back.
+
+He might easily have found employment; for he was a good workman, and
+people were fond of him in spite of all. But he was even more afraid
+of work than he was fond of drink. Whenever want pressed too hard, he
+worked a few days; but, as soon as he had earned ten francs, good-by!
+Off he went, lounging by the road-side, talking with the wagoners, or
+loafing about the villages, and watching for one of those kind topers,
+who, rather than drink alone, invite the first-comer. Trumence
+boasted of being well known all along the coast, and even far into the
+department. And what was most surprising was that people did not blame
+him much for his idleness. Good housewives in the country would, it is
+true, greet him with a “Well, what do you want here, good-for-nothing?”
+ But they would rarely refuse him a bowl of soup or a glass of white
+wine. His unchanging good-humor, and his obliging disposition, explained
+this forbearance. This man, who would refuse a well-paid job, was ever
+ready to lend a hand for nothing. And he was handy at every thing, by
+land and by water, he called it, so that the farmer whose business was
+pressing, and the fisherman in his boat who wanted help, appealed alike
+to Trumence.
+
+The mischief, however, is, that this life of rural beggary, if it has
+its good days, also has its evil times. On certain days, Trumence could
+not find either kind-hearted topers or hospitable housewives. Hunger,
+however, was ever on hand; then he had to become a marauder; dig some
+potatoes, and cook them in a corner of a wood, or pilfer the orchards.
+And if he found neither potatoes in the fields, nor apples in the
+orchards, what could he do but climb a fence, or scale a wall?
+
+Relatively speaking, Trumence was an honest man, and incapable of
+stealing a piece of money; but vegetables, fruits, chickens--
+
+Thus it had come about that he had been arrested twice, and condemned to
+several days’ imprisonment; and each time he had vowed solemnly that he
+would never be caught at it again, and that he was going to work hard.
+And yet he had been caught again.
+
+The poor fellow had told his misfortunes to Jacques; and Jacques,
+who owed it to him that he could, when still in close confinement,
+correspond with Dionysia, felt very kindly towards him. Hence, when he
+saw him come up very respectful, and cap in hand, he asked,--
+
+“What is it, Trumence?”
+
+“Sir,” replied the vagrant, “M. Blangin sends you word that the two
+advocates are coming up to your room.”
+
+Once more the marquis embraced his son, saying,--
+
+“Do not keep them waiting, and keep up your courage.”
+
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran had not been mistaken about M. Magloire. Much
+shaken by Dionysia’s statement, he had been completely overcome by M.
+Folgat’s explanations; and, when he now came to the jail, it was with a
+determination to prove Jacques’s innocence.
+
+“But I doubt very much whether he will ever forgive me for my
+incredulity,” he said to M. Folgat while they were waiting for the
+prisoner in his cell.
+
+Jacques came in, still deeply moved by the scene with his father. M.
+Magloire went up to him, and said,--
+
+“I have never been able to conceal my thoughts, Jacques. When I thought
+you guilty, and felt sure that you accused the Countess Claudieuse
+falsely, I told you so with almost brutal candor. I have since found out
+my error, and am now convinced of the truth of your statement: so I come
+and tell you as frankly, Jacques, I was wrong to have had more faith in
+the reputation of a woman than in the words of a friend. Will you give
+me your hand?”
+
+The prisoner grasped his hand with a profusion of joy, and cried,--
+
+“Since you believe in my innocence, others may believe in me too, and my
+salvation is drawing near.”
+
+The melancholy faces of the two advocates told him that he was rejoicing
+too soon. His features expressed his grief; but he said with a firm
+voice,--
+
+“Well, I see that the struggle will be a hard one, and that the result
+is still uncertain. Never mind. You may be sure I will not give way.”
+
+In the meantime M. Folgat had spread out on the table all the papers
+he had brought with him,--copies furnished by Mechinet, and notes taken
+during his rapid journey.
+
+“First of all, my dear client,” he said, “I must inform you of what has
+been done.”
+
+And when he had stated every thing, down to the minutest details of what
+Goudar and he had done, he said,--
+
+“Let us sum up. We are able to prove three things: 1. That the house in
+Vine Street belongs to you, and that Sir Francis Burnett, who is known
+there, and you are one; 2. That you were visited in this house by a
+lady, who, from all the precautions she took, had powerful reasons to
+remain unknown; 3. That the visits of this lady took place at certain
+epochs every year, which coincided precisely with the journeys which the
+Countess Claudieuse yearly made to Paris.”
+
+The great advocate of Sauveterre expressed his assent.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “all this is fully established.”
+
+“For ourselves, we have another certainty,--that Suky Wood, the servant
+of the false Sir Francis Burnett, has watched the mysterious lady; that
+she has seen her, and consequently would know her again.”
+
+“True, that appears from the deposition of the girl’s friend.”
+
+“Consequently, if we discover Suky Wood, the Countess Claudieuse is
+unmasked.”
+
+“If we discover her,” said M. Magloire. “And here, unfortunately, we
+enter into the region of suppositions.”
+
+“Suppositions!” said M. Folgat. “Well, call them so; but they are based
+upon positive facts, and supported by a hundred precedents. Why should
+we not find this Suky Wood, whose birthplace and family we know, and who
+has no reason for concealment? Goudar has found very different people;
+and Goudar is on our side. And you may be sure he will not be asleep.
+I have held out to him a certain hope which will make him do
+miracles,--the hope of receiving as a reward, if he succeeds, the
+house in Vine Street. The stakes are too magnificent: he must win the
+game,--he who has won so many already. Who knows what he may not have
+discovered since we left him? Has he not done wonders already?”
+
+“It is marvellous!” cried Jacques, amazed at these results.
+
+Older than M. Folgat and Jacques, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre was
+less ready to feel such enthusiasm.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “it is marvellous; and, if we had time, I would say
+as you do, ‘We shall carry the day!’ But there is no time for Goudar’s
+investigations: the sessions are on hand, and it seems to me it would be
+very difficult to obtain a postponement.”
+
+“Besides, I do not wish it to be postponed,” said Jacques.
+
+“But”--
+
+“On no account, Magloire, never! What? I should endure three months more
+of this anguish which tortures me? I could not do it: my strength is
+exhausted. This uncertainty has been too much for me. I could bear no
+more suspense.”
+
+M. Folgat interrupted him, saying,--
+
+“Do not trouble yourself about that: a postponement is out of the
+question. On what pretext could we ask for it? The only way would be to
+introduce an entirely new element in the case. We should have to summon
+the Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+The greatest surprise appeared on Jacques’s face.
+
+“Will we not summon her anyhow?” he asked.
+
+“That depends.”
+
+“I do not understand you.”
+
+“It is very simple, however. If Goudar should succeed, before the trial,
+in collecting sufficient evidence against her, I should summon her
+certainly; and then the case would naturally change entirely; the whole
+proceeding would begin anew; and you would probably appear only as a
+witness. If, on the contrary, we obtain, before the trial begins, no
+other proof but what we have now, I shall not mention her name even; for
+that would, in my opinion, and in M. Magloire’s opinion, ruin your cause
+irrevocably.”
+
+“Yes,” said the great advocate, “that is my opinion.”
+
+Jacques’s amazement was boundless.
+
+“Still,” he said, “in self-defence, I must, if I am brought up in court,
+speak of my relations to the Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But that is my only explanation.”
+
+“If it were credited.”
+
+“And you think you can defend me, you think you can save me, without
+telling the truth?”
+
+M. Folgat shook his head, and said,--
+
+“In court the truth is the last thing to be thought of.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Do you think the jury would credit allegations which M. Magloire did
+not credit? No. Well, then, we had better not speak of them any more,
+and try to find some explanation which will meet the charges brought
+against you. Do you think we should be the first to act thus? By no
+means. There are very few cases in which the prosecution says all it
+knows, and still fewer in which the defence calls for every thing it
+might call for. Out of ten criminal trials, there are at least three in
+which side-issues are raised. What will be the charge in court against
+you? The substance of the romance which the magistrate has invented in
+order to prove your guilt. You must meet him with another romance which
+proves your innocence.”
+
+“But the truth.”
+
+“Is dependent on probability, my dear client. Ask M. Magloire. The
+prosecution only asks for probability: hence probability is all the
+defence has to care for. Human justice is feeble, and limited in its
+means; it cannot go down to the very bottom of things; it cannot judge
+of motives, and fathom consciences. It can only judge from appearances,
+and decide by plausibility; there is hardly a case which has not some
+unexplored mystery, some undiscovered secret. The truth! Ah! do you
+think M. Galpin has looked for it? If he did, why did he not summon
+Cocoleu? But no, as long as he can produce a criminal, who may be
+responsible for the crime, he is quite content. The truth! Which of us
+knows the real truth? Your case, M. de Boiscoran, is one of those in
+which neither the prosecution, nor the defence, nor the accused himself,
+knows the truth of the matter.”
+
+There followed a long silence, so deep a silence, that the step of
+the sentinel could be heard, who was walking up and down under the
+prison-windows. M. Folgat had said all he thought proper to say: he
+feared, in saying more, to assume too great a responsibility. It was,
+after all, Jacques’s life and Jacques’s honor which were at stake. He
+alone, therefore, ought to decide the nature of his defence. If his
+judgment was too forcibly controlled by his counsel, he would have had
+a right hereafter to say, “Why did you not leave me free to choose? I
+should not have been condemned.”
+
+To show this very clearly, M. Folgat went on,--
+
+“The advice I give you, my dear client, is, in my eyes, the best; it is
+the advice I would give my own brother. But, unfortunately, I cannot say
+it is infallible. You must decide yourself. Whatever you may resolve, I
+am still at your service.”
+
+Jacques made no reply. His elbows resting on the table, his face in his
+hands, he remained motionless, like a statue, absorbed in his thoughts.
+What should he do? Should he follow his first impulse, tear the veil
+aside, and proclaim the truth? That was a doubtful policy, but also,
+what a triumph if he succeeded!
+
+Should he adopt the views of his counsel, employ subterfuges and
+falsehoods? That was more certain of success; but to be successful in
+this way--was that a real victory?
+
+Jacques was in a terrible perplexity. He felt it but too clearly. The
+decision he must form now would decide his fate. Suddenly he raised his
+head, and said,--
+
+“What is your advice, M. Magloire?”
+
+The great advocate of Sauveterre frowned angrily; and said, in a
+somewhat rough tone of voice,--
+
+“I have had the honor to place before your mother all that my young
+colleague has just told you. M. Folgat has but one fault,--he is too
+cautious. The physician must not ask what his patient thinks of his
+remedies: he must prescribe them. It may be that our prescriptions do
+not meet with success; but, if you do not follow them, you are most
+assuredly lost.”
+
+Jacques hesitated for some minutes longer. These prescriptions, as M.
+Magloire called them, were painfully repugnant to his chivalrous and
+open character.
+
+“Would it be worth while,” he murmured, “to be acquitted on such terms?
+Would I really be exculpated by such proceedings? Would not my whole
+life thereafter be disgraced by suspicions? I should not come out
+from the trial with a clear acquittal: I should have escaped by a mere
+chance.”
+
+“That would still better than to go, by a clear judgment, to the
+galleys,” said M. Magloire brutally.
+
+This word, “the galleys,” made Jacques bound. He rose, walked up and
+down a few times in his room, and then, placing himself in front of his
+counsel, said,--
+
+“I put myself in your hands, gentlemen. Tell me what I must do.”
+
+Jacques had at least this merit, if he once formed a resolution, he was
+sure to adhere to it. Calm now, and self-possessed, he sat down, and
+said, with a melancholy smile,--
+
+“Let us hear the plan of battle.”
+
+This plan had been for a month now the one great thought of M. Folgat.
+All his intelligence, all his sagacity and knowledge of the world, had
+been brought to bear upon this case, which he had made his own, so
+to say, by his almost passionate interest. He knew the tactics of the
+prosecution as well as M. Galpin himself, and he knew its weak and its
+strong side even better than M. Galpin.
+
+“We shall go on, therefore,” he began, “as if there was no such person
+as the Countess Claudieuse. We know nothing of her. We shall say nothing
+of the meeting at Valpinson, nor of the burned letters.”
+
+“That is settled.”
+
+“That being so, we must next look, not for the manner in which we spent
+our time, but for our purpose in going out the evening of the crime.
+Ah! If we could suggest a plausible, a very probable purpose, I should
+almost guarantee our success; for we need not hesitate to say there is
+the turning-point of the whole case, on which all the discussions will
+turn.”
+
+Jacques did not seem to be fully convinced of this view. He said,--
+
+“You think that possible?”
+
+“Unfortunately, it is but too certain; and, if I say unfortunately, it
+is because here we have to meet a terrible charge, the most decisive, by
+all means, that has been raised, one on which M. Galpin has not insisted
+(he is much too clever for that), but one which, in the hands of the
+prosecution, may become a terrible weapon.”
+
+“I must confess,” said Jacques, “I do not very well see”--
+
+“Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening of
+the crime?” broke in M. Magloire.
+
+Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel.
+
+“What,” he said, “that letter?”
+
+“Overwhelms us, my dear client,” said M. Folgat. “Don’t you remember it?
+You told your betrothed in that note, that you would be prevented
+from enjoying the evening with her by some business of the greatest
+importance, and which could not be delayed? Thus, you see, you had
+determined beforehand, and after mature consideration, to spend that
+evening in doing a certain thing. What was it? ‘The murder of Count
+Claudieuse,’ says the prosecution. What can we say?”
+
+“But, I beg your pardon--that letter. Miss Dionysia surely has not
+handed it over to them?”
+
+“No; but the prosecution is aware of its existence. M. de Chandore and
+M. Seneschal have spoken of it in the hope of exculpating you, and have
+even mentioned the contents. And M. Galpin knows it so well, that he had
+repeatedly mentioned it to you, and you have confessed all that he could
+desire.”
+
+The young advocate looked among his papers; and soon he had found what
+he wanted.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “in your third examination, I find this,--”
+
+“‘QUESTION.--You were shortly to marry Miss Chandore?
+
+ANSWER.--Yes.
+
+Q--For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?
+
+A.--Yes, all.
+
+Q.--Except the one of the crime?
+
+A.--Unfortunately.
+
+Q.--Then your betrothed must have wondered at your absence?
+
+A.--No: I had written to her.’”
+
+“Do you hear, Jacques?” cried M. Magloire. “Notice that M. Galpin takes
+care not to insist. He does not wish to rouse your suspicions. He has
+got you to confess, and that is enough for him.”
+
+But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper.
+
+“In your sixth examination,” he went on, “I have noticed this,--
+
+“‘Q.--You left your house with your gun on your shoulder, without any
+definite aim?
+
+A.--I shall explain that when I have consulted with counsel.
+
+Q.--You need no consultation to tell the truth.
+
+A.--I shall not change my resolution.
+
+Q.--Then you will not tell me where you were between eight and midnight?
+
+A.--I shall answer that question at the same time with the other.
+
+Q.--You must have had very strong reasons to keep you out, as you were
+expected by your betrothed, Miss Chandore?
+
+A.--I had written to her not to expect me.’”
+
+“Ah! M. Galpin is a clever fellow,” growled M. Magloire.
+
+“Finally,” said M. Folgat, “here is a passage from your last but one
+examination,--
+
+“‘Q.--When you wanted to send anybody to Sauveterre, whom did you
+usually employ?
+
+A.--The son of one of my tenants, Michael.
+
+Q.--It was he, I suppose, who, on the evening of the crime, carried the
+letter to Miss Chandore, in which you told her not to expect you?
+
+A.--Yes.
+
+Q.--You pretended you would be kept by some important business?
+
+A.--That is the usual pretext.
+
+Q.--But in your case it was no pretext. Where had you to go? and where
+did you go?
+
+A.--As long as I have not seen counsel I shall say nothing.
+
+Q.--Have a care: the system of negation and concealment is dangerous.
+
+A.--I know it, and I accept the consequences.’”
+
+Jacques was dumfounded. And necessarily every accused person is equally
+surprised when he hears what he has stated in the examination. There is
+not one who does not exclaim,--
+
+“What, I said that? Never!”
+
+He has said it, and there is no denying it; for there it is written, and
+signed by himself. How could he ever say so?
+
+Ah! that is the point. However clever a man may be, he cannot for many
+months keep all his faculties on the stretch, and all his energy up to
+its full power. He has his hours of prostration and his hours of hope,
+his attacks of despair and his moments of courage; and the impassive
+magistrate takes advantage of them all. Innocent or guilty, no prisoner
+can cope with him. However powerful his memory may be, how can he
+recall an answer which he may have given weeks and weeks before? The
+magistrate, however, remembers it; and twenty times, if need be,
+he brings it up again. And as the small snowflake may become an
+irresistible avalanche, so an insignificant word, uttered at haphazard,
+forgotten, then recalled, commented upon, and enlarged may become
+crushing evidence.
+
+Jacques now experienced this. These questions had been put to him so
+skilfully, and at such long intervals of time, that he had totally
+forgotten them; and yet now, when he recalled his answers, he had to
+acknowledge that he had confessed his purpose to devote that evening to
+some business of great importance.
+
+“That is fearful!” he cried.
+
+And, overcome by the terrible reality of M. Folgat’s apprehension, he
+added,--
+
+“How can we get out of that?”
+
+“I told you,” replied M. Folgat, “we must find some plausible
+explanation.”
+
+“I am sure I am incapable of that.”
+
+The young lawyer seemed to reflect a moment, and then he said,--
+
+“You have been a prisoner while I have been free. For a month now I have
+thought this matter over.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“Where was your wedding to be?”
+
+“At my house at Boiscoran.”
+
+“Where was the religious ceremony to take place?”
+
+“At the church at Brechy.”
+
+“Have you ever spoken of that to the priest?”
+
+“Several times. One day especially, when we discussed it in a pleasant
+way, he said jestingly to me, ‘I shall have you, after all in my
+confessional.’”
+
+M. Folgat almost trembled with satisfaction, and Jacques saw it.
+
+“Then the priest at Brechy was your friend?”
+
+“An intimate friend. He sometimes came to dine with me quite
+unceremoniously, and I never passed him without shaking hands with him.”
+
+The young lawyer’s joy was growing perceptibly.
+
+“Well,” he said, “my explanation is becoming quite plausible. Just hear
+what I have positively ascertained to be the fact. In the time from nine
+to eleven o’clock, on the night of the crime, there was not a soul at
+the parsonage in Brechy. The priest was dining with M. Besson, at his
+house; and his servant had gone out to meet him with a lantern.”
+
+“I understand,” said M. Magloire.
+
+“Why should you not have gone to see the priest at Brechy, my dear
+client? In the first place, you had to arrange the details of the
+ceremony with him; then, as he is your friend, and a man of experience,
+and a priest, you wanted to ask him for his advice before taking so
+grave a step, and, finally, you intended to fulfil that religious duty
+of which he spoke, and which you were rather reluctant to comply with.”
+
+“Well said!” approved the eminent lawyer of Sauveterre,--“very well
+said!”
+
+“So, you see, my dear client, it was for the purpose of consulting the
+priest at Brechy that you deprived yourself of the pleasure of spending
+the evening with your betrothed. Now let us see how that answers
+the allegations of the prosecution. They ask you why you took to the
+marshes. Why? Because it was the shortest way, and you were afraid of
+finding the priest in bed. Nothing more natural; for it is well known
+that the excellent man is in the habit of going to bed at nine o’clock.
+Still you had put yourself out in vain; for, when you knocked at the
+door of the parsonage, nobody came to open.”
+
+Here M. Magloire interrupted his colleague, saying,--
+
+“So far, all is very well. But now there comes a very great
+improbability. No one would think of going through the forest of
+Rochepommier in order to return from Brechy to Boiscoran. If you knew
+the country”--
+
+“I know it; for I have carefully explored it. And the proof of it is,
+that, having foreseen the objection, I have found an answer. While M. de
+Boiscoran knocked at the door, a little peasant-girl passed by, and told
+him that she had just met the priest at a place called the Marshalls’
+Cross-roads. As the parsonage stands quite isolated, at the end of the
+village, such an incident is very probable. As for the priest, chance
+led me to learn this: precisely at the hour at which M. de Boiscoran
+would have been at Brechy, a priest passed the Marshalls’ Cross-roads;
+and this priest, whom I have seen, belongs to the next parish. He also
+dined at M. Besson’s, and had just been sent for to attend a dying
+woman. The little girl, therefore, did not tell a story; she only made a
+mistake.”
+
+“Excellent!” said M. Magloire.
+
+“Still,” continued M. Folgat, “after this information, what did M. de
+Boiscoran do? He went on; and, hoping every moment to meet the priest,
+he walked as far as the forest of Rochepommier. Finding, at last, that
+the peasant-girl had--purposely or not--led him astray, he determined to
+return to Boiscoran through the woods. But he was in very bad humor
+at having thus lost an evening which he might have spent with his
+betrothed; and this made him swear and curse, as the witness Gaudry has
+testified.”
+
+The famous lawyer of Sauveterre shook his head.
+
+“That is ingenious, I admit; and I confess, in all humility, that
+I could not have suggested any thing as good. But--for there is a
+but--your story sins by its very simplicity. The prosecution will say,
+‘If that is the truth, why did not M. de Boiscoran say so at once? And
+what need was there to consult his counsel?’”
+
+M. Folgat showed in his face that he was making a great effort to meet
+the objection. After a while, he replied,--
+
+“I know but too well that that is the weak spot in our armor,--a very
+weak spot, too; for it is quite clear, that, if M. de Boiscoran had
+given this explanation on the day of his arrest, he would have been
+released instantly. But what better can be found? What else can be
+found? However, this is only a rough sketch of my plan, and I have never
+put it into words yet till now. With your assistance, M. Magloire, with
+the aid of Mechinet, to whom I am already indebted for very valuable
+information, with the aid of all our friends, in fine, I cannot help
+hoping that I may be able to improve my plan by adding some mysterious
+secret which may help to explain M. de Boiscoran’s reticence. I thought,
+at one time, of calling in politics, and to pretend, that, on account of
+the peculiar views of which he is suspected, M. de Boiscoran preferred
+keeping his relations with the priest at Brechy a secret.”
+
+“Oh, that would have been most unfortunate!” broke in M. Magloire.
+“We are not only religious at Sauveterre, we are devout, my good
+colleague,--excessively devout.”
+
+“And I have given up that idea.”
+
+Jacques, who had till now kept silent and motionless, now raised himself
+suddenly to his full height, and cried, in a voice of concentrated
+rage,--
+
+“Is it not too bad, is it not atrocious, that we should be compelled
+to concoct a falsehood? And I am innocent! What more could be done if I
+were a murderer?”
+
+Jacques was perfectly right: it was monstrous that he should be
+absolutely forced to conceal the truth. But his counsel took no notice
+of his indignation: they were too deeply absorbed in examining minutely
+their system of defence.
+
+“Let us go on to the other points of the accusation,” said M. Magloire.
+
+“If my version is accepted,” replied M. Folgat, “the rest follows as a
+matter of course. But will they accept it? On the day on which he was
+arrested, M. de Boiscoran, trying to find an excuse for having been
+out that night, has said that he had gone to see his wood-merchant at
+Brechy. That was a disastrous imprudence. And here is the real danger.
+As to the rest, that amounts to nothing. There is the water in which M.
+de Boiscoran washed his hands when he came home, and in which they
+have found traces of burnt paper. We have only to modify the facts very
+slightly to explain that. We have only to state that M. de Boiscoran is
+a passionate smoker: that is well known. He had taken with him a goodly
+supply of cigarettes when he set out for Brechy; but he had taken
+no matches. And that is a fact. We can furnish proof, we can produce
+witnesses, we had no matches; for we had forgotten our match-box, the
+day before, at M. de Chandore’s,--the box which we always carry about
+on our person, which everybody knows, and which is still lying on the
+mantelpiece in Miss Dionysia’s little boudoir. Well, having no matches,
+we found that we could go no farther without a smoke. We had gone quite
+far already; and the question was, Shall we go on without smoking, or
+return? No need of either! There was our gun; and we knew very well what
+sportsmen do under such circumstances. We took the shot out of one of
+our cartridges, and, in setting the powder on fire, we lighted a piece
+of paper. This is an operation in which you cannot help blackening your
+fingers. As we had to repeat it several times, our hands were very much
+soiled and very black, and the nails full of little fragments of burnt
+paper.”
+
+“Ah! now you are right,” exclaimed M. Magloire. “Well done!”
+
+His young colleague became more and more animated; and always employing
+the profession “we,” which his brethren affect, he went on,--
+
+“This water, which you dwell upon so much, is the clearest evidence of
+our innocence. If we had been an incendiary, we should certainly
+have poured it out as hurriedly as the murderer tries to wash out the
+blood-stains on his clothes, which betray him.”
+
+“Very well,” said M. Magloire again approvingly.
+
+“And your other charges,” continued M. Folgat, as if he were standing in
+court, and addressing the jury,--“your other charges have all the same
+weight. Our letter to Miss Dionysia--why do you refer to that? Because,
+you say, it proves our premeditation. Ah! there I hold you. Are we
+really so stupid and bereft of common sense? That is not our reputation.
+What! we premeditate a crime, and we do not say to ourselves that we
+shall certainly be convicted unless we prepare an _alibi_! What! we
+leave home with the fixed purpose of killing a man, and we load our gun
+with small-shot! Really, you make the defence too easy; for your charges
+do not stand being examined.”
+
+It was Jacques’s turn, this time, to testify his approbation.
+
+“That is,” he said, “what I have told Galpin over and over again; and he
+never had any thing to say in reply. We must insist on that point.”
+
+M. Folgat was consulting his notes.
+
+“I now come to a very important circumstance, and one which I should,
+at the trial, make a decisive question, if it should be favorable to our
+side. Your valet, my dear client,--your old Anthony,--told me that he
+had cleaned and washed your breech-loader the night before the crime.”
+
+“Great God!” exclaimed Jacques.
+
+“Well, I see you appreciate the importance of the fact. Between that
+cleaning and the time when you set a cartridge on fire, in order to burn
+the letters of the Countess Claudieuse, did you fire your gun? If you
+did, we must say nothing more about it. If you did not, one of the
+barrels of the breech-loader must be clean, and then you are safe.”
+
+For more than a minute, Jacques remained silent, trying to recall the
+facts; at last he replied,--
+
+“It seems to me, I am sure, I fired at a rabbit on the morning of the
+fatal day.”
+
+M. Magloire looked disappointed.
+
+“Fate again!” he said.
+
+“Oh, wait!” cried Jacques. “I am quite sure, at all events, that I
+killed that rabbit at the first shot. Consequently, I can have fouled
+only one barrel of the gun. If I have used the same barrel at Valpinson,
+to get a light, I am safe. With a double gun, one almost instinctively
+first uses the right-hand barrel.”
+
+M. Magloire’s face grew darker.
+
+“Never mind,” he said, “we cannot possibly make an argument upon such
+an uncertain chance,--a chance which, in case of error, would almost
+fatally turn against us. But at the trial, when they show you the gun,
+examine it, so that you can tell me how that matter stands.”
+
+Thus they had sketched the outlines of their plan of defence. There
+remained nothing now but to perfect the details; and to this task the
+two lawyers were devoting themselves still, when Blangin, the jailer,
+called to them through the wicket, that the doors of the prison were
+about to be closed.
+
+“Five minutes more, my good Blangin!” cried Jacques.
+
+And drawing his two friends aside, as far from the wicket as he could,
+he said to them in a low and distressed voice,--
+
+“A thought has occurred to me, gentlemen, which I think I ought to
+mention to you. It cannot be but that the Countess Claudieuse must be
+suffering terribly since I am in prison. However, sure she may be of
+having left no trace behind her that could betray her, she must tremble
+at the idea that I may, after all, tell the truth in self-defence. She
+would deny, I know, and she is so sure of her prestige, that she knows
+my accusation would not injure her marvellous reputation. Nevertheless,
+she cannot but shrink from the scandal. Who knows if she might not give
+us the means to escape from the trial, to avoid such exposure? Why might
+not one of you gentleman make the attempt?”
+
+M. Folgat was a man of quick resolution.
+
+“I will try, if you will give me a line of introduction.”
+
+Jacque immediately sat down, and wrote,--
+
+“I have told my counsel, M. Folgat, every thing. Save me, and I swear to
+you eternal silence. Will you let me perish, Genevieve, when you know I
+am innocent?
+
+“JACQUES.” “Is that enough?” he asked, handing the lawyer the note.
+
+“Yes; and I promise you I will see the Countess Claudieuse within the
+next forty-eight hours.”
+
+Blangin was becoming impatient; and the two advocates had to leave the
+prison. As they crossed the New-Market Square, they noticed, not far
+from them, a wandering musician, who was followed by a number of boys
+and girls.
+
+It was a kind of minstrel, dressed in a sort of garment which was no
+longer an overcoat and had not yet assumed the shape of a shortcoat.
+He was strumming on a wretched fiddle; but his voice was good, and the
+ballad he sang had the full flavor of the local accent:--
+
+    “In the spring, mother Redbreast
+     Made her nest in the bushes,
+            The good lady!
+     Made her nest in the bushes,
+            The good lady!”
+
+Instinctively M. Folgat was fumbling in his pocket for a few cents, when
+the musician came up to him, held out his hat as if to ask alms, and
+said,--
+
+“You do not recognize me?”
+
+The advocate started.
+
+“You here!” he said.
+
+“Yes, I myself. I came this morning. I was watching for you; for I
+must see you this evening at nine o’clock. Come and open the little
+garden-gate at M. de Chandore’s for me.”
+
+And, taking up his fiddle again, he wandered off listlessly, singing
+with his clear voice,--
+
+     “And a few, a few weeks later,
+     She had a wee, a wee bit birdy.”
+
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+The great lawyer of Sauveterre had been far more astonished at the
+unexpected and extraordinary meeting than M. Folgat. As soon as the
+wandering minstrel had left them, he asked his young colleague,--
+
+“You know that individual?”
+
+“That individual,” replied M. Folgat, “is none other than the agent
+whose services I have engaged, and whom I mentioned to you.”
+
+“Goudar?”
+
+“Yes, Goudar.”
+
+“And did you not recognize him?”
+
+The young advocate smiled.
+
+“Not until he spoke,” he replied. “The Goudar whom I know is tall, thin,
+beardless, and wears his hair cut like a brush. This street-musician is
+low, bearded, and has long, smooth hair falling down his back. How could
+I recognize my man in that vagabond costume, with a violin in his hand,
+and a provincial song set to music?”
+
+M. Magloire smiled too, as he said,--
+
+“What are, after all, professional actors in comparison with these men!
+Here is one who pretends having reached Sauveterre only this morning,
+and who knows the country as well as Trumence himself. He has not been
+here twelve hours, and he speaks already of M. de Chandore’s little
+garden-gate.”
+
+“Oh! I can explain that circumstance now, although, at first, it
+surprised me very much. When I told Goudar the whole story, I no doubt
+mentioned the little gate in connection with Mechinet.”
+
+Whilst they were chatting thus, they had reached the upper end of
+National Street. Here they stopped; and M. Magloire said,--
+
+“One word before we part. Are you quite resolved to see the Countess
+Claudieuse?”
+
+“I have promised.”
+
+“What do you propose telling her?”
+
+“I do not know. That depends upon how she receives me.”
+
+“As far as I know her, she will, upon looking at the note, merely order
+you out.”
+
+“Who knows! At all events, I shall not have to reproach myself for
+having shrunk from a step which in my heart I thought it my duty to
+take.”
+
+“Whatever may happen, be prudent, and do not allow yourself to get
+angry. Remember that a scene with her would compel us to change our
+whole line of defence, and that that is the only one which promises any
+success.”
+
+“Oh, do not fear!”
+
+Thereupon, shaking hands once more, they parted, M. Magloire returning
+to his house, and M. Folgat going up the street. It struck half-past
+five, and the young advocate hurried on for fear of being too late. He
+found them waiting for him to go to dinner; but, as he entered the room,
+he forgot all his excuses in his painful surprise at the mournful and
+dejected appearance of the prisoner’s friends and relatives.
+
+“Have we any bad news?” he asked with a hesitating voice.
+
+“The worst we had to fear,” replied the Marquis de Boiscoran. “We had
+all foreseen it; and still, as you see, it has surprised us all, like a
+clap of thunder.”
+
+The young lawyer beat his forehead, and cried,--
+
+“The court has ordered the trial!”
+
+The marquis only bent his head, as if his voice, had failed him to
+answer the question.
+
+“It is still a great secret,” said Dionysia; “and we only know it,
+thanks to the indiscretion of our kind, our devoted Mechinet. Jacques
+will have to appear before the Assizes.”
+
+She was interrupted by a servant, who entered to announce that dinner
+was on the table.
+
+They all went into the dining-room; but the last event made it well-nigh
+impossible for them to eat. Dionysia alone, deriving from feverish
+excitement an amazing energy, aided M. Folgat in keeping up the
+conversation. From her the young advocate learned that Count Claudieuse
+was decidedly worse, and that he would have received, in the day, the
+last sacrament, but for the decided opposition of Dr. Seignebos, who had
+declared that the slightest excitement might kill his patient.
+
+“And if he dies,” said M. de Chandore, “that is the finishing
+stroke. Public opinion, already incensed against Jacques, will become
+implacable.”
+
+However, the meal came to an end; and M. Folgat went up to Dionysia,
+saying,--
+
+“I must beg of you, madam, to trust me with the key to the little
+garden-gate.”
+
+She looked at him quite astonished.
+
+“I have to see a detective secretly, who has promised me his
+assistance.”
+
+“Is he here?”
+
+“He came this morning.”
+
+When Dionysia had handed him the key, M. Folgat hastened to reach
+the end of the garden; and, at the third stroke of nine o’clock, the
+minstrel of the New-Market Square, Goudar, pushed the little gate, and,
+his violin under his arm, slipped into the garden.
+
+“A day lost!” he exclaimed, without thinking of saluting the young
+lawyer,--“a whole day; for I could do nothing till I had seen you.”
+
+He seemed to be so angry, that M. Folgat tried to soothe him.
+
+“Let me first of all compliment you on your disguise,” he said. But
+Goudar did not seem to be open to praise.
+
+“What would a detective be worth if he could not disguise himself! A
+great merit, forsooth! And I tell you, I hate it! But I could not think
+of coming to Sauveterre in my own person, a detective. Ugh! Everybody
+would have run away; and what a pack of lies they would have told me! So
+I had to assume that hideous masquerade. To think that I once took
+six months’ lessons from a music-teacher merely to fit myself for that
+character! A wandering musician, you see, can go anywhere, and nobody is
+surprised; he goes about the streets, or he travels along the high-road;
+he enters into yards, and slips into houses; he asks alms: and in so
+doing, he accosts everybody, speaks to them, follows them. And as to my
+precious dialect, you must know I have been down here once for half a
+year, hunting up counterfeiters; and, if you don’t catch a provincial
+accent in six months, you don’t deserve belonging to the police. And
+I do belong to it, to the great distress of my wife, and to my own
+disgust.”
+
+“If your ambition is really what you say, my dear, Goudar,” said M.
+Folgat, interrupting him, “you may be able to leave your profession very
+soon--if you succeed in saving M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+“He would give me his house in Vine Street?”
+
+“With all his heart!”
+
+The detective looked up, and repeated slowly,--
+
+“The house in Vine Street, the paradise of this world. An immense
+garden, a soil of marvellous beauty. And what an exposure! There are
+walls there on which I could raise finer peaches than they have at
+Montreuil, and richer Chasselas than those of Fontainebleau!”
+
+“Did you find any thing there?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+Goudar, thus recalled to business, looked angry again.
+
+“Nothing at all,” he replied. “Nor did I learn any thing from the
+tradesmen. I am no further advanced than I was the first day.”
+
+“Let us hope you will have more luck here.”
+
+“I hope so; but I need your assistance to commence operations. I must
+see Dr. Seignebos, and Mechinet the clerk. Ask them to meet me at the
+place I shall assign in a note which I will send them.”
+
+“I will tell them.”
+
+“Now, if you want my _incognito_ to be respected, you must get me a
+permit from the mayor, for Goudar, street-musician. I keep my name,
+because here nobody knows me. But I must have the permit this evening.
+Wherever I might present myself, asking for a bed, they would call for
+my papers.”
+
+“Wait here for a quarter of an hour, there is a bench,” said M. Folgat,
+“and I’ll go at once to the mayor.”
+
+A quarter of an hour later, Goudar had his permit in his pocket,
+and went to take lodgings at the Red Lamb, the worst tavern in all
+Sauveterre.
+
+When a painful and inevitable duty is to be performed, the true
+character of a man is apt to appear in its true light. Some people
+postpone it as long as they can, and delay, like those pious persons
+who keep the biggest sin for the end of their confession: others, on the
+contrary, are in a hurry to be relieved of their anxiety, and make an
+end of it as soon as they can. M. Folgat belonged to this latter class.
+
+Next morning he woke up at daylight, and said to himself,--
+
+“I will call upon the Countess Claudieuse this morning.”
+
+At eight o’clock, he left the house, dressed more carefully than usual,
+and told the servant that he did not wish to be waited for if he should
+not be back for breakfast.
+
+He went first to the court-house, hoping to meet the clerk there. He
+was not disappointed. The waiting-rooms were quite deserted yet; but
+Mechinet was already at work in his office, writing with the feverish
+haste of a man who has to pay for a piece of property that he wants to
+call his own.
+
+When he saw Folgat enter, he rose, and said at once,--
+
+“You have heard the decision of the court?”
+
+“Yes, thanks to your kindness; and I must confess it has not surprised
+me. What do they think of it here?”
+
+“Everybody expects a condemnation.”
+
+“Well, we shall see!” said the young advocate.
+
+And, lowering his voice, he added,--
+
+“But I came for another purpose. The agent whom I expected has come, and
+he wishes to see you. He will write to you to make an appointment, and I
+hope you will consent.”
+
+“Certainly, with all my heart,” replied the clerk. “And God grant that
+he may succeed in extricating M. de Boiscoran from his difficulties,
+even if it were only to take the conceit out of my master.”
+
+“Ah! is M. Galpin so triumphant?”
+
+“Without the slightest reserve. He sees his old friend already at the
+galleys. He has received another letter of congratulation from the
+attorney general, and came here yesterday, when the court had
+adjourned, to read it to any one who would listen. Everybody, of course,
+complimented him, except the president, who turned his back upon him,
+and the commonwealth attorney, who told him in Latin that he was selling
+the bear’s skin before he had killed him.”
+
+In the meantime steps were heard coming down the passages; and M. Folgat
+said hurriedly,--
+
+“One more suggestion. Goudar desires to remain unknown. Do not speak of
+him to any living soul, and especially show no surprise at the costume
+in which you see him.”
+
+The noise of a door which was opened interrupted him. One of the judges
+entered, who, after having bowed very civilly, asked the clerk a number
+of questions about a case which was to come on the same day.
+
+“Good-bye, M. Mechinet,” said the young advocate.
+
+And his next visit was to Dr. Seignebos. When he rang the bell, a
+servant came to the door, and said,--
+
+“The doctor is gone out; but he will be back directly, and has told me
+to beg you to wait for him in his study.”
+
+Such an evidence of perfect trust was unheard of. No one was ever
+allowed to remain alone in his sanctuary. It was an immense room, quite
+full of most varied objects, which at a glance revealed the opinions,
+tastes, and predilections of the owner. The first thing to strike the
+visitor as he entered was an admirable bust of Bichat, flanked on either
+side by smaller busts of Robespierre and Rousseau. A clock of the time
+of Louis XIV. stood between the windows, and marked the seconds with a
+noise which sounded like the rattling of old iron. One whole side was
+filled with books of all kinds, unbound or bound, in a way which would
+have set M. Daubigeon laughing very heartily. A huge cupboard adapted
+for collections of plants bespoke a passing fancy for botany; while an
+electric machine recalled the time when the doctor believed in cures by
+electricity.
+
+On the table in the centre of the room vast piles of books betrayed the
+doctor’s recent studies. All the authors who have spoken of insanity
+or idiocy were there, from Apostolides to Tardien. M. Folgat was still
+looking around when Dr. Seignebos entered, always like a bombshell, but
+far more cheerful than usual.
+
+“I knew I should find you here!” he cried still in the door. “You come
+to ask me to meet Goudar.”
+
+The young advocate started, and said, all amazed,--
+
+“Who can have told you?”
+
+“Goudar himself. I like that man. I am sure no one will suspect me of
+having a fancy for any thing that is connected with the police. I have
+had too much to do all my life with spies and that ilk. But your man
+might almost reconcile me with that department.”
+
+“When did you see him?”
+
+“This morning at seven. He was so prodigiously tired of losing his
+time in his garret at the Red Lamb, that it occurred to him to
+pretend illness, and to send for me. I went, and found a kind of
+street-minstrel, who seemed to me to be perfectly well. But, as soon
+as we were alone, he told me all about it, asking me my opinion, and
+telling me his ideas. M. Folgat, that man Goudar is very clever: I tell
+you so; and we understand each other perfectly.”
+
+“Has he told you what he proposes to do?”
+
+“Nearly so. But he has not authorized me to speak of it. Have patience;
+let him go to work, wait, and you will see if old Seignebos has a keen
+scent.”
+
+Saying this with an air of sublime conceit, he took off his spectacles,
+and set to work wiping them industriously.
+
+“Well, I will wait,” said the young advocate. “And, since that makes an
+end to my business here, I beg you will let me speak to you of another
+matter. M. de Boiscoran has charged me with a message to the Countess
+Claudieuse.”
+
+“The deuce!”
+
+“And to try to obtain from her the means for our discharge.”
+
+“Do you expect she will do it?”
+
+M. Folgat could hardly retain an impatient gesture.
+
+“I have accepted the mission,” he said dryly, “and I mean to carry it
+out.”
+
+“I understand, my dear sir. But you will not see the countess. The count
+is very ill. She does not leave his bedside, and does not even receive
+her most intimate friends.”
+
+“And still I must see her. I must at any hazard place a note which my
+client has confided to me, in her own hands. And look here, doctor, I
+mean to be frank with you. It was exactly because I foresaw there would
+be difficulties, that I came to you to ask your assistance in overcoming
+or avoiding them.”
+
+“To me?”
+
+“Are you not the count’s physician?”
+
+“Ten thousand devils!” cried Dr. Seignebos. “You do not mince matters,
+you lawyers!”
+
+And then speaking in a lower tone, and replying apparently to his own
+objections rather than to M. Folgat, he said,--
+
+“Certainly, I attend Count Claudieuse, whose illness, by the way, upsets
+all my theories, and defies all my experience: but for that very reason
+I can do nothing. Our profession has certain rules which cannot be
+infringed upon without compromising the whole medical profession.”
+
+“But it is a question of life and death with Jacques, sir, with a
+friend.”
+
+“And a fellow Republican, to be sure. But I cannot help you without
+abusing the confidence of the Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+“Ah, sir! Has not that woman committed a crime for which M. de
+Boiscoran, though innocent, will be arraigned in court?”
+
+“I think so; but still”--
+
+He reflected a moment, and then suddenly snatched up his broad-brimmed
+hat, drew it over his head, and cried,--
+
+“In fact, so much the worse for her! There are sacred interests which
+override every thing. Come!”
+
+
+
+XXV.
+
+Count Claudieuse and his wife had installed themselves, the day after
+the fire, in Mautrec Street. The house which the mayor had taken for
+them had been for more than a century in the possession of the great
+Julias family, and is still considered one of the finest and most
+magnificent mansions in Sauveterre.
+
+In less than ten minutes Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat had reached the
+house. From the street, nothing was visible but a tall wall, as old as
+the castle, according to the claims of archaeologists, and covered
+all over with a mass of wild flowers. In this wall there is a huge
+entrance-gate with folding-doors. During the day one-half is opened, and
+a light, low open-work railing put in, which rings a bell as soon as it
+is pushed open.
+
+You then cross a large garden, in which a dozen statues, covered with
+green moss, are falling to pieces on their pedestals, overshadowed by
+magnificent old linden-trees. The house has only two stories. A large
+hall extends from end to end of the lower story; and at the end a wide
+staircase with stone steps and a superb iron railing leads up stairs.
+When they entered the hall, Dr. Seignebos opened a door on the right
+hand.
+
+“Step in here and wait,” he said to M. Folgat. “I will go up stairs and
+see the count, whose room is in the second story, and I will send you
+the countess.”
+
+The young advocate did as he was bid, and found himself in a large
+room, brilliantly lighted up by three tall windows that went down to the
+ground, and looked out upon the garden. This room must have been superb
+formerly. The walls were wainscoted with arabesques and lines in gold.
+The ceiling was painted, and represented a number of fat little angels
+sporting in a sky full of golden stars.
+
+But time had passed its destroying hand over all this splendor of the
+past age, had half effaced the paintings, tarnished the gold of the
+arabesques, and faded the blue of the ceiling and the rosy little loves.
+Nor was the furniture calculated to make compensation for this decay.
+The windows had no curtains. On the mantelpiece stood a worn-out clock
+and half-broken candelabra; then, here and there, pieces of furniture
+that would not match, such as had been rescued from the fire at
+Valpinson,--chairs, sofas, arm-chairs, and a round table, all battered
+and blackened by the flames.
+
+But M. Folgat paid little attention to these details. He only thought of
+the grave step on which he was venturing, and which he now only looked
+at in its full strangeness and extreme boldness. Perhaps he would have
+fled at the last moment if he could have done so; and he was only able
+by a supreme effort to control his excitement.
+
+At last he heard a rapid, light step in the hall; and almost immediately
+the Countess Claudieuse appeared. He recognized her at once, such as
+Jacques had described her to him, calm, serious, and serene, as if her
+soul were soaring high above all human passions. Far from diminishing
+her exquisite beauty, the terrible events of the last months had only
+surrounded her, as it were, with a divine halo. She had fallen off
+a little, however. And the dark semicircle under her eyes, and the
+disorder of her hair, betrayed the fatigue and the anxiety of the long
+nights which she had spent by her husband’s bedside.
+
+As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked,--
+
+“You are M. de Boiscoran’s counsel?”
+
+“Yes, madam,” replied the young advocate.
+
+“The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me.”
+
+“Yes, madam.”
+
+With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself,
+she said,--
+
+“I hear, sir.”
+
+M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice,--
+
+“I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client’s true
+position.”
+
+“That is useless, sir. I know.”
+
+“You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may be
+condemned?”
+
+She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly,--
+
+“I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a most
+infamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unless
+God works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my children
+without a father.”
+
+“But M. de Boiscoran is innocent, madam.”
+
+The features of the countess assumed an expression of profound surprise;
+and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said,--
+
+“And who, then, is the murderer?”
+
+Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips from
+uttering the fatal word, “You,” prompted by his indignant conscience.
+But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying,
+he said,--
+
+“To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, an
+advocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add that
+the counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secrets
+which have been confided to him.”
+
+“I do not understand, sir.”
+
+“My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence.
+He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honor
+rather than to betray the honor of another person.”
+
+The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying,--
+
+“My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?”
+
+But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go.
+
+“I am desired by M. de Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter.”
+
+The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise.
+
+“To me?” she said. “On what ground?”
+
+Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques’s letter from his
+portfolio, and handed it to her.
+
+“Here it is!” he said.
+
+She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But,
+as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in her
+face, and said with flaming eyes,--
+
+“Do you know, sir, what this letter contains?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know that M. de Boiscoran dares call me by my first name,
+Genevieve, as my husband does, and my father?”
+
+The decisive moment had come, and M. Folgat had all his self-possession.
+
+“M. de Boiscoran, madame, claims that he used to call you so in former
+days,--in Vine Street,--in days when you called him Jacques.”
+
+The countess seemed to be utterly bewildered.
+
+“But that is sheer infamy, sir,” she stammered. “What! M. de Boiscoran
+should have dared tell you that I, the countess Claudieuse, have been
+his--mistress?”
+
+“He certainly said so, madam; and he affirms, that a few moments
+before the fire broke out, he was near you, and that, if his hands were
+blackened, it was because he had burned your letters and his.”
+
+She rose at these words, and said in a penetrating voice,--
+
+“And you could believe that,--you? Ah! M. de Boiscoran’s other crimes
+are nothing in comparison with this! He is not satisfied with having
+burnt our house, and ruined us: he means to dishonor us. He is not
+satisfied with having murdered my husband: he must ruin the honor of his
+wife also.”
+
+She spoke so loud, that her voice must have been distinctly heard in the
+vestibule.
+
+“Lower, madam, I pray you speak lower,” said M. Folgat.
+
+She cast upon him a crushing glance; and, raising her voice still
+higher, she went on,--
+
+“Yes, I understand very well that you are afraid of being heard. But
+I--what have I to fear? I could wish the whole world to hear us, and to
+judge between us. Lower, you say? Why should I speak less loud? Do you
+think that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letter
+would not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon have
+satisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! I
+have never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lost
+already, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, without
+friends.”
+
+“But, madam, M. de Boiscoran pledges himself to the most perfect
+secrecy.”
+
+“Secrecy in what? In your cowardly insults, your abominable plots, of
+which this, no doubt, is but a beginning?”
+
+M. Folgat turned livid under this insult.
+
+“Ah, take care, madam,” he said in a hoarse voice: “we have proof,
+absolute, overwhelming proof.”
+
+The countess stopped him by an imperious gesture, and with the
+haughtiest disdain, grief, and wrath, she said,--
+
+“Well, then, produce your proof. Go, hasten, act as you like. We shall
+see if the vile calumnies of an incendiary can stain the pure reputation
+of an honest woman. We shall see if a single speck of this mud in which
+you wallow can reach up to me.”
+
+And, throwing Jacques’s letter at M. Folgat’s feet, she went to the
+door.
+
+“Madam,” said M. Folgat once more,--“madam!”
+
+She did not even condescend to turn round: she disappeared, leaving him
+standing in the middle of the room, so overcome with amazement, that he
+could not collect his thoughts. Fortunately Dr. Seignebos came in.
+
+“Upon my word!” he said, “I never thought the countess would take my
+treachery so coolly. When she came out from you just now, she asked me,
+in the same tone as every day, how I had found her husband, and what was
+to be done. I told her”--
+
+But the rest of the sentence remained unspoken: the doctor had become
+aware of M. Folgat’s utter consternation.
+
+“Why, what on earth is the matter?” he asked.
+
+The young advocate looked at him with an utterly bewildered air.
+
+“This is the matter: I ask myself whether I am awake or dreaming. This
+is the matter: that, if this woman is guilty, she possesses an audacity
+beyond all belief.”
+
+“How, if? Have you changed your mind about her guilt?”
+
+M. Folgat looked altogether disheartened.
+
+“Ah!” he said, “I hardly know myself. Do you not see that I have lost my
+head, that I do not know what to think, and what to believe?”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Yes, indeed! And yet, doctor, I am not a simpleton. I have now been
+pleading five years in criminal courts: I have had to dive down into
+the lowest depths of society; I have seen strange things, and met with
+exceptional specimens, and heard fabulous stories”--
+
+It was the doctor’s turn, now, to be amazed; and he actually forgot to
+trouble his gold spectacles.
+
+“Why? What did the countess say?” he asked.
+
+“I might tell you every word,” replied M. Folgat, “and you would be none
+the wiser. You ought to have been here, and seen her, and heard her!
+What a woman! Not a muscle in her face was moving; her eye remained
+limpid and clear; no emotion was felt in her voice. And with what an air
+she defied me! But come, doctor, let us be gone!”
+
+They went out, and had already gone about a third down the long avenue
+in the garden, when they saw the oldest daughter of the countess coming
+towards them, on her way to the house, accompanied by her governess.
+Dr. Seignebos stopped, and pressing the arm of the young advocate, and
+bending over to him, he whispered into his ear,--
+
+“Mind!” he said. “You know the truth is in the lips of children.”
+
+“What do you expect?” murmured M. Folgat.
+
+“To settle a doubtful point. Hush! Let me manage it.”
+
+By this time the little girl had come up to them. It was a very graceful
+girl of eight or nine years, light haired, with large blue eyes, tall
+for her age, and displaying all the intelligence of a young girl,
+without her timidity.
+
+“How are you, little Martha?” said the doctor to her in his gentlest
+voice, which was very soft when he chose.
+
+“Good-morning, gentlemen!” she replied with a nice little courtesy.
+
+Dr. Seignebos bent down to kiss her rosy cheeks, and them, looking at
+her, he said,--
+
+“You look sad, Martha?”
+
+“Yes, because papa and little sister are sick,” she replied with a deep
+sigh.
+
+“And also because you miss Valpinson?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+“Still it is very pretty here, and you have a large garden to play in.”
+
+She shook her head, and, lowering her voice, she said,--
+
+“It is certainly very pretty here; but--I am afraid.”
+
+“And of what, little one?”
+
+She pointed to the statues, and all shuddering, she said,--
+
+“In the evening, when it grows dark, I fancy they are moving. I think
+I see people hiding behind the trees, like the man who wanted to kill
+papa.”
+
+“You ought to drive away those ugly notions, Miss Martha,” said M.
+Folgat.
+
+But Dr. Seignebos did not allow him to go on.
+
+“What, Martha? I did not know you were so timid. I thought, on the
+contrary, you were very brave. Your papa told me the night of the fire
+you were not afraid of any thing.”
+
+“Papa was right.”
+
+“And yet, when you were aroused by the flames, it must have been
+terrible.”
+
+“Oh! it was not the flames which waked me, doctor.”
+
+“Still the fire had broken out.”
+
+“I was not asleep at that time, doctor. I had been roused by the
+slamming of the door, which mamma had closed very noisily when she came
+in.”
+
+One and the same presentiment made M. Folgat tremble and the doctor.
+
+“You must be mistaken, Martha,” the doctor went on. “Your mamma had not
+come back at the time of the fire.”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir!”
+
+“No, you are mistaken.”
+
+The little girl drew herself up with that solemn air which children are
+apt to assume when their statements are doubted. She said,--
+
+“I am quite sure of what I say, and I remember every thing perfectly.
+I had been put to bed at the usual hour, and, as I was very tired with
+playing, I had fallen asleep at once. While I was asleep, mamma had gone
+out; but her coming back waked me up. As soon as she came in, she bent
+over little sister’s bed, and looked at her for a moment so sadly, that
+I thought I should cry. Then she went, and sat down by the window; and
+from my bed, where I lay silently watching her, I saw the tears running
+down her cheeks, when all of a sudden a shot was fired.”
+
+M. Folgat and Dr. Seignebos looked anxiously at each other.
+
+“Then, my little one,” insisted Dr. Seignebos, “you are quite sure your
+mamma was in your room when the first shot was fired?”
+
+“Certainly, doctor. And mamma, when she heard it, rose up straight, and
+lowered her head, like one who listens. Almost immediately, the second
+shot was fired. Mamma raised her hands to heaven, and cried out, ‘Great
+God!’ And then she went out, running fast.”
+
+Never was a smile more false than that which Dr. Seignebos forced
+himself to retain on his lips while the little girl was telling her
+story.
+
+“You have dreamed all that, Martha,” he said.
+
+The governess here interposed, saying,--
+
+“The young lady has not dreamed it, sir. I, also, heard the shots fired;
+and I had just opened the door of my room to hear what was going on,
+when I saw madame cross the landing swiftly, and rush down stairs.
+
+“Oh! I do not doubt it,” said the doctor, in the most indifferent tone
+he could command: “the circumstance is very trifling.”
+
+But the little girl was bent on finishing her story.
+
+“When mamma had left,” she went on, “I became frightened, and raised
+myself on my bed to listen. Soon I heard a noise which I did not
+know,--cracking and snapping of wood, and then cries at a distance. I
+got more frightened, jumped down, and ran to open the door. But I nearly
+fell down, there was such a cloud of smoke and sparks. Still I did
+not lose my head. I waked my little sister, and tried to get on the
+staircase, when Cocoleu rushed in like a madman, and took us both out.”
+
+“Martha,” called a voice from the house, “Martha!”
+
+The child cut short her story, and said,--
+
+“Mamma is calling me.”
+
+And, dropping again her nice little courtesy, she said,--
+
+“Good-by, gentlemen!”
+
+Martha had disappeared; and Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat, still standing
+on the same spot, looked at each other in utter distress.
+
+“We have nothing more to do here,” said M. Folgat.
+
+“No, indeed! Let us go back and make haste; for perhaps they are waiting
+for me. You must breakfast with me.”
+
+They went away very much disheartened, and so absorbed in their defeat,
+that they forgot to return the salutations with which they were greeted
+in the street,--a circumstance carefully noticed by several watchful
+observers.
+
+When the doctor reached home, he said to his servant,--
+
+“This gentleman will breakfast with me. Give us a bottle of medis.”
+
+And, when he had shown the advocate into his study, he asked,--
+
+“And now what do you think of your adventure?”
+
+M. Folgat looked completely undone.
+
+“I cannot understand it,” he murmured.
+
+“Could it be possible that the countess should have tutored the child to
+say what she told us?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“And her governess?”
+
+“Still less. A woman of that character trusts nobody. She struggles; she
+triumphs or succumbs alone.”
+
+“Then the child and the governess have told us the truth?”
+
+“I am convinced of that.”
+
+“So am I. Then she had no share in the murder of her husband?”
+
+“Alas!”
+
+M. Folgat did not notice that his “Alas!” was received by Dr. Seignebos
+with an air of triumph. He had taken off his spectacles, and, wiping
+them vigorously, he said,--
+
+“If the countess is innocent, Jacques must be guilty, you think? Jacques
+must have deceived us all, then?”
+
+M. Folgat shook his head.
+
+“I pray you, doctor, do not press me just now. Give me time to collect
+my thoughts. I am bewildered by all these conjectures. No, I am sure
+M. de Boiscoran has not told a falsehood, and the countess has been his
+mistress. No, he has not deceived us; and on the night of the crime he
+really had an interview with the countess. Did not Martha tell us that
+her mother had gone out? And where could she have gone, except to meet
+M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+He paused a moment.
+
+“Oh, come, come!” said the physician, “you need not be afraid of me.”
+
+“Well, it might possibly be, that, after the countess had left M. de
+Boiscoran, Fate might have stepped in. Jacques has told us how the
+letters which he was burning had suddenly blazed up, and with such
+violence that he was frightened. Who can tell whether some burning
+fragments may not have set a straw-rick on fire? You can judge yourself.
+On the point of leaving the place, M. de Boiscoran sees this beginning
+of a fire. He hastens to put it out. His efforts are unsuccessful.
+The fire increases step by step: it lights up the whole front of the
+chateau. At that moment Count Claudieuse comes out. Jacques thinks he
+has been watched and detected; he sees his marriage broken off, his life
+ruined, his happiness destroyed; he loses his head, aims, fires, and
+flees instantly. And thus you explain his missing the count, and also
+this fact which seemed to preclude the idea of premeditated murder, that
+the gun was loaded with small-shot.”
+
+“Great God!” cried the doctor.
+
+“What, what have I said?”
+
+“Take care never to repeat that! The suggestion you make is so fearfully
+plausible, that, if it becomes known, no one will ever believe you when
+you tell the real truth.”
+
+“The truth? Then you think I am mistaken?”
+
+“Most assuredly.”
+
+Then fixing his spectacles on his nose, Dr. Seignebos added,--
+
+“I never could admit that the countess should have fired at her husband.
+I now see that I was right. She has not committed the crime directly;
+but she has done it indirectly.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“She would not be the first woman who has done so. What I imagine is
+this: the countess had made up her mind, and arranged her plan, before
+meeting Jacques. The murderer was already at his post. If she had
+succeeded in winning Jacques back, her accomplice would have put away
+his gun, and quietly gone to bed. As she could not induce Jacques to
+give up his marriage, she made a sign, and the fire was lighted, and the
+count was shot.”
+
+The young advocate did not seem to be fully convinced.
+
+“In that case, there would have been premeditation,” he objected; “and
+how, then, came the gun to be loaded with small-shot?”
+
+“The accomplice had not sense enough to know better.”
+
+Although he saw very well the doctor’s drift, M. Folgat started up,--
+
+“What?” he said, “always Cocoleu?”
+
+Dr. Seignebos tapped his forehead with the end of his finger, and
+replied,--
+
+“When an idea has once made its way in there, it remains fixed. Yes, the
+countess has an accomplice; and that accomplice is Cocoleu; and, if he
+has no sense, you see the wretched idiot at least carries his devotion
+and his discretion very far.”
+
+“If what you say is true, doctor, we shall never get the key of this
+affair; for Cocoleu will never confess.”
+
+“Don’t swear to that. There is a way.”
+
+He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of his servant.
+
+“Sir,” said the latter, “there is a gendarme below who brings you a man
+who has to be sent to the hospital at once.”
+
+“Show them up,” said the doctor.
+
+“And, while the servant was gone to do his bidding, the doctor said,--
+
+“And here is the way. Now mind!”
+
+A heavy step was heard shaking the stairs; and almost immediately a
+gendarme appeared, who in one hand held a violin, and with the other
+aided a poor creature, who seemed unable to walk alone.
+
+“Goudar!” was on M. Folgat’s lips.
+
+It was Goudar, really, but in what a state! His clothes muddy, and torn,
+pale, with haggard eyes, his beard and his lips covered with a white
+foam.
+
+“The story is this,” said the gendarme. “This individual was playing
+the fiddle in the court of the barrack, and we were looking out of
+the window, when all of a sudden he fell on the ground, rolled about,
+twisted and writhed, while he uttered fearful howls, and foamed like a
+mad dog. We picked him up; and I bring him to you.”
+
+“Leave us alone with him,” said the physician.
+
+The gendarme went out; and, as soon as the door was shut, Goudar cried
+with a voice full of intense disgust,--
+
+“What a profession! Just look at me! What a disgrace if my wife should
+see me in this state! Phew!”
+
+And, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face, and drew
+from his mouth a small piece of soap.
+
+“But the point is,” said the doctor, “that you have played the epileptic
+so well, that the gendarmes have been taken in.”
+
+“A fine trick indeed, and very creditable.”
+
+“An excellent trick, since you can now quite safely go to the hospital.
+They will put you in the same ward with Cocoleu, and I shall come and
+see you every morning. You are free to act now.”
+
+“Never mind me,” said the detective. “I have my plan.”
+
+Then turning to M. Folgat, he added,--
+
+“I am a prisoner now; but I have taken my precautions. The agent whom I
+have sent to England will report to you. I have, besides, to ask a favor
+at your hands. I have written to my wife to send her letters to you:
+you can send them to me by the doctor. And now I am ready to become
+Cocoleu’s companion, and I mean to earn the house in Vine Street.”
+
+Dr. Seignebos signed an order of admission. He recalled the gendarme;
+and, after having praised his kindness, he asked him to take “that poor
+devil” to the hospital. When he was alone once more with M. Folgat, he
+said,--
+
+“Now, my dear friend, let us consult. Shall we speak of what Martha has
+told us and of Goudar’s plan. I think not; for M. Galpin is watching us;
+and, if a mere suspicion of what is going on reaches the prosecution,
+all is lost. Let us content ourselves, then, with reporting to Jacques
+your interview with the countess; and as to the rest, Silence!”
+
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+Like all very clever men, Dr. Seignebos made the mistake of thinking
+other people as cunning as he was himself. M. Galpin was, of course,
+watching him, but by no means with the energy which one would have
+expected from so ambitious a man. He had, of course, been the first to
+be notified that the case was to be tried in open court, and from that
+moment he felt relieved of all anxiety.
+
+As to remorse, he had none. He did not even regret any thing. He did not
+think of it, that the prisoner who was thus to be tried had once been
+his friend,--a friend of whom he was proud, whose hospitality he had
+enjoyed, and whose favor he had eagerly sought in his matrimonial
+aspirations. No. He only saw one thing,--that he had engaged in a
+dangerous affair, on which his whole future was depending, and that he
+was going to win triumphantly.
+
+Evidently his responsibility was by no means gone; but his zeal in
+preparing the case for trial was no longer required. He need not appear
+at the trial. Whatever must be the result, he thought he should escape
+the blame, which he should surely have incurred if no true bill had been
+found. He did not disguise it from himself that he should be looked
+at askance by all Sauveterre, that his social relations were well-nigh
+broken off, and that no one would henceforth heartily shake hands with
+him. But that gave him no concern. Sauveterre, a miserable little town
+of five thousand inhabitants! He hoped with certainty he would not
+remain there long; and a brilliant preferment would amply repay him for
+his courage, and relieve him from all foolish reproaches.
+
+Besides, once in the large city to which he would be promoted, he
+could hope that distance would aid in attenuating and even effacing the
+impression made by his conduct. All that would be remembered after
+a time would be his reputation as one of those famous judges, who,
+according to the stereotyped phrase, “sacrifice every thing to the
+sacred interests of justice, who put inflexible duty high above all the
+considerations that trouble and disturb the vulgar mind, and whose heart
+is like a rock, against which all human passions are helplessly broken
+to pieces.”
+
+With such a reputation, with his knowledge of the world, and his
+eagerness to succeed, opportunities would not be wanting to put himself
+forward, to make himself known, to become useful, indispensable even. He
+saw himself already on the highest rungs of the official ladder. He was
+a judge in Bordeaux, in Lyons, in Paris itself!
+
+With such rose-colored dreams he fell asleep at night. The next morning,
+as he crossed the streets, his carriage haughtier and stiffer than ever,
+his firmly-closed lips, and the cold and severe look of his eyes, told
+the curious observers that there must be something new.
+
+“M. de Boiscoran’s case must be very bad indeed,” they said, “or M.
+Galpin would not look so very proud.”
+
+He went first to the commonwealth attorney. The truth is, he was still
+smarting under the severe reproaches of M. Daubigeon, and he thought he
+would enjoy his revenge now. He found the old book-worm, as usual, among
+his beloved books, and in worse humor than ever. He ignored it, handed
+him a number of papers to sign; and when his business was over, and
+while he was carefully replacing the documents in his bag with his
+monogram on the outside, he added with an air of indifference,--
+
+“Well, my dear sir, you have heard the decision of the court? Which of
+us was right?”
+
+M. Daubigeon shrugged his shoulders, and said angrily,--
+
+“Of course I am nothing but an old fool, a maniac: I give it up; and I
+say, like Horace’s man,--
+
+     ‘Stultum me fateor, liceat concedere vires
+     Atque etiam insanum.’”
+
+“You are joking. But what would have happened if I had listened to you?”
+
+“I don’t care to know.”
+
+“M. de Boiscoran would none the less have been sent to a jury.”
+
+“May be.”
+
+“Anybody else would have collected the proofs of his guilt just as well
+as I.”
+
+“That is a question.”
+
+“And I should have injured my reputation very seriously; for they would
+have called me one of those timid magistrates who are frightened at a
+nothing.”
+
+“That is as good a reputation as some others,” broke in the commonwealth
+attorney.
+
+He had vowed he would answer only in monosyllables; but his anger made
+him forget his oath. He added in a very severe tone,--
+
+“Another man would not have been bent exclusively upon proving that M.
+de Boiscoran was guilty.”
+
+“I certainly have proved it.”
+
+“Another man would have tried to solve the mystery.”
+
+“But I have solved it, I should think.”
+
+M. Daubigeon bowed ironically, and said,--
+
+“I congratulate you. It must be delightful to know the secret of all
+things, only you may be mistaken. You are an excellent hand at such
+investigations; but I am an older man than you in the profession. The
+more I think in this case, the less I understand it. If you know every
+thing so perfectly well, I wish you would tell me what could have been
+the motive for the crime, for, after all, we do not run the risk of
+losing our head without some very powerful and tangible purpose. Where
+was Jacques’s interest? You will tell me he hated Count Claudieuse. But
+is that an answer. Come, go for a moment to your own conscience. But
+stop! No one likes to do that.”
+
+M. Galpin was beginning to regret that he had ever come. He had hoped to
+find M. Daubigeon quite penitent, and here he was worse than ever.
+
+“The Court of Inquiry has felt no such scruples,” he said dryly.
+
+“No; but the jury may feel some. They are, occasionally, men of sense.”
+
+“The jury will condemn M. de Boiscoran without hesitation.”
+
+“I would not swear to that.”
+
+“You would if you knew who will plead.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!”
+
+“Oh, oh!”
+
+“You will not deny that he is a first-class man?”
+
+The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; and
+in the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness.
+
+“God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere’s eloquence. He is a
+powerful speaker, and rarely misses his man. But then, you know, cases
+are like books: they have their luck or ill luck. Jacques will be well
+defended.”
+
+“I am not afraid of M. Magloire.”
+
+“But Mr. Folgat?”
+
+“A young man with no weight. I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant.”
+
+“Do you know the plan of the defence?”
+
+This was evidently the place where the shoe pinched; but M. Galpin took
+care not to let it be seen, and replied,--
+
+“I do not. But that does not matter. M. de Boiscoran’s friends at first
+thought of making capital out of Cocoleu; but they have given that up.
+I am sure of that! The police-agent whom I have charged to keep his eyes
+on the idiot tells me that Dr. Seignebos does not trouble himself about
+the man any more.”
+
+M. Daubigeon smiled sarcastically, and said, much more for the purpose
+of teasing his visitor than because he believed it himself,--
+
+“Take care! do not trust appearances. You have to do with very clever
+people. I always told you Cocoleu is probably the mainspring of the
+whole case. The very fact that M. Gransiere will speak ought to make you
+tremble. If he should not succeed, he would, of course, blame you, and
+never forgive you in all his life. Now, you know he may fail. ‘There is
+many a slip between the cup and the lip.’
+
+“And I am disposed to think with Villon,--
+
+‘Nothing is so certain as uncertain things.’”
+
+M. Galpin could tell very well that he should gain nothing by prolonging
+the discussion, and so he said,--
+
+“Happen what may, I shall always know that my conscience supports me.”
+
+Then he made great haste to take leave, lest an answer should come from
+M. Daubigeon. He went out; and as he descended the stairs, he said to
+himself,--
+
+“It is losing time to reason with that old fogy who sees in the events
+of the day only so many opportunities for quotations.”
+
+But he struggled in vain against his own feelings; he had lost his
+self-confidence. M. Daubigeon had revealed to him a new danger which he
+had not foreseen. And what a danger!--the resentment of one of the most
+eminent men of the French bar, one of those bitter, bilious men who
+never forgive. M. Galpin had, no doubt, thought of the possibility of
+failure, that is to say, of an acquittal; but he had never considered
+the consequences of such a check.
+
+Who would have to pay for it? The prosecuting attorney first and
+foremost, because, in France, the prosecuting attorney makes the
+accusation a personal matter, and considers himself insulted and
+humiliated, if he misses his man.
+
+Now, what would happen in such a case?
+
+M. Gransiere, no doubt, would hold him responsible. He would say,--
+
+“I had to draw my arguments from your part of the work. I did not obtain
+a condemnation, because your work was imperfect. A man like myself ought
+not to be exposed to such an humiliation, and, least of all, in a case
+which is sure to create an immense sensation. You do not understand your
+business.”
+
+Such words were a public disgrace. Instead of the hoped-for promotion,
+they would bring him an order to go into exile, to Corsica, or to
+Algiers.
+
+M. Galpin shuddered at the idea. He saw himself buried under the ruins
+of his castles in Spain. And, unluckily, he went once more over all
+the papers of the investigation, analyzing the evidence he had, like a
+soldier, who, on the eve of a battle, furbishes up his arms. However,
+he only found one objection, the same which M. Daubigeon had made,--what
+interest could Jacques have had in committing so great a crime?
+
+“There,” he said, “is evidently the weak part of the armor; and I would
+do well to point it out to M. Gransiere. Jacques’s counsel are capable
+of making that the turning-point of their plea.”
+
+And, in spite of all he had said to M. Daubigeon, he was very much
+afraid of the counsel for the defence. He knew perfectly well
+the prestige which M. Magloire derived from his integrity and
+disinterestedness. It was no secret to him, that a cause which M.
+Magloire espoused was at once considered a good cause. They said of
+him,--
+
+“He may be mistaken; but whatever he says he believes.” He could not but
+have a powerful influence, therefore, not on judges who came into court
+with well-established opinions, but with jurymen who are under the
+influence of the moment, and may be carried off by the eloquence of a
+speech. It is true, M. Magloire did not possess that burning eloquence
+which thrills a crowd, but M. Folgat had it, and in an uncommon degree.
+M. Galpin had made inquiries; and one of his Paris friends had written
+to him,--
+
+“Mistrust Folgat. He is a far more dangerous logician than Lachant, and
+possesses the same skill in troubling the consciences of jurymen,
+in moving them, drawing tears from them, and forcing them into an
+acquittal. Mind, especially, any incidents that may happen during the
+trial; for he has always some kind of surprise in reserve.”
+
+“These are my adversaries,” thought M. Galpin. “What surprise, I wonder,
+is there in store for me? Have they really given up all idea of using
+Cocoleu?”
+
+He had no reason for mistrusting his agent; and yet his apprehensions
+became so serious, that he went out of his way to look in at the
+hospital. The lady superior received him, as a matter of course, with
+all the signs of profound respect; and, when he inquired about Cocoleu,
+she added,--
+
+“Would you like to see him?”
+
+“I confess I should be very glad to do so.”
+
+“Come with me, then.”
+
+She took him into the garden, and there asked a gardener,--
+
+“Where is the idiot?”
+
+The man put his spade into the ground; and, with that affected reverence
+which characterizes all persons employed in a convent, he answered,--
+
+“The idiot is down there in the middle avenue, mother, in his usual
+place, you know, which nothing will induce him to leave.”
+
+M. Galpin and the lady superior found him there. They had taken off
+the rags which he wore when he was admitted, and put him into the
+hospital-dress, which was a large gray coat and a cotton cap. He did not
+look any more intelligent for that; but he was less repulsive. He was
+seated on the ground, playing with the gravel.
+
+“Well, my boy,” asked M. Galpin, “how do you like this?”
+
+He raised his inane face, and fixed his dull eye on the lady superior;
+but he made no reply.
+
+“Would you like to go back to Valpinson?” asked the lawyer again. He
+shuddered, but did not open his lips.
+
+“Look here,” said M. Galpin, “answer me, and I’ll give you a ten-cent
+piece.”
+
+No: Cocoleu was at his play again.
+
+“That is the way he is always,” declared the lady superior. “Since he
+is here, no one has ever gotten a word out of him. Promises, threats,
+nothing has any effect. One day I thought I would try an experiment;
+and, instead of letting him have his breakfast, I said to him, ‘You
+shall have nothing to eat till you say, “I am hungry.”’ At the end of
+twenty-four hours I had to let him have his pittance; for he would have
+starved himself sooner than utter a word.”
+
+“What does Dr. Seignebos think of him?”
+
+“The doctor does not want to hear his name mentioned,” replied the lady
+superior.
+
+And, raising her eyes to heaven, she added,--
+
+“And that is a clear proof, that, but for the direct intervention of
+Providence, the poor creature would never have denounced the crime which
+he had witnessed.”
+
+Immediately, however, she returned to earthly things, and asked,--
+
+“But will you not relieve us soon of this poor idiot, who is a heavy
+charge on our hospital? Why not send him back to his village, where he
+found his support before? We have quite a number of sick and poor, and
+very little room.”
+
+“We must wait, sister, till M. de Boiscoran’s trial is finished,”
+ replied the magistrate.
+
+The lady superior looked resigned, and said,--
+
+“That is what the mayor told me, and it is very provoking, I must say:
+however, they have allowed me to turn him out of the room which they had
+given him at first. I have sent him to the Insane Ward. That is the name
+we give to a few little rooms, enclosed by a wall, where we keep the
+poor insane, who are sent to us provisionally.”
+
+Here she was interrupted by the janitor of the hospital, who came up,
+bowing.
+
+“What do you want?” she asked.
+
+Vaudevin, the janitor, handed her a note.
+
+“A man brought by a gendarme,” he replied. “Immediately to be admitted.”
+
+The lady superior read the note, signed by Dr. Seignebos.
+
+“Epileptic,” she said, “and somewhat idiotic: as if we wanted any more!
+And a stranger into the bargain! Really Dr. Seignebos is too yielding.
+Why does he not send all these people to their own parish to be taken
+care of?”
+
+And, with a very elastic step for her age, she went to the parlor,
+followed by M. Galpin and the janitor. They had put the new patient in
+there, and, sunk upon a bench, he looked the picture of utter idiocy.
+After having looked at him for a minute, she said,--
+
+“Put him in the Insane Ward: he can keep Cocoleu company. And let the
+sister know at the drug-room. But no, I will go myself. You will excuse
+me, sir.”
+
+And then she left the room. M. Galpin was much comforted.
+
+“There is no danger here,” he said to himself. “And if M. Folgat counts
+upon any incident during the trial, Cocoleu, at all events, will not
+furnish it to him.”
+
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+At the same hour when the magistrate left the hospital, Dr. Seignebos
+and M. Folgat parted, after a frugal breakfast,--the one to visit his
+patients, the other to go to the prison. The young advocate was very
+much troubled. He hung his head as he went down the street; and the
+diplomatic citizens who compared his dejected appearance with the
+victorious air of M. Galpin came to the conclusion that Jacques de
+Boiscoran was irrevocably lost.
+
+At that moment M. Folgat was almost of their opinion. He had to pass
+through one of those attacks of discouragement, to which the most
+energetic men succumb at times, when they are bent upon pursuing an
+uncertain end which they ardently desire.
+
+The declarations made by little Martha and the governess had literally
+overwhelmed him. Just when he thought he had the end of the thread in
+his hand, the tangle had become worse than ever. And so it had been from
+the commencement. At every step he took, the problem had become more
+complicated than ever. At every effort he made, the darkness, instead of
+being dispelled, had become deeper. Not that he as yet doubted Jacques’s
+innocence. No! The suspicion which for a moment had flashed through his
+mind had passed away instantly. He admitted, with Dr. Seignebos, the
+possibility that there was an accomplice, and that it was Cocoleu, in
+all probability, who had been charged with the execution of the crime.
+But how could that fact be made useful to the defence? He saw no way.
+
+Goudar was an able man; and the manner in which he had introduced
+himself into the hospital and Cocoleu’s company indicated a master. But
+however cunning he was, however experienced in all the tricks of his
+profession, how could he ever hope to make a man confess who intrenched
+himself behind the rampart of feigned imbecility? If he had only had an
+abundance of time before him! But the days were counted, and he would
+have to hurry his measures.
+
+“I feel like giving it up,” thought the young lawyer.
+
+In the meantime he had reached the prison. He felt the necessity of
+concealing his anxiety. While Blangin went before him through the long
+passages, rattling his keys, he endeavored to give to his features an
+expression of hopeful confidence.
+
+“At last you come!” cried Jacques.
+
+He had evidently suffered terribly since the day before. A feverish
+restlessness had disordered his features, and reddened his eyes. He was
+shaking with nervous tremor. Still he waited till the jailer had shut
+the door; and then he asked hoarsely,--
+
+“What did she say?”
+
+M. Folgat gave him a minute account of his mission, quoting the words of
+the countess almost literally.
+
+“That is just like her!” exclaimed the prisoner. “I think I can hear
+her! What a woman! To defy me in this way!”
+
+And in his anger he wrung his hands till they nearly bled.
+
+“You see,” said the young advocate, “there is no use in trying to get
+outside of our circle of defence. Any new effort would be useless.”
+
+“No!” replied Jacques. “No, I shall not stop there!”
+
+And after a few moments’ reflection,--if he can be said to have been
+able to reflect,--he said,--
+
+“I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for having exposed you to such
+insults. I ought to have foreseen it, or, rather, I did foresee it. I
+knew that was not the way to begin the battle. But I was a coward, I
+was afraid, I drew back, fool that I was! As if I had not known that we
+shall at any rate have to come to the last extremity! Well, I am ready
+now, and I shall do it!”
+
+“What do you mean to do?”
+
+“I shall go and see the Countess Claudieuse. I shall tell her”--
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“You do not think she will deny it to my face? When I once have her
+under my eye, I shall make her confess the crime of which I am accused.”
+
+M. Folgat had promised Dr. Seignebos not to mention what Martha and her
+governess had said; but he felt no longer bound to conceal it.
+
+“And if the countess should not be guilty?” he asked.
+
+“Who, then, could be guilty?”
+
+“If she had an accomplice?”
+
+“Well, she will tell me who it is. I will insist upon it, I will make
+her tell. I will not be disgraced. I am innocent, I will not go to the
+galleys!”
+
+To try and make Jacques listen to reason would have been madness just
+now.
+
+“Have a care,” said the young lawyer. “Our defence is difficult enough
+already; do not make it still more so.”
+
+“I shall be careful.”
+
+“A scene might ruin us irrevocably.”
+
+“Be not afraid!”
+
+M. Folgat said nothing more. He thought he could guess by what means
+Jacques would try to get out of prison. But he did not ask him about
+the details, because his position as his counsel made it his duty not to
+know, or, at least, to seem not to know, certain things.
+
+“Now, my dear sir,” said the prisoner, “you will render me a service,
+will you not?”
+
+“What is it?”
+
+“I want to know as accurately as possible how the house in which the
+countess lives is arranged.”
+
+Without saying a word, M. Folgat took out a sheet of paper, and drew
+on it a plan of the house, as far as he knew,--of the garden, the
+entrance-hall, and the sitting-room.
+
+“And the count’s room,” asked Jacques, “where is that?”
+
+“In the upper story.”
+
+“You are sure he cannot get up?”
+
+“Dr. Seignebos told me so.”
+
+The prisoner seemed to be delighted.
+
+“Then all is right,” he said, “and I have only to ask you, my dear
+counsel, to tell Miss Dionysia that I must see her to-day, as soon as
+possible. I wish her to come accompanied by one of her aunts only. And,
+I beseech you, make haste.”
+
+M. Folgat did hasten; so that, twenty minutes later, he was at the young
+lady’s house. She was in her chamber. He sent word to her that he wished
+to see her; and, as soon as she heard that Jacques wanted her, she said
+simply,--
+
+“I am ready to go.”
+
+And, calling one of the Misses Lavarande, she told her,--
+
+“Come, Aunt Elizabeth, be quick. Take your hat and your shawl. I am
+going out, and you are going with me.”
+
+The prisoner counted so fully upon the promptness of his betrothed, that
+he had already gone down into the parlor when she arrived at the prison,
+quite out of breath from having walked so fast. He took her hands, and,
+pressing them to his lips, he said,--
+
+“Oh, my darling! how shall I ever thank you for your sublime fidelity in
+my misfortune? If I escape, my whole life will not suffice to prove my
+gratitude.”
+
+But he tried to master his emotion, and turning to Aunt Elizabeth, he
+said,--
+
+“Will you pardon me if I beg you to render me once more the service you
+have done me before? It is all important that no one should hear what I
+am going to say to Dionysia. I know I am watched.”
+
+Accustomed to passive obedience, the good lady left the room without
+daring to make the slightest remark, and went to keep watch in the
+passage. Dionysia was very much surprised; but Jacques did not give her
+time to utter a word. He said at once,--
+
+“You told me in this very place, that, if I wished to escape, Blangin
+would furnish me the means, did you not?”
+
+The young girl drew back, and stammered with an air of utter
+bewilderment,--
+
+“You do not want to flee?”
+
+“Never! Under no circumstances! But you ought to remember, that, while
+resisting all your arguments, I told you, that perhaps, some day or
+other, I might require a few hours of liberty.”
+
+“I remember.”
+
+“I begged you to sound the jailer on that point.”
+
+“I did so. For money he will always be ready to do your bidding.”
+
+Jacques seemed to breathe more freely.
+
+“Well, then,” he said again, “the time has come. To-morrow I shall have
+to be away all the evening. I shall like to leave about nine; and I
+shall be back at midnight.”
+
+Dionysia stopped him.
+
+“Wait,” she said; “I want to call Blangin’s wife.”
+
+The household of the jailer of Sauveterre was like many others. The
+husband was brutal, imperious, and tyrannical: he talked loud and
+positively, and thus made it appear that he was the master. The wife was
+humble, submissive, apparently resigned, and always ready to obey; but
+in reality she ruled by intelligence, as he ruled by main force. When
+the husband had promised any thing, the consent of the wife had still to
+be obtained; but, when the wife undertook to do any thing, the husband
+was bound through her. Dionysia, therefore, knew very well that she
+would have first to win over the wife. Mrs. Blangin came up in haste,
+her mouth full of hypocritical assurances of good will, vowing that
+she was heart and soul at her dear mistress’s command, recalling with
+delight the happy days when she was in M. de Chandore’s service, and
+regretting forevermore.
+
+“I know,” the young girl cut her short, “you are attached to me. But
+listen!”
+
+And then she promptly explained to her what she wanted; while Jacques,
+standing a little aside in the shade, watched the impression on the
+woman’s face. Gradually she raised her head; and, when Dionysia had
+finished, she said in a very different tone,--
+
+“I understand perfectly, and, if I were the master, I should say, ‘All
+right!’ But Blangin is master of the jail. Well, he is not bad; but
+he insists upon doing his duty. We have nothing but our place to live
+upon.”
+
+“Have I not paid you as much as your place is worth?”
+
+“Oh, I know you do not mind paying.”
+
+“You had promised me to speak to your husband about this matter.”
+
+“I have done so; but”--
+
+“I would give as much as I did before.”
+
+“In gold?”
+
+“Well, be it so, in gold.”
+
+A flash of covetousness broke forth from under the thick brows of the
+jailer’s wife; but, quite self-possessed, she went on,--
+
+“In that case, my man will probably consent. I will go and put him
+right, and then you can talk to him.”
+
+She went out hastily, and, as soon as she had disappeared, Jacques asked
+Dionysia,--
+
+“How much have you paid Blangin so far?”
+
+“Seventeen thousand francs.”
+
+“These people are robbing you outrageously.”
+
+“Ah, what does the money matter? I wish we were both of us ruined, if
+you were but free.”
+
+But it had not taken the wife long to persuade the husband. Blangin’s
+heavy steps were heard in the passage; and almost immediately, he
+entered, cap in hand, looking obsequious and restless.
+
+“My wife has told me every thing,” he said, “and I consent. Only we must
+understand each other. This is no trifle you are asking for.”
+
+Jacques interrupted him, and said,--
+
+“Let us not exaggerate the matter. I do not mean to escape: I only want
+to leave for a time. I shall come back, I give you my word of honor.”
+
+“Upon my life, that is not what troubles me. If the question was only
+to let you run off altogether, I should open the doors wide, and say,
+‘Good-by!’ A prisoner who runs away--that happens every day; but a
+prisoner who leaves for a few hours, and comes back again--Suppose
+anybody were to see you in town? Or if any one came and wanted to see
+you while you are gone? Or if they saw you come back again? What should
+I say? I am quite ready to be turned off for negligence. I have been
+paid for that. But to be tried as an accomplice, and to be put into jail
+myself. Stop! That is not what I mean to do.”
+
+This was evidently but a preface.
+
+“Oh! why lose so many words?” asked Dionysia. “Explain yourself clearly.”
+
+“Well, M. de Boiscoran cannot leave by the gate. At tattoo, at eight
+o’clock, the soldiers on guard at this season of the year go inside the
+prison, and until _reveille_ in the morning, or, in others words, till
+five o’clock, I can neither open nor shut the gates without calling the
+sergeant in command of the post.”
+
+“Did he want to extort more money? Did he make the difficulties out
+greater than they really were?”
+
+“After all,” said Jacques, “if you consent, there must be a way.”
+
+The jailer could dissemble no longer: he came out with it bluntly.
+
+“If the thing is to be done, you must get out as if you were escaping
+in good earnest. The wall between the two towers is, to my knowledge,
+at one place not over two feet thick; and on the other side, where there
+are nothing but bare grounds and the old ramparts, they never put a
+sentinel. I will get you a crowbar and a pickaxe, and you make a hole in
+the wall.”
+
+Jacques shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“And the next day,” he said, “when I am back, how will you explain that
+hole?”
+
+Blangin smiled.
+
+“Be sure,” he replied, “I won’t say the rats did it. I have thought of
+that too. At the same time with you, another prisoner will run off, who
+will not come back.”
+
+“What prisoner?”
+
+“Trumence, to be sure. He will be delighted to get away, and he will
+help you in making the hole in the wall. You must make your bargain with
+him, but, of course, without letting him know that I know any thing. In
+this way, happen what may, I shall not be in danger.”
+
+The plan was really a good one; only Blangin ought not to have claimed
+the honor of inventing it: the idea came from his wife.
+
+“Well,” replied Jacques, “that is settled. Get me the pickaxe and the
+crowbar, show me the place where we must make the hole, and I will take
+charge of Trumence. To-morrow you shall have the money.”
+
+He was on the point of following the jailer, when Dionysia held him
+back; and, lifting up her beautiful eyes to him, she said in a tremor,--
+
+“You see, Jacques, I have not hesitated to dare every thing in order to
+procure you a few house of liberty. May I not know what you are going to
+do in that time?”
+
+And, as he made no reply, she repeated,--
+
+“Where are you going?”
+
+A rush of blood colored the face of the unfortunate man; and he said in
+an embarrassed voice,--
+
+“I beseech you, Dionysia, do not insist upon my telling you. Permit me
+to keep this secret, the only one I have ever kept from you.”
+
+Two tears trembled for a moment in the long lashes of the young girl,
+and then silently rolled down her cheeks.
+
+“I understand you,” she stammered. “I understand but too well. Although
+I know so little of life, I had a presentiment, as soon as I saw that
+they were hiding something from me. Now I cannot doubt any longer. You
+will go to see a woman to-morrow”--
+
+“Dionysia,” Jacques said with folded hands,--“Dionysia, I beseech you!”
+
+She did not hear him. Gently shaking her heard, she went on,--
+
+“A woman whom you have loved, or whom you love still, at whose feet you
+have probably murmured the same words which you whispered at my feet.
+How could you think of her in the midst of all your anxieties? She
+cannot love you, I am sure. Why did she not come to you when she found
+that you were in prison, and falsely accused of an abominable crime?”
+
+Jacques cold bear it no longer.
+
+“Great God!” he cried, “I would a thousand times rather tell you every
+thing than allow such a suspicion to remain in your heart! Listen, and
+forgive me.”
+
+But she stopped him, putting her hand on his lips, and saying, all in a
+tremor,--
+
+“No, I do not wish to know any thing,--nothing at all. I believe in
+you. Only you must remember that you are every thing to me,--hope, life,
+happiness. If you should have deceived me, I know but too well--poor
+me!--that I would not cease loving you; but I should not have long to
+suffer.”
+
+Overcome with grief and affection, Jacques repeated,--
+
+“Dionysia, Dionysia, my darling, let me confess to you who this woman
+is, and why I must see her.”
+
+“No,” she interrupted him, “no! Do what your conscience bids you do. I
+believe in you.”
+
+And instead of offering to let him kiss her forehead, as usual, she
+hurried off with her Aunt Elizabeth, and that so quickly, that, when he
+rushed after her, he only saw, as it were, a shadow at the end of the
+long passage.
+
+Never until this moment had Jacques found it in his heart really to hate
+the Countess Claudieuse with that blind and furious hatred which dreams
+of nothing but vengeance. Many a time, no doubt, he had cursed her in
+the solitude of his prison; but even when he was most furious against
+her, a feeling of pity had risen in his heart for her whom he had once
+loved so dearly; for he did not disguise it to himself, he had once
+loved her to distraction. Even in his prison he trembled, as he thought
+of some of his first meetings with her, as he saw before his mind’s eye
+her features swimming in voluptuous languor, as he heard the silvery
+ring of her voice, or inhaled the perfume she loved ever to have about
+her. She had exposed him to the danger of losing his position, his
+future, his honor even; and he still felt inclined to forgive her. But
+now she threatened him with the loss of his betrothed, the loss of that
+pure and chaste love which burnt in Dionysia’s heart, and he could not
+endure that.
+
+“I will spare her no longer,” he cried, mad with wrath. “I will hesitate
+no longer. I have not the right to do so; for I am bound to defend
+Dionysia!”
+
+He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day,
+feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him.
+
+It was Trumence to-night--perhaps by the jailer’s skilful
+management--who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and,
+according to the jail-dictionary, to “curl him up” there. He called
+him in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do. Upon
+Blangin’s assurance, he expected the vagabond would jump at the mere
+idea of escaping from jail. But by no means. Trumence’s smiling
+features grew dark; and, scratching himself behind the ear furiously, he
+replied,--
+
+“You see--excuse me, I don’t want to run away at all.”
+
+Jacques was amazed. If Trumence refused his cooperation he could not go
+out, or, at least, he would have to wait.
+
+“Are you in earnest, Trumence?” he asked.
+
+“Certainly I am, my dear sir. Here, you see, I am not so badly off: I
+have a good bed, I have two meals a day, I have nothing to do, and I
+pick up now and then, from one man or another, a few cents to buy me a
+pinch of tobacco or a glass of wine.”
+
+“But your liberty?”
+
+“Well, I shall get that too. I have committed no crime. I may have
+gotten over a wall into an orchard; but people are not hanged for that.
+I have consulted M. Magloire, and he told me precisely how I stand.
+They will try me in a police-court, and they will give me three or four
+months. Well, that is not so very bad. But, if I run away, they put the
+gendarmes on my track; they bring me back here; and then I know how they
+will treat me. Besides, to break jail is a grave offence.”
+
+How could he overcome such wise conclusions and such excellent reasons?
+Jacques was very much troubled.
+
+“Why should the gendarmes take you again?” he asked.
+
+“Because they are gendarmes, my dear sir. And then, that is not all.
+If it were spring, I should say at once, ‘I am your man.’ But we have
+autumn now; we are going to have bad weather; work will be scarce.”
+
+Although an incurable idler, Trumence had always a good deal to say
+about work.
+
+“You won’t help them in the vintage?” asked Jacques.
+
+The vagabond looked almost repenting.
+
+“To be sure, the vintage must have commenced,” he said.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“But that only lasts a fortnight, and then comes winter. And winter is
+no man’s friend: it’s my enemy. I know I have been without a place to
+lie down when it has been freezing to split stones, and the snow was
+a foot deep. Oh! here they have stoves, and the Board gives very warm
+clothes.”
+
+“Yes; but there are no merry evenings here, Trumence, eh? None of those
+merry evenings, when the hot wine goes round, and you tell the girls all
+sorts of stories, while you are shelling peas, or shucking corn?”
+
+“Oh! I know. I do enjoy those evenings. But the cold! Where should I go
+when I have not a cent?”
+
+That was exactly where Jacques wanted to lead him.
+
+“I have money,” he said.
+
+“I know you have.”
+
+“You do not think I would let you go off with empty pockets? I would
+give you any thing you may ask.”
+
+“Really?” cried the vagrant.
+
+And looking at Jacques with a mingled expression of hope, surprise, and
+delight, he added,--
+
+“You see I should want a good deal. Winter is long. I should want--let
+me see, I should want fifty Napoleons!”
+
+“You shall have a hundred,” said Jacques.
+
+Trumence’s eyes began to dance. He probably had a vision of those
+irresistible taverns at Rochefort, where he had led such a merry life.
+But he could not believe such happiness to be real.
+
+“You are not making fun of me?” he asked timidly.
+
+“Do you want the whole sum at once?” replied Jacques. “Wait.”
+
+He drew from the drawer in his table a thousand-franc note. But, at the
+sight of the note, the vagrant drew back the hand which he had promptly
+stretched out to take the money.
+
+“Oh! that kind? No! I know what that paper is worth: I have had some of
+them myself. But what could I do with one of them now? It would not be
+worth more to me than a leaf of a tree; for, at the first place I should
+want it changed, they would arrest me.”
+
+“That is easily remedied. By to-morrow I shall have gold, or small
+notes, so you can have your choice.”
+
+This time Trumence clapped his hands in great joy.
+
+“Give me some of one kind, and some of the other,” he said, “and I
+am your man! Hurrah for liberty! Where is that wall that we are to go
+through?”
+
+“I will show you to-morrow; and till then, Trumence, silence.”
+
+It was only the next day that Blangin showed Jacques the place where the
+wall had least thickness. It was in a kind of cellar, where nobody ever
+came, and where cast-off tools were stored away.
+
+“In order that you may not be interrupted,” said the jailer, “I will ask
+two of my comrades to dine with me, and I shall invite the sergeant on
+duty. They will enjoy themselves, and never think of the prisoners. My
+wife will keep a sharp lookout; and, if any of the rounds should come
+this way, she would warn you, and quick, quick, you would be back in
+your room.”
+
+All was settled; and, as soon as night came, Jacques and Trumence,
+taking a candle with them, slipped down into the cellar, and went to
+work. It was a hard task to get through this old wall, and Jacques would
+never have been able to accomplish it alone. The thickness was even less
+than what Blangin had stated it to be; but the hardness was far beyond
+expectation. Our fathers built well. In course of time the cement had
+become one with the stone, and acquired the same hardness. It was as if
+they had attacked a block of granite. The vagrant had, fortunately, a
+strong arm; and, in spite of the precautions which they had to take to
+prevent being heard, he had, in less than an hour, made a hole through
+which a man could pass. He put his head in; and, after a moment’s
+examination, he said,--
+
+“All right! The night is dark, and the place is deserted. Upon my word,
+I will risk it!”
+
+He went through; Jacques followed; and instinctively they hastened
+towards a place where several trees made a dark shadow. Once there,
+Jacques handed Trumence a package of five-franc notes, and said,--
+
+“Add this to the hundred Napoleons I have given you before. Thank you:
+you are a good fellow, and, if I get out of my trouble, I will not
+forget you. And now let us part. Make haste, be careful, and good luck!”
+
+After these words he went off rapidly. But Trumence did not march off in
+the opposite direction, as had been agreed upon.
+
+“Anyhow,” said the poor vagrant to himself, “this is a curious story
+about the poor gentleman. Where on earth can he be going?”
+
+And, curiosity getting the better of prudence, he followed him.
+
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran went straight to Mautrec Street. But he knew with
+what horror he was looked upon by the population; and in order to avoid
+being recognized, and perhaps arrested, he did not take the most direct
+route, nor did he choose the more frequented streets. He went a long way
+around, and well-nigh lost himself in the winding, dark lanes of the
+old town. He walked along in Feverish haste, turning aside from the
+rare passers-by, pulling his felt hat down over his eyes, and, for still
+greater safety, holding his handkerchief over his face. It was nearly
+half-past nine when he at last reached the house inhabited by Count and
+Countess Claudieuse. The little gate had been taken out, and the great
+doors were closed.
+
+Never mind! Jacques had his plan. He rang the bell.
+
+A maid, who did not know him, came to the door.
+
+“Is the Countess Claudieuse in?” he asked.
+
+“The countess does not see anybody,” replied the girl. “She is sitting
+up with the count, who is very ill to-night.”
+
+“But I must see her.”
+
+“Impossible.”
+
+“Tell her that a gentleman who has been sent by M. Galpin desires to see
+her for a moment. It is the Boiscoran affair.”
+
+“Why did you not say so at once?” said the servant. “Come in.” And
+forgetting, in her hurry, to close the gates again, she went before
+Jacques through the garden, showed him into the vestibule, and then
+opened the parlor-door, saying,--
+
+“Will you please go in here and sit down, while I go to tell the
+countess?”
+
+After lighting one of the candles on the mantelpiece, she went out.
+So far, every thing had gone well for Jacques, and even better than he
+could have expected. Nothing remained now to be done, except to prevent
+the countess from going back and escaping, as soon as she should have
+recognized Jacques. Fortunately the parlor-door opened into the room. He
+went and put himself behind the open half, and waited there.
+
+For twenty-four hours he had prepared himself for this interview, and
+arranged in his head the very words he would use. But now, at the last
+moment, all his ideas flew away, like dry leaves under the breath of a
+tempest. His heart was beating with such violence, that he thought it
+filled the whole room with the noise. He imagined he was cool, and, in
+fact, he possessed that lucidity which gives to certain acts of madmen
+an appearance of sense.
+
+He was surprised at being kept waiting so long, when, at last, light
+steps, and the rustling of a dress, warned him that the countess was
+coming.
+
+She came in, dressed in a long, dark, undress robe, and took a few steps
+into the room, astonished at not seeing the person who was waiting for
+her.
+
+It was exactly as Jacques had foreseen.
+
+He pushed to, violently, the open half of the door; and, placing himself
+before her, he said,--
+
+“We are alone!”
+
+She turned round at the noise, and cried,--
+
+“Jacques!”
+
+And terrified, as if she had seen a ghost, she looked all around, hoping
+to see a way out. One of the tall windows of the room, which went down
+to the ground, was half open, and she rushed towards it; but Jacques
+anticipated her, and said,--
+
+“Do not attempt to escape; for I swear I should pursue you into your
+husband’s room, to the foot of his bed.”
+
+She looked at him as if she did not comprehend.
+
+“You,” she stammered,--“you here!”
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “I am here. You are astonished, are you? You said to
+yourself, ‘He is in prison, well kept under lock and key: I can sleep in
+peace. No evidence can be found. He will not speak. I have committed the
+crime, and he will be punished for it. I am guilty; but I shall escape.
+He is innocent, and he is lost.’ You thought it was all settled? Well,
+no, it is not. I am here!”
+
+An expression of unspeakable horror contracted the beautiful features of
+the countess. She said,--
+
+“This is monstrous!”
+
+“Monstrous indeed!”
+
+“Murderer! Incendiary!”
+
+He burst out laughing, a strident, convulsive, terrible laughter.
+
+“And you,” he said, “you call me so?”
+
+By one great effort the Countess Claudieuse recovered her energy.
+
+“Yes,” she replied, “yes, I do! You cannot deny your crime to me. I
+know, I know the motives which the judges do not even guess. You thought
+I would carry out my threats, and you were frightened. When I left you
+in such haste, you said to yourself, ‘It is all over: she will tell her
+husband.’ And then you kindled that fire in order to draw my husband
+out of the house, you incendiary! And then you fired at my husband, you
+murderer!”
+
+He was still laughing.
+
+“And that is your plan?” he broke in. “Who do you think will believe
+such an absurd story? Our letters were burnt; and, if you deny having
+been my mistress, I can just as well deny having been your lover. And,
+besides, would the exposure do me any harm? You know very well it would
+not. You are perfectly aware, that, as society is with us, the same
+thing which disgraces a woman rather raises a man in the estimate of the
+world. And as to my being afraid of Count Claudieuse, it is well known
+that I am afraid of nobody. At the time when we were concealing our love
+in the house in Vine Street, yes, at that time, I might have been afraid
+of your husband; for he might have surprised us there, the code in one
+hand, a revolver in the other, and have availed himself of that stupid
+and savage law which makes the husband the judge of his own case, and
+the executor of the sentence which he himself pronounces. But setting
+aside such a case, the case of being taken in the act, which allows
+a man to kill like a dog another man, who can not or will not defend
+himself, what did I care for Count Claudieuse? What did I care for your
+threats or for his hatred?” He said these words with perfect calmness,
+but with that cold, cutting tone which is as sharp as a sword, and with
+that positiveness which enters irresistibly into the mind. The countess
+was tottering, and stammered almost inaudibly,--
+
+“Who would imagine such a thing? Is it possible?”
+
+Then, suddenly raising her head, she said,--
+
+“But I am losing my senses. If you are innocent, who, then, could be the
+guilty man?”
+
+Jacques seized her hands almost madly, and pressing them painfully, and
+bending over her so closely that she felt his hot breath like a flame
+touching her face, he hissed into her ear,--
+
+“You, wretched creature, you!”
+
+And then pushing her from him with such violence that she fell into a
+chair, he continued,--
+
+“You, who wanted to be a widow in order to prevent me from breaking the
+chains in which you held me. At our last meeting, when I thought you
+were crushed by grief, and felt overcome by your hypocritical tears,
+I was weak enough, I was stupid enough, to say that I married Dionysia
+only because you were not free. Then you cried, ‘O God, how happy I
+am that that idea did not occur to me before!’ What idea was that,
+Genevieve? Come, answer me and confess, that it occurred to you too soon
+after all, since you have carried it out?”
+
+And repeating with crushing irony the words just uttered by the
+countess, he said,--
+
+“If you are innocent, who, then, would be the guilty man?”
+
+Quite beside herself, she sprang up from her chair, and casting at
+Jacques one of those glances which seem to enter through our eyes into
+the very heart of our hearts, she asked,--
+
+“Is it really possible that you have not committed this abominable
+crime?”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“But then,” she repeated, almost panting, “is it true, can it really be
+true, that you think I have committed it?”
+
+“Perhaps you have only ordered it to be committed.”
+
+With a wild gesture she raised her arms to heaven, and cried in a
+heart-rending voice,--
+
+“O God, O God! He believes it! he really believes it!”
+
+There followed great silence, dismal, formidable silence, such as in
+nature follows the crash of the thunderbolt.
+
+Standing face to face, Jacques and the Countess Claudieuse looked at
+each other madly, feeling that the fatal hour in their lives had come at
+last.
+
+Each felt a growing, a sure conviction of the other. There was no need
+of explanations. They had been misled by appearances: they acknowledged
+it; they were sure of it.
+
+And this discovery was so fearful, so overwhelming, that neither thought
+of who the real guilty one might be.
+
+“What is to be done?” asked the countess.
+
+“The truth must be told,” replied Jacques.
+
+“Which?”
+
+“That I have been your lover; that I went to Valpinson by appointment
+with you; that the cartridge-case which was found there was used by
+me to get fire; that my blackened hands were soiled by the half-burnt
+fragment of our letters, which I had tried to scatter.”
+
+“Never!” cried the countess.
+
+Jacques’s face turned crimson, as he said with an accent of merciless
+severity,--
+
+“It shall be told! I will have it so, and it must be done!”
+
+The countess seemed to be furious.
+
+“Never!” she cried again, “never!”
+
+And with convulsive haste she added,--
+
+“Do you not see that the truth cannot possibly be told. They would never
+believe in our innocence. They would only look upon us as accomplices.”
+
+“Never mind. I am not willing to die.”
+
+“Say that you will not die alone.”
+
+“Be it so.”
+
+“To confess every thing would never save you, but would most assuredly
+ruin me. Is that what you want? Would your fate appear less cruel to
+you, if there were two victims instead of one?”
+
+He stopped her by a threatening gesture, and cried,--
+
+“Are you always the same? I am sinking, I am drowning; and she
+calculates, she bargains! And she said she loved me!”
+
+“Jacques!” broke in the countess.
+
+And drawing close up to him, she said,--
+
+“Ah! I calculate, I bargain? Well, listen. Yes, it is true. I did value
+my reputation as an honest woman more highly, a thousand times more,
+than my life; but, above my life and my reputation, I valued you. You
+are drowning, you say. Well, then, let us flee. One word from you, and I
+leave all,--honor, country, family, husband, children. Say one word,
+and I follow you without turning my head, without a regret, without a
+remorse.”
+
+Her whole body was shivering from head to foot; her bosom rose and fell;
+her eyes shone with unbearable brilliancy.
+
+Thanks to the violence of her action, her dress, put on in great haste,
+had opened, and her dishevelled hair flowed in golden masses over
+her bosom and her shoulders, which matched the purest marble in their
+dazzling whiteness.
+
+And in a voice trembling with pent-up passion, now sweet and soft like a
+tender caress, and now deep and sonorous like a bell, she went on,--
+
+“What keeps us? Since you have escaped from prison, the greatest
+difficulty is overcome. I thought at first of taking our girl, your
+girl, Jacques; but she is very ill; and besides a child might betray us.
+If we go alone, they will never overtake us. We will have money enough,
+I am sure, Jacques. We will flee to those distant countries which
+appear in books of travels in such fairy-like beauty. There, unknown,
+forgotten, unnoticed, our life will be one unbroken enjoyment. You will
+never again say that I bargain. I will be yours, entirely, and solely
+yours, body and soul, your wife, your slave.”
+
+She threw her head back, and with half-closed eyes, bending with her
+whole person toward him, she said in melting tones,--
+
+“Say, Jacques, will you? Jacques!”
+
+He pushed her aside with a fierce gesture. It seemed to him almost a
+sacrilege that she also, like Dionysia, should propose to him to flee.
+
+“Rather the galleys!” he cried.
+
+She turned deadly pale; a spasm of rage convulsed her features; and
+drawing back, stiff and stern, she said,--
+
+“What else do you want?”
+
+“Your help to save me,” he replied.
+
+“At the risk of ruining myself?”
+
+He made no reply.
+
+Then she, who had just now been all humility, raised herself to her full
+height, and in a tone of bitterest sarcasm said slowly,--
+
+“In other words, you want me to sacrifice myself, and at the same time
+all my family. For your sake? Yes, but even more for Miss Chandore’s
+sake. And you think that it is quite a simple thing. I am the past to
+you, satiety, disgust: she is the future to you, desire, happiness. And
+you think it quite natural that the old love should make a footstool of
+her love and her honor for the new love? You think little of my being
+disgraced, provided she be honored; of my weeping bitterly, if she but
+smile? Well, no, no! it is madness in you to come and ask me to save
+you, so that you may throw yourself into the arms of another. It is
+madness, when in order to tear you from Dionysia, I am ready to ruin
+myself, provided only that you be lost to her forever.”
+
+“Wretch!” cried Jacques.
+
+She looked at him with a mocking air, and her eyes beamed with infernal
+audacity.
+
+“You do not know me yet,” she cried. “Go, speak, denounce me! M. Folgat
+no doubt has told you how I can deny and defend myself.”
+
+Maddened by indignation, and excited to a point where reason loses its
+power over us, Jacques de Boiscoran moved with uplifted hand towards the
+countess, when suddenly a voice said,--
+
+“Do not strike that woman!”
+
+Jacques and the countess turned round, and uttered, both at the same
+instant, the same kind of sharp, terrible cry, which must have been
+heard a great distance.
+
+In the frame of the door stood Count Claudieuse, a revolver in his hand,
+and ready to fire.
+
+He looked as pale as a ghost; and the white flannel dressing-gown which
+he had hastily thrown around him hung like a pall around his lean limbs.
+The first cry uttered by the countess had been heard by him on the bed
+on which he lay apparently dying. A terrible presentiment had seized
+him. He had risen from his bed, and, dragging himself slowly along,
+holding painfully to the balusters, he had come down.
+
+“I have heard all,” he said, casting crushing looks at both the guilty
+ones.
+
+The countess uttered a deep, hoarse sigh, and sank into a chair. But
+Jacques drew himself up, and said,--
+
+“I have insulted you terribly, sir. Avenge yourself.”
+
+The count shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Great God! You would allow me to be condemned for a crime which I have
+not committed. Ah, that would be the meanest cowardice.”
+
+The count was so feeble that he had to lean against the door-post.
+
+“Would it be cowardly?” he asked. “Then, what do you call the act of
+that miserable man who meanly, disgracefully robs another man of his
+wife, and palms off his own children upon him? It is true you are
+neither an incendiary nor an assassin. But what is fire in my house in
+comparison with the ruin of all my faith? What are the wounds in my body
+in comparison with that wound in my heart, which never can heal? I leave
+you to the court, sir.”
+
+Jacques was terrified; he saw the abyss opening before him that was to
+swallow him up.
+
+“Rather death,” he cried,--“death.”
+
+And, baring his breast, he said,--
+
+“But why do you not fire, sir? Why do you not fire? Are you afraid of
+blood? Shoot! I have been the lover of your wife: your youngest daughter
+is my child.”
+
+The count lowered his weapon.
+
+“The courts of justice are more certain,” he said. “You have robbed me
+of my honor: now I want yours. And, if you cannot be condemned without
+it, I shall say, I shall swear, that I recognized you. You shall go to
+the galleys, M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+He was on the point of coming forward; but his strength was exhausted,
+and he fell forward, face downward, and arms outstretched.
+
+Overcome with horror, half mad, Jacques fled.
+
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+M. Folgat had just risen. Standing before his mirror, hung up to one of
+the windows in his room, he had just finished shaving himself, when the
+door was thrown open violently, and old Anthony appeared quite beside
+himself.
+
+“Ah, sir, what a terrible thing!”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Run away, disappeared!”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Master Jacques!”
+
+The surprise was so great, that M. Folgat nearly let his razor drop: he
+said, however, peremptorily,--
+
+“That is false!”
+
+“Alas, sir,” replied the old servant, “everybody is full of it in town.
+All the details are known. I have just seen a man who says he met master
+last night, about eleven o’clock, running like a madman down National
+Street.”
+
+“That is absurd.”
+
+“I have only told Miss Dionysia so far, and she sent me to you. You
+ought to go and make inquiry.”
+
+The advice was not needed. Wiping his face hastily, the young advocate
+went to dress at once. He was ready in a moment; and, having run down
+the stairs, he was crossing the passage when he heard somebody call his
+name. He turned round, and saw Dionysia making him a sign to come into
+the boudoir in which she was usually sitting. He did so.
+
+Dionysia and the young advocate alone knew what a desperate venture
+Jacques had undertaken the night before. They had not said a word about
+it to each other; but each had noticed the preoccupation of the other.
+All the evening M. Folgat had not spoken ten words, and Dionysia had,
+immediately after dinner, gone up to her own room.
+
+“Well?” she asked.
+
+“The report, madam, must be false,” replied the advocate.
+
+“Who knows?”
+
+“His evasion would be a confession of his crime. It is only the guilty
+who try to escape; and M. de Boiscoran is innocent. You can rest quite
+assured, madam, it is not so. I pray you be quiet.”
+
+Who would not have pitied the poor girl at that moment? She was as white
+as her collar, and trembled violently. Big tears ran over her eyes; and
+at each word a violent sob rose in her throat.
+
+“You know where Jacques went last night?” she asked again.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+She turned her head a little aside, and went on, in a hardly audible
+voice,--
+
+“He went to see once more a person whose influence over him is,
+probably, all powerful. It may be that she has upset him, stunned him.
+Might she not have prevailed upon him to escape from the disgrace of
+appearing in court, charged with such a crime?”
+
+“No, madam, no!”
+
+“This person has always been Jacques’s evil genius. She loves him, I
+am sure. She must have been incensed at the idea of his becoming my
+husband. Perhaps, in order to induce him to flee, she has fled with
+him.”
+
+“Ah! do not be afraid, madam: the Countess Claudieuse is incapable of
+such devotion.”
+
+Dionysia threw herself back in utter amazement; and, raising her
+wide-open eyes to the young advocate, she said with an air of
+stupefaction,--
+
+“The Countess Claudieuse?”
+
+M. Folgat saw his indiscretion. He had been under the impression that
+Jacques had told his betrothed every thing; and her very manner of
+speaking had confirmed him in his conviction.
+
+“Ah, it is the Countess Claudieuse,” she went on,--“that lady whom all
+revere as if she were a saint. And I, who only the other day marvelled
+at her fervor in praying,--I who pitied her with all my heart,--I--Ah! I
+now see what they were hiding from me.”
+
+Distressed by the blunder which he had committed, the young advocate
+said,--
+
+“I shall never forgive myself, madam, for having mentioned that name in
+your presence.”
+
+She smiled sadly.
+
+“Perhaps you have rendered me a great service, sir. But, I pray, go and
+see what the truth is about this report.”
+
+M. Folgat had not walked down half the street, when he became aware that
+something extraordinary must really have happened. The whole town was in
+uproar. People stood at their doors, talking. Groups here and there were
+engaged in lively discussions.
+
+Hastening his steps, he was just turning into National Street, when he
+was stopped by three or four gentlemen, whose acquaintance he had, in
+some way or other, been forced to make since he was at Sauveterre.
+
+“Well, sir?” said one of these amiable friends, “your client, it seems,
+is running about nicely.”
+
+“I do not understand,” replied M. Folgat in a tone of ice.
+
+“Why? Don’t you know your client has run off?”
+
+“Are you quite sure of that?”
+
+“Certainly. The wife of a workman whom I employ was the person through
+whom the escape became known. She had gone on the old ramparts to cut
+grass there for her goat; and, when she came to the prison wall, she saw
+a big hole had been made there. She gave at once the alarm; the guard
+came up; and they reported the matter immediately to the commonwealth
+attorney.”
+
+For M. Folgat the evidence was not satisfactory yet. He asked,--
+
+“Well? And M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“Cannot be found. Ah, I tell you, it is just as I say. I know it from
+a friend who heard it from a clerk at the mayor’s office. Blangin the
+jailer, they say, is seriously implicated.”
+
+“I hope soon to see you again,” said the young advocate, and left him
+abruptly.
+
+The gentleman seemed to be very grievously offended at such treatment;
+but the young advocate paid no attention to him, and rapidly crossed the
+New-Market Square.
+
+He was become apprehensive. He did not fear an evasion, but thought
+there might have occurred some fearful catastrophe. A hundred persons,
+at least, were assembled around the prison-doors, standing there with
+open mouths and eager eyes; and the sentinels had much trouble in
+keeping them back.
+
+M. Folgat made his way through the crowd, and went in.
+
+In the court-yard he found the commonwealth attorney, the chief of
+police, the captain of the gendarmes, M. Seneschal, and, finally, M.
+Galpin, all standing before the janitor’s lodge in animated discussion.
+The magistrate looked paler than ever, and was, as they called it in
+Sauveterre, in bull-dog humor. There was reason for it.
+
+He had been informed as promptly as M. Folgat, and had, with equal
+promptness, dressed, and hastened to the prison. And all along his way,
+unmistakable evidence had proved to him that public opinion was fiercely
+roused against the accused, but that it was as deeply excited against
+himself.
+
+On all sides he had been greeted by ironical salutations, mocking
+smiles, and even expressions of condolence at the loss of his prisoner.
+Two men, whom he suspected of being in close relations with Dr.
+Seignebos, had even murmured, as he passed by them,--
+
+“Cheated, Mr. Bloodhound.”
+
+He was the first to notice the young advocate, and at once said to
+him,--
+
+“Well, sir, do you come for news?”
+
+But M. Folgat was not the man to be taken in twice the same day.
+Concealing his apprehensions under the most punctilious politeness, he
+replied,--
+
+“I have heard all kinds of reports; but they do not affect me. M. de
+Boiscoran has too much confidence in the excellency of his cause and the
+justice of his country to think of escaping. I only came to confer with
+him.”
+
+“And you are right!” exclaimed M. Daubigeon. “M. de Boiscoran is in his
+cell, utterly unaware of all the rumors that are afloat. It was Trumence
+who has run off,--Trumence, the light-footed. He was kept in prison for
+form’s sake only, and helped the keeper as a kind of assistant jailer.
+He it is who has made a hole in the wall, and escaped, thinking, no
+doubt, that the heavens are a better roof than the finest jail.”
+
+A little distance behind the group stood Blangin, the jailer, affecting
+a contrite and distressed air.
+
+“Take the counsel to the prisoner Boiscoran,” said M. Galpin dryly,
+fearing, perhaps, that M. Daubigeon might regale the public with all the
+bitter epigrams with which he persecuted him privately. The jailer bowed
+to the ground, and obeyed the order; but, as soon as he was alone with
+M. Folgat in the porch of the building, he blew up his cheek, and then
+tapped it, saying,--
+
+“Cheated all around.”
+
+Then he burst out laughing. The young advocate pretended not to
+understand him. It was but prudent that he should appear ignorant of
+what had happened the night before, and thus avoid all suspicion of a
+complicity which substantially did not exist.
+
+“And still,” Blangin went on, “this is not the end of it yet. The
+gendarmes are all out. If they should catch my poor Trumence! That man
+is such a fool, the most stupid judge would worm his secret out of him
+in five minutes. And then, who would be in a bad box?”
+
+M. Folgat still made no reply; but the other did not seem to mind that
+much. He continued,--
+
+“I only want to do one thing, and that is to give up my keys as soon as
+possible. I am tired of this profession of jailer. Besides, I shall not
+be able to stay here much longer. This escape has put a flea into the
+ear of the authorities, and they are going to give me an assistant, a
+former police sergeant, who is as bad as a watchdog. Ah! the good days
+of M. de Boiscoran are over: no more stolen visits, no more promenades.
+He is to be watched day and night.”
+
+Blangin had stopped at the foot of the staircase to give all these
+explanations.
+
+“Let us go up,” he said now, as M. Folgat showed signs of growing
+impatience.
+
+He found Jacques lying on his bed, all dressed; and at the first glance
+he saw that a great misfortune had happened.
+
+“One more hope gone?” he asked.
+
+The prisoner raised himself up with difficulty, and sat up on the side
+of his bed; then he replied in a voice of utter despair,--
+
+“I am lost, and this time hopelessly.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Just listen!”
+
+The young advocate could not help shuddering as he heard the account
+given by Jacques of what had happened the night before. And when it was
+finished, he said,--
+
+“You are right. If Count Claudieuse carries out his threat, it may be a
+condemnation.”
+
+“It must be a condemnation, you mean. Well, you need not doubt. He will
+carry out his threat.”
+
+And shaking his head with an air of desolation, he added,--
+
+“And the most formidable part of it is this: I cannot blame him for
+doing it. The jealousy of husbands is often nothing more than self-love.
+When they find they have been deceived, their vanity is offended; but
+their heart remains whole. But in this case it is very different. He
+not only loved his wife, he worshipped her. She was his happiness, life
+itself. When I took her from him, I robbed him of all he had,--yes, of
+all! I never knew what adultery meant till I saw him overcome with shame
+and rage. He was left without any thing in a moment. His wife had a
+lover: his favorite daughter was not his own! I suffer terribly; but
+it is nothing, I am sure, in comparison with what he suffers. And you
+expect, that, holding a weapon in his hand, he should not use it? It is
+a treacherous, dishonest weapon, to be sure; but have I been frank and
+honest? It would be a mean, ignoble vengeance, you will say; but what
+was the offence? In his place, I dare say, I should do as he does.”
+
+M. Folgat was thunderstruck.
+
+“But after that,” he asked, “when you left the house?”
+
+Jacques passed his hand mechanically over his forehead, as if to gather
+his thoughts, and then went on,--
+
+“After that I fled precipitately, like a man who has committed a crime.
+The garden-door was open, and I rushed out. I could not tell you with
+certainty in what direction I ran, through what streets I passed. I had
+but one fixed idea,--to get away from that house as quickly and as far
+as possible. I did not know what I was doing. I went, I went. When I
+came to myself, I was many miles away from Sauveterre, on the road to
+Boiscoran. The instinct of the animal within me had guided me on the
+familiar way to my house. At the first moment I could not comprehend how
+I had gotten there. I felt like a drunkard whose head is filled with the
+vapors of alcohol, and who, when he is roused, tries to remember what
+has happened during his intoxication. Alas! I recalled the fearful
+reality but too soon. I knew that I ought to go back to prison, that
+it was an absolute necessity; and yet I felt at times so weary, so
+exhausted, that I was afraid I should not be able to get back. Still I
+did reach the prison. Blangin was waiting for me, all anxiety; for it
+was nearly two o’clock. He helped me to get up here. I threw myself, all
+dressed as I was, on my bed, and I fell fast asleep in an instant. But
+my sleep was a miserable sleep, broken by terrible dreams, in which
+I saw myself chained to the galleys, or mounting the scaffold with a
+priest by my side; and even at this moment I hardly know whether I am
+awake or asleep, and whether I am not still suffering under a fearful
+nightmare.”
+
+M. Folgat could hardly conceal a tear. He murmured,--
+
+“Poor man!”
+
+“Oh, yes, poor man indeed!” repeated Jacques. “Why did I not follow my
+first inspiration last night when I found myself on the high-road. I
+should have gone on to Boiscoran, I should have gone up stairs to my
+room, and there I should have blown out my brains. I should then suffer
+no more.”
+
+Was he once more giving himself up to that fatal idea of suicide?
+
+“And your parents,” said M. Folgat.
+
+“My parents! And do you think they will survive my condemnation?”
+
+“And Miss Chandore?”
+
+He shuddered, and said fiercely,--
+
+“Ah! it is for her sake first of all that I ought to make an end of it.
+Poor Dionysia! Certainly she would grieve terribly when she heard of
+my suicide. But she is not twenty yet. My memory would soon fade in her
+heart; and weeks growing into months, and months into years, she would
+find comfort. To live means to forget.”
+
+“No! You cannot really think what you are saying!” broke in M. Folgat.
+“You know very well that she--she would never forget you!”
+
+A tear appeared in the eyes of the unfortunate man, and he said in a
+half-smothered voice,--
+
+“You are right. I believe to strike me down means to strike her down
+also. But do you think what life would be after a condemnation? Can you
+imagine what her sensations would be, if day after day she had to say
+to herself, ‘He whom alone I love upon earth is at the galleys, mixed up
+with the lowest of criminals, disgraced for life, dishonored.’ Ah! death
+is a thousand times preferable.”
+
+“Jacques, M. de Boiscoran, do you forget that you have given me your
+word of honor?”
+
+“The proof that I have not forgotten it is that you see me here. But,
+never mind, the day is not very far off when you will see me so wretched
+that you yourself will be the first to put a weapon into my hands.”
+
+But the young advocate was one of those men whom difficulties only
+excite and stimulate, instead of discouraging. He had already recovered
+somewhat from the first great shock, and he said,--
+
+“Before you throw down your hand, wait, at least, till the game is lost.
+You are not sentenced yet. Far from it! You are innocent, and there
+is divine justice. Who tells us that Count Claudieuse will really give
+evidence? We do not even know whether he has not, at this moment, drawn
+his last breath upon earth!”
+
+Jacques leaped up as if in a spasm, and turning deadly pale,
+exclaimed,--
+
+“Ah, don’t say that! That fatal thought has already occurred to me, that
+perhaps he did not rise again last night. Would to God that that be not
+so! for then I should but too surely be an assassin. He was my first
+thought when I awoke. I thought of sending out to make inquiries. But I
+did not dare do it.”
+
+M. Folgat felt his heart oppressed with most painful anxiety, like the
+prisoner himself. Hence he said at once,--
+
+“We cannot remain in this uncertainty. We can do nothing as long as the
+count’s fate is unknown to us; for on his fate depends ours. Allow me to
+leave you now. I will let you know as soon as I hear any thing positive.
+And, above all, keep up your courage, whatever may happen.”
+
+The young advocate was sure of finding reliable information at Dr.
+Seignebos’s house. He hastened there; and, as soon as he entered, the
+physician cried,--
+
+“Ah, there you are coming at last! I give up twenty of my worst patients
+to see you, and you keep me waiting forever. I was sure you would come.
+What happened last night at Count Claudieuse’s house?”
+
+“Then you know”--
+
+“I know nothing. I have seen the results; but I do not know the cause.
+The result was this: last night, about eleven o’clock, I had just gone
+to bed, tired to death, when, all of a sudden, somebody rings my bell
+as if he were determined to break it. I do not like people to perform so
+violently at my door; and I was getting up to let the man know my
+mind, when Count Claudieuse’s servant rushed in, pushing my own servant
+unceremoniously aside, and cried out to me to come instantly, as his
+master had just died.”
+
+“Great God!”
+
+“That is what I said, because, although I knew the count was very ill, I
+did not think he was so near death.”
+
+“Then, he is really dead?”
+
+“Not at all. But, if you interrupt me continually, I shall never be able
+to tell you.”
+
+And taking off his spectacles, wiping them, and putting them on again,
+he went on,--
+
+“I was dressed in an instant, and in a few minutes I was at the house.
+They asked me to go into the sitting-room down stairs. There I found, to
+my great amazement, Count Claudieuse, lying on a sofa. He was pale and
+stiff, his features fearfully distorted, and on his forehead a slight
+wound, from which a slender thread of blood was trickling down. Upon my
+word I thought it was all over.”
+
+“And the countess?”
+
+“The countess was kneeling by her husband; and, with the help of her
+women, she was trying to resuscitate him by rubbing him, and putting
+hot napkins on his chest. But for these wise precautions she would be
+a widow at this moment; whilst, as it is, he may live a long time yet.
+This precious count has a wonderful tenacity of life. We, four of us,
+then took him and carried him up stairs, and put him to bed, after
+having carefully warmed it first. He soon began to move; he opened his
+eyes; and a quarter of an hour later he had recovered his consciousness,
+and spoke readily, though with a somewhat feeble voice. Then, of course,
+I asked what had happened, and for the first time in my life I saw the
+marvellous self-possession of the countess forsake her. She stammered
+pitifully, looking at her husband with a most frightened air, as if she
+wished to read in his eyes what she should say. He undertook to answer
+me; but he, also was evidently very much embarrassed. He said, that
+being left alone, and feeling better than usual, he had taken it into
+his head to try his strength. He had risen, put on his dressing-gown,
+and gone down stairs; but, in the act of entering the room, he had
+become dizzy, and had fallen so unfortunately as to hurt his forehead
+against the sharp corner of a table. I affected to believe it, and said,
+‘You have done a very imprudent thing, and you must not do it again.’
+Then he looked at his wife in a very singular way, and replied, ‘Oh! you
+can be sure I shall not commit another imprudence. I want too much to
+get well. I have never wished it so much as now.’”
+
+M. Folgat was on the point of replying; but the doctor closed his lips
+with his hand, and said,--
+
+“Wait, I have not done yet.”
+
+And, manipulating his spectacles most assiduously, he added,--
+
+“I was just going home, when suddenly a chambermaid came in with a
+frightened air to tell the countess that her older daughter, little
+Martha, whom you know, had just been seized with terrible convulsions.
+Of course I went to see her, and found her suffering from a truly
+fearful nervous attack. It was only with great difficulty I could quiet
+her; and when I thought she had recovered, suspecting that there might
+be some connection between her attack and the accident that had befallen
+her father, I said in the most paternal tone I could assume, ‘Now my
+child, you must tell me what was the matter.’ She hesitated a while, and
+then she said, ‘I was frightened.’--‘Frightened at what, my darling?’
+She raised herself on her bed, trying to consult her mother’s eyes; but
+I had placed myself between them, so that she could not see them. When I
+repeated my question, she said, ‘Well, you see, I had just gone to bed,
+when I heard the bell ring. I got up, and went to the window to see
+who could be coming so late. I saw the servant go and open the door,
+a candlestick in her hand, and come back to the house, followed by a
+gentleman, whom I did not know.’ The countess interrupted her here,
+saying, ‘It was a messenger from the court, who had been sent to me with
+an urgent letter.’ But I pretended not to hear her; and, turning still
+to Martha, I asked again, ‘And it was this gentleman who frightened you
+so?’--‘Oh, no!’--‘What then?’ Out of the corner of my eye I was watching
+the countess. She seemed to be terribly embarrassed. Still she did not
+dare to stop her daughter. ‘Well, doctor,’ said the little girl, ‘no
+sooner had the gentleman gone into the house than I saw one of the
+statues under the trees there come down from its pedestal, move on, and
+glide very quietly along the avenue of lime-trees.’”
+
+M. Folgat trembled.
+
+“Do you remember, doctor,” he said, “the day we were questioning little
+Martha, she said she was terribly frightened by the statutes in the
+garden?”
+
+“Yes, indeed!” replied the doctor. “But wait a while. The countess
+promptly interrupted her daughter, saying to me, ‘But, dear doctor, you
+ought to forbid the child to have such notions in her head. At Valpinson
+she never was afraid, and even at night, quite alone, and without a
+light, all over the house. But here she is frightened at every thing;
+and, as soon as night comes, she fancies the garden is full of ghosts.
+You are too big now, Martha, to think that statues, which are made of
+stone, can come to life, and walk about.’ The child was shuddering.
+
+“‘The other times, mamma,’ she said, ‘I was not quite sure; but this
+time I am sure. I wanted to go away from the window, and I could not do
+it. It was too strong for me: so that I saw it all, saw it perfectly. I
+saw the statue, the ghost, come up the avenue slowly and cautiously, and
+then place itself behind the last tree, the one that is nearest to the
+parlor window. Then I heard a loud cry, then nothing more. The ghost
+remained all the time behind the tree, and I saw all it did: it turned
+to the left and the right; it drew itself up; and it crouched down.
+Then, all of a sudden, two terrible cries; but, O mamma, such cries!
+Then the ghost raised one arm, this way, and all of a sudden it
+was gone; but almost the same moment another one came out, and then
+disappeared, too.’”
+
+M. Folgat was utterly overcome with amazement.
+
+“Oh, these ghosts!” he said.
+
+“You suspect them, do you? I suspected them at once. Still I pretended
+to turn Martha’s whole story into a joke, and tried to explain to her
+how the darkness made us liable to have all kinds of optical illusions;
+so that when I left, and a servant was sent with a candle to light me on
+my way, the countess was quite sure that I had no suspicion. I had none;
+but I had more than that. As soon as I entered the garden, therefore, I
+dropped a piece of money which I had kept in my hand for the purpose. Of
+course I set to work looking for it at the foot of the tree nearest to
+the parlor-window, while the servant helped with his candle. Well, M.
+Folgat, I can assure you that it was not a ghost that had been walking
+about under the trees; and, if the footmarks which I found there were
+made by a statue, that statue must have enormous feet, and wear huge
+iron-shod shoes.”
+
+The young advocate was prepared for this. He said,--
+
+“There is no doubt: the scene had a witness.”
+
+
+
+XXX.
+
+“What scene? What witness? That is what I wanted to hear from you, and
+why I was waiting so impatiently for you,” said Dr. Seignebos to M.
+Folgat. “I have seen and stated the results: now it is for you to give
+me the cause.”
+
+Nevertheless, he did not seem to be in the least surprised by what the
+young advocate told him of Jacques’s desperate enterprise, and of the
+tragic result. As soon as he had heard it all, he exclaimed,--
+
+“I thought so: yes, upon my word! By racking my brains all night long,
+I had very nearly guessed the whole story. And who, in Jacques’s place,
+would not have been desirous to make one last effort? But certainly fate
+is against him.”
+
+“Who knows?” said M. Folgat. And, without giving the doctor time to
+reply, he went on,--
+
+“In what are our chances worse than they were before? In no way. We can
+to-day, just as well as we could yesterday, lay our hands upon those
+proofs which we know do exist, and which would save us. Who tells us
+that at this moment Sir Francis Burnett and Suky Wood may not have been
+found? Is your confidence in Goudar shaken?”
+
+“Oh, as to that, not at all! I saw him this morning at the hospital,
+when I paid my usual visit; and he found an opportunity to tell me that
+he was almost certain of success.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“I am persuaded Cocoleu will speak. But will he speak in time? That is
+the question. Ah, if we had but a month’s time, I should say Jacques is
+safe. But our hours are counted, you know. The court will be held
+next week. I am told the presiding judge has already arrived, and M.
+Gransiere has engaged rooms at the hotel. What do you mean to do if
+nothing new occurs in the meantime?”
+
+“M. Magloire and I will obstinately adhere to our plan of defence.”
+
+“And if Count Claudieuse keeps his promise, and declares that he
+recognized Jacques in the act of firing at him?”
+
+“We shall say he is mistaken.”
+
+“And Jacques will be condemned.”
+
+“Well,” said the young advocate.
+
+And lowering his voice, as if he did not wish to be overheard, he
+added,--
+
+“Only the sentence will not be a fatal sentence. Ah, do not interrupt
+me, doctor, and upon your life, upon Jacques’s life, do not say a
+word of what I am going to tell you. A suspicion which should cross
+M. Galpin’s mind would destroy my last hope; for it would give him an
+opportunity of correcting a blunder which he has committed, and which
+justifies me in saying to you, ‘Even if the count should give evidence,
+even if sentence should be passed, nothing would be lost yet.’”
+
+He had become animated; and his accent and his gestures made you feel
+that he was sure of himself.
+
+“No,” he repeated, “nothing would be lost; and then we should have time
+before us, while waiting for a second trial, to hunt up our witnesses,
+and to force Cocoleu to tell the truth. Let the count say what he
+chooses, I like it all the better: I shall thus be relieved of my last
+scruples. It seemed to me odious to betray the countess, because I
+thought the most cruelly punished would be the count. But, if the count
+attacks us, we are on the defence; and public opinion will be on our
+side. More than that, they will admire us for having sacrificed our
+honor to a woman’s honor, and for having allowed ourselves to be
+condemned rather than to give up the name of her who has given herself
+to us.”
+
+The physician did not seem to be convinced; but the young advocate paid
+no attention. He went on,--
+
+“No, our success in a second trial would be almost certain. The scene
+in Mautrec Street has been seen by a witness: his iron-shod shoes have
+left, as you say, their marks under the linden-trees nearest to the
+parlor-window, and little Martha has watched his movements. Who can this
+witness be unless it is Trumence? Well, we shall lay hands upon him. He
+was standing so that he could see every thing, and hear every word.
+He will tell what he saw and what he heard. He will tell how Count
+Claudieuse called out to M. de Boiscoran, ‘No, I do not want to kill
+you! I have a surer vengeance than that: you shall go to the galleys.’”
+
+Dr. Seignebos sadly shook his head as he said,--
+
+“I hope your expectations may be realized, my dear sir.”
+
+But they came again for the doctor the third time to-day. Shaking hands
+with the young advocate, he parted with his young friend, who after a
+short visit to M. Magloire, whom he thought it his duty to keep well
+informed of all that was going on, hastened to the house of M. de
+Chandore. As soon as he looked into Dionysia’s face, he knew that he
+had nothing to tell her; that she knew all the facts, and how unjust her
+suspicions had been.
+
+“What did I tell you, madam?” he said very modestly.
+
+She blushed, ashamed at having let him see the secret doubts which had
+troubled her so sorely, and, instead of replying, she said,--
+
+“There are some letters for you, M. Folgat. They have carried them up
+stairs to your room.”
+
+He found two letters,--one from Mrs. Goudar, the other from the agent
+who had been sent to England.
+
+The former was of no importance. Mrs. Goudar only asked him to send a
+note, which she enclosed, to her husband.
+
+The second, on the other hand, was of the very greatest interest. The
+agent wrote,--
+
+“Not without great difficulties, and especially not without a heavy
+outlay of money, I have at length discovered Sir Francis Burnett’s
+brother in London, the former cashier of the house of Gilmour and
+Benson.
+
+“Our Sir Francis is not dead. He was sent by his father to Madras, to
+attend to very important financial matters, and is expected back by the
+next mail steamer. We shall be informed of his arrival on the very day
+on which he lands.
+
+“I have had less trouble in discovering Suky Wood’s family. They are
+people very well off, who keep a sailor’s tavern in Folkstone. They
+had news from their daughter about three weeks ago; but, although
+they profess to be very much attached to her, they could not tell me
+accurately where she was just now. All they know is, that she has gone
+to Jersey to act as barmaid in a public house.
+
+“But that is enough for me. The island is not very large; and I know it
+quite well, having once before followed a notary public there, who had
+run off with the money of his clients. You may consider Suky as safe.
+
+“When you receive this letter, I shall be on my way to Jersey.
+
+“Send me money there to the Golden Apple Hotel, where I propose to
+lodge. Life is amazingly dear in London; and I have very little left of
+the sum you gave me on parting.”
+
+Thus, in this direction, at least, every thing was going well.
+
+Quite elated by this first success, M. Folgat put a thousand-franc note
+into an envelope, directed it as desired, and sent it at once to the
+post-office. Then he asked M. de Chandore to lend him his carriage, and
+went out to Boiscoran.
+
+He wanted to see Michael, the tenant’s son, who had been so prompt
+in finding Cocoleu, and in bringing him into town. He found him,
+fortunately, just coming home, bringing in a cart loaded with straw;
+and, taking him aside, he asked him,--
+
+“Will you render M. de Boiscoran a great service?”
+
+“What must I do?” replied the young man in a tone of voice which said,
+better than all protestations could have done, that he was ready to do
+any thing.
+
+“Do you know Trumence?”
+
+“The former basket-weaver of Tremblade?”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“Upon my word, don’t I know him? He has stolen apples enough from me,
+the scamp! But I don’t blame him so much, after all; for he is a good
+fellow, in spite of that.”
+
+“He was in prison at Sauveterre.”
+
+“Yes, I know; he had broken down a gate near Brechy and”--
+
+“Well, he has escaped.”
+
+“Ah, the scamp!”
+
+“And we must find him again. They have put the gendarmes on his track;
+but will they catch him?”
+
+Michael burst out laughing.
+
+“Never in his life!” he said. “Trumence will make his way to Oleron,
+where he has friends; the gendarmes will be after him in vain.”
+
+M. Folgat slapped Michael amicably on the shoulder, and said,--
+
+“But you, if you choose? Oh! do not look angry at me. We do not want to
+have him arrested. All I want you to do is to hand him a letter from me,
+and to bring me back his answer.”
+
+“If that is all, then I am your man. Just give me time to change my
+clothes, and to let father know, and I am off.”
+
+Thus M. Folgat began, as far as in him lay, to prepare for future
+action, trying to counteract all the cunning measures of the prosecution
+by such combinations as were suggested to him by his experience and his
+genius.
+
+Did it follow from this, that his faith in ultimate success was strong
+enough to make him speak of it to his most reliable friends, even, say
+to Dr. Seignebos, to M. Magloire, or to good M. Mechinet?
+
+No; for, bearing all the responsibility on his own shoulders, he had
+carefully weighed the contrary chances of the terrible game in which he
+proposed to engage, and in which the stakes were the honor and the life
+of a man. He knew, better than anybody else, that a mere nothing might
+destroy all his plans, and that Jacques’s fate was dependent on the most
+trivial accident.
+
+Like a great general on the eve of a battle, he managed to control his
+feelings, affecting, for the benefit of others, a confidence which he
+did not really feel, and allowing no feature of his face to betray the
+great anxiety which generally kept him awake more than half the night.
+
+And certainly it required a character of marvellous strength to remain
+impassive and resolute under such circumstances.
+
+Everybody around him was in despair, and gave up all hope.
+
+The house of M. de Chandore, once so full of life and merriment, had
+become as silent and sombre as a tomb.
+
+The last two months had made of M. de Chandore an old man in good
+earnest. His tall figure had begun to stoop, and he looked bent and
+broken. He walked with difficulty, and his hands began to tremble.
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran had been hit even harder. He, who only a few
+weeks before looked robust and hearty, now appeared almost decrepit. He
+did not eat, so to say, and did not sleep. He became frightfully thin.
+It gave him pain to utter a word.
+
+As to the marchioness, the very sources of life seemed to have been
+sapped within her. She had had to hear M. Magloire say that Jacques’s
+safety would have been put beyond all doubt if they had succeeded in
+obtaining a change of venue, or an adjournment of the trial. And it was
+her fault that such a change had not been applied for. That thought was
+death to her. She had hardly strength enough left to drag herself every
+day as far as the jail to see her son.
+
+The two Misses Lavarande had to bear all the practical difficulties
+arising from this sore trial: they went and came, looking as pale as
+ghosts, whispering in a low voice, and walking on tiptoe, as if there
+had been a death in the house.
+
+Dionysia alone showed greater energy as the troubles increased. She did
+not indulge in much hope.
+
+“I know Jacques will be condemned,” she said to M. Folgat. But she
+said, also, that despair belonged to criminals only, and that the fatal
+mistake for which Jacques was likely to suffer ought to inspire his
+friends with nothing but indignation and thirst for vengeance.
+
+And, while her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran went out as
+little as possible, she took pains to show herself in town, astonishing
+the ladies “in good society” by the way in which she received their
+false expressions of sympathy. But it was evident that she was only
+held up by a kind of feverish excitement, which gave to her cheeks their
+bright color, to her eyes their brilliancy, and to her voice its clear,
+silvery ring. Ah! for her sake mainly, M. Folgat longed to end this
+uncertainty which is so much more painful than the greatest misfortune.
+
+The time was drawing near.
+
+As Dr. Seignebos had announced, the president of the tribunal, M.
+Domini, had already arrived in Sauveterre.
+
+He was one of those men whose character is an honor to the bench, full
+of the dignity of his profession, but not thinking himself infallible,
+firm without useless rigor, cold and still kind-hearted, having no
+other mistress but Justice, and knowing no other ambition but that of
+establishing the truth.
+
+He had examined Jacques, as he was bound to do; but the examination had
+been, as it always is, a mere formality, and had led to no result.
+
+The next step was the selection of a jury.
+
+The jurymen had already begun to arrive from all parts of the
+department. They lodged at the Hotel de France, where they took their
+meals in common in the large back dining-room, which is always specially
+reserved for their use.
+
+In the afternoon one might see them, looking grave and thoughtful, take
+a walk on the New-Market Square, or on the old ramparts.
+
+M. Gransiere, also, had arrived. But he kept strictly in retirement
+in his room at the Hotel de la Poste, where M. Galpin every day spent
+several hours in close conference with him.
+
+“It seems,” said Mechinet in confidence to M. Folgat,--“it seems they
+are preparing an overwhelming charge.”
+
+The day after, Dionysia opened “The Sauveterre Independent,” and found
+in it an announcement of the cases set down for each day,--
+
+     MONDAY..... Fraudulent bankruptcy, defalcation, forgery.
+     TUESDAY.... Murder, theft.
+     WEDNESDAY.. Infanticide, domestic theft.
+     THURSDAY... Incendiarism, and attempted assassination
+     (case of M. de Boiscoran).
+
+This was, therefore, the great day on which the good people of
+Sauveterre expected to enjoy the most delightful emotions. Hence there
+was an immense pressure brought to bear upon all the principal members
+of the court to obtain tickets of admission. People who, the night
+before, had refused to speak to M. Galpin, would stop him the next day
+in the street, and beg him to give them a ticket, not for themselves,
+but for “their lady.” Finally, the unheard-of fact became known,
+that tickets were openly sold for money! One family had actually the
+incomprehensible courage to write to the Marquis de Boiscoran for
+three tickets, promising, in return, “by their attitude in court” to
+contribute to the acquittal of the accused.
+
+In the midst of all these rumors, the city was suddenly startled by
+a list of subscriptions in behalf of the families of the unfortunate
+firemen who had perished in the fire at Valpinson.
+
+Who had started this paper? M. Seneschal tried in vain to discover the
+hand that had struck this blow. The secret of this treacherous trick was
+well kept. But it was a most atrocious trick to revive thus, on the eve
+of the trial, such mournful memories and such bitter hatred.
+
+“That man Galpin had a hand in it,” said Dr. Seignebos, grinding his
+teeth. “And to think that he may, after all, be triumphant! Ah, why did
+not Goudar commence his experiment a little sooner?”
+
+For Goudar, while assuring everybody of certain success, asked for time.
+To disarm the mistrust of an idiot like Cocoleu was not the work of a
+day or a week. He declared, that, if he should be overhasty, he would
+most assuredly ruin every thing.
+
+Otherwise, nothing new occurred.
+
+Count Claudieuse was getting rather better.
+
+The agent in Jersey had telegraphed that he was on Suky’s track; that he
+would certainly catch her, but that he could not say when.
+
+Michael, finally, had in vain searched the whole district, and been all
+over Oleron; no one had been able to give him any news of Trumence.
+
+Thus, on the day when the session began, a council was held, in which
+all of Jacques’s friends took part; and here it was resolved that his
+counsel would not mention the name of the Countess Claudieuse, and
+would, even if the count should offer to give evidence, adhere to the
+plan of defence suggested by M. Folgat.
+
+Alas! the chances of success seemed hourly to diminish; for the jury,
+very much against the usual experience, appeared to be excessively
+severe. The bankrupt was sentenced to twenty years’ hard labor. The
+man accused of murder could not even obtain the plea of “extenuating
+circumstances,” and was sentenced to death.
+
+This was on Wednesday.
+
+It was decided that M. de Chandore and the Marquis and the Marchioness
+de Boiscoran should attend the trial. They wanted to spare Dionysia the
+terrible excitement; but she declared that, in that case, she should
+go alone to the court-house; and thus they were forced to submit to her
+will.
+
+Thanks to an order from M. Domini, M. Folgat and M. Magloire could spend
+the evening with Jacques in order to determine all the details, and to
+agree upon certain replies to be given.
+
+Jacques looked excessively pale, but was quite composed. And when his
+counsel left him, saying,--
+
+“Keep up your courage and hope,” he replied,--
+
+“Hope I have none; but courage--I assure you, I have courage!”
+
+
+
+XXXI.
+
+At last, in his dark cell, Jacques de Boiscoran saw the day break that
+was to decide his fate.
+
+He was to be tried to-day.
+
+The occasion was, of course, too good to be neglected by “The Sauveterre
+Independent.” Although a morning paper, it published, “in view of
+the gravity of the circumstances,” an evening edition, which a dozen
+newsboys cried out in the streets up to mid-night. And this was what it
+said,--
+
+ASSIZES AT SAUVETERRE.
+
+THURSDAY, 23.
+
+Presiding Judge.--M. DOMINI.
+
+ASSASSINATION! INCENDIARISM!
+
+[Special Correspondence of the Independent.]
+
+Whence this unusual commotion, this uproar, this great excitement, in
+our peaceful city? Whence these gatherings of our public squares, these
+groups in front of all the houses! Whence this restlessness on all
+faces, this anxiety in all eyes?
+
+The reason is, that to-day this terrible Valpinson case will be brought
+up in court, after having for so many weeks now agitated our people.
+
+To-day this man who is charged with such fearful crimes is to be tried.
+
+Hence all steps are eagerly turned towards the court-house: the people
+all hurry, and rush in the same direction.
+
+The court-house! Long before daylight it was surrounded by an eager
+multitude, which the constables and the gendarmes could only with
+difficulty keep within bounds.
+
+They press and crowd and push. Coarse words fly to and fro. From words
+they pass to gestures, from gestures to blows. A row is imminent. Women
+cry, men swear, and two peasants from Brechy are arrested on the spot.
+
+It is well known that there will be few only, happy enough to get in.
+The great square would not contain all these curious people, who have
+gathered here from all parts of the district: how should the court-room
+be able to hold them?
+
+And still our authorities, always anxious to please their constituents,
+who have bestowed their confidence upon them, have resorted to heroic
+measures. They have had two partition walls taken down, so that a part
+of the great hall is added to the court-room proper.
+
+M. Lautier, the city architect, who is a good judge in such matters,
+assures us that this immense hall will accommodate twelve hundred
+persons.
+
+But what are twelve hundred persons?
+
+Long before the hour fixed for the opening of the court, every thing is
+full to overflowing. A pin might be thrown into the room, and it could
+not fall to the ground.
+
+Not an inch of space is lost. All around, along the wall men are
+standing in close ranks. On both sides of the platform, chairs have been
+put, which are occupied by a large number of our first ladies in good
+society, not only of Sauveterre, however, but also of the neighborhood
+and even other cites. Some of them appear in magnificent toilettes.
+
+A thousand reports are current, a thousand conjectures are formed, which
+we shall take care not to report. Why should we? Let us say, however,
+that the accused has not availed himself of his right to reject a
+certain number of jurymen. He has accepted all the names which were
+drawn by lot, and which the prosecuting attorney did not object to.
+
+We obtained this information from an attorney, a friend of ours; and,
+just as he had told us all about it, a great noise rose at the door,
+which was followed by rapid moving of chairs, and half-smothered
+exclamations.
+
+It was the family of the accused, who had come in, and now occupied the
+seats assigned them close by the platform.
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran had on his arm Miss Chandore, who wore with
+great grace and dignity a dark gray dress, trimmed with cherry-colored
+ribbons. M. de Chandore escorted the Marchioness de Boiscoran. The
+marquis and the baron looked cold and reserved. The mother of the
+accused appears utterly overcome. Miss Chandore, on the contrary, is
+lively, does not seem in the least concerned, and returns with a
+bright smile the few greetings she receives from various parts of the
+court-room.
+
+But soon they are no longer an object of curiosity.
+
+The attention of all is now directed towards a large table standing
+before the judges, and on which may be seen a number of articles covered
+by large red cloth.
+
+These are the articles to be used in evidence.
+
+In the meantime it strikes eleven o’clock. The sheriff’s officers move
+about the room, seeing that every thing is in order.
+
+Then a small door opens on the left, and the counsel for the defence
+enter.
+
+Our readers know who they are. One is M. Magloire, the ornament of our
+bar; the other, an advocate from the capital, M. Folgat, quite young,
+but already famous.
+
+M. Magloire looks as he does on his best days, and smilingly converses
+with the mayor of Sauveterre; while M. Folgat opens his blue bag, and
+consults his papers.
+
+Half-past eleven!
+
+An usher announces,--
+
+The court.
+
+M. Domini takes the chair. M. Gransiere occupies the seat of the
+prosecuting attorney.
+
+Behind them the jurymen sit down, looking grave and solemn.
+
+Everybody rises, everybody strains his eyes to see, and stands on
+tiptoe. Some persons in the back rows even get upon their chairs.
+
+The president has ordered the prisoner to be brought in.
+
+He appears.
+
+He is dressed in black, and with great elegance. It is noticed that he
+wears in his buttonhole the ribbon of the Legion of Honor.
+
+He looks pale; but his eye is clear and open, full of confidence, yet
+not defiant. His carriage is proud, though melancholy.
+
+He has hardly taken his seat when a gentleman passes over three rows of
+chairs, and, in spite of the officers of the court, succeeds in shaking
+hands with him. It is Dr. Seignebos.
+
+The president orders the sheriff to proclaim silence; and, after
+having reminded the audience that all expressions of approbation or
+disapprobation are strictly prohibited, he turns to the accused, and
+asks him,--
+
+“Tell me your first names, your family name, your age, your profession,
+and your domicile.”
+
+The accused replies,--
+
+“Louis Trivulce Jacques de Boiscoran, twenty-seven years, land-owner,
+residing at Boiscoran, district of Sauveterre.”
+
+“Sit down, and listen to the charges which are brought against you.”
+
+The clerk, M. Mechinet, thereupon reads the charges, which, in their
+terrible simplicity, cause a shudder to pass through the whole audience.
+
+We shall not repeat them here, as all the incidents which they relate
+are well known to our readers.
+
+
+[Examination of the Accused.]
+
+PRESIDENT.--Accused, rise and answer clearly. During the preliminary
+investigation, you have refused to answer several questions. Now the
+matter must be cleared up. And I am bound to tell you it is to your
+interest to answer frankly.
+
+ACCUSED.--No one desires more than I do that the truth be known. I am
+ready to answer.
+
+P.--Why were you so reticent in your first examination?
+
+A.--I though it important for my interests to answer only in court.
+
+P.--You have heard of what crimes you are accused?
+
+A.--I am innocent. And, first of all, I beg you will allow me to say one
+thing. The crime committed at Valpinson is an atrocious, cowardly crime;
+but it is at the same time an absurdly stupid crime, more like the
+unconscious act of a madman. Now, I have always been looked upon as not
+lacking exactly in intelligence.
+
+P.--That is a discussion.
+
+A.--Still, Mr. President--
+
+P.--Hereafter you shall have full liberty to state your argument. For
+the present you must be content to answer the questions which I shall
+ask you.
+
+A.--I submit.
+
+P.--Were you not soon to be married?
+
+At this question all eyes are turned towards Miss Chandore, who blushes
+till she is as red as a poppy, but does not cast down her eyes.
+
+A.--(In a low voice.) Yes.
+
+P.--Did you not write to your betrothed a few hours before the crime was
+committed?
+
+A.--Yes, sir; and I sent her my letter by the son of one of my tenants,
+Michael.
+
+P.--What did you write to her?
+
+A.--That important business would prevent me from spending the evening
+with her.
+
+P.--What was that business?
+
+At the moment when the accused opened his lips to reply, the president
+stopped him by a gesture, and said,--
+
+P.--Take care! You were asked this question during the preliminary
+investigation, and you replied that you had to go to Brechy to see your
+wood-merchant.
+
+A.--I did indeed make that reply on the spur of the moment. It was not
+exact.
+
+P.--Why did you tell a falsehood?
+
+A.--(After an expression of indignation, which was noticed by all.) I
+could not believe that I was in danger. It seemed to me impossible that
+I should be reached by an accusation, which nevertheless, has brought
+me into this court. Hence I did not deem it necessary to make my private
+affairs public.
+
+P.--But you very soon found out that you were in danger?
+
+A.--Yes, I did.
+
+P.--Why did you not tell the truth then?
+
+A.--Because the magistrate who carried on the investigation had been too
+intimate a friend of mine to inspire me with confidence.
+
+P.--Explain yourself more fully.
+
+A.--I must ask leave to say no more. I might, in speaking of M. Galpin,
+be found to be wanting in moderation.
+
+A low murmur accompanies this reply made by the accused.
+
+P.--Such murmurs are improper, and I remind the audience of the respect
+due to the court.
+
+M. Gransiere, the prosecuting attorney, rises,--
+
+“We cannot tolerate such recriminations against a magistrate who has
+done his duty nobly, and in spite of the pain it caused him. If the
+accused had well-founded objections to the magistrate, why did he not
+make them known? He cannot plead ignorance: he knows the law, he is a
+lawyer himself. His counsel, moreover, are men of experience.”
+
+M. Magloire replies, in his seat,--
+
+“We were of the opinion that the accused ought to ask for a change of
+venue. He declined to follow our advice, being confident, as he said,
+that his cause was a good one.”
+
+M. Gransiere, resuming his seat,--
+
+“The jury will judge of this plea.”
+
+P.--(To the accused.) And now are you ready to tell the truth with
+regard to that business which prevented you from spending the evening
+with your betrothed?
+
+A.--Yes, sir. My wedding was to take place at the church in Brechy, and
+I had to make my arrangements with the priest about the ceremony. I had,
+besides, to fulfil certain religious duties. The priest at Brechy,
+who is a friend of mine, will tell you, that, although no day had
+been fixed, it had been agreed upon between us that I should come to
+confession on one of the evenings of the week since he insisted upon it.
+
+The audience, which had been expecting some very exciting revelations,
+seemed to be much disappointed; and ironical laughter was heard in
+various directions.
+
+P.--(In a severe tone of voice.) This laughter is indecent and
+objectionable. Sheriff, take out the persons who presume to laugh. And
+once more I give notice, that, at the first disturbance, I shall order
+the room to be cleared.
+
+Then, turning again to the accused, he said,--
+
+P.--Go on!
+
+A.--I went therefore to the priest at Brechy, that evening: unluckily
+there was no one at home at the parsonage when I got there. I was
+ringing the third or fourth time in vain, when a little peasant-girl
+came by, who told me that she had just met the priest at the Marshalls’
+Cross-roads. I thought at once I would go and meet him, and went in
+that direction. But I walked more than four miles without meeting him. I
+thought the girl must have been mistaken, and went home again.
+
+P.--Is that your explanation?
+
+A.--Yes.
+
+P.--And you think it a plausible one?
+
+A.--I have promised to say not what is plausible, but what is true.
+I may confess, however, that, precisely because the explanation is so
+simple, I did not venture at first to give it. And yet if no crime had
+been committed, and I had said the day after, “Yesterday I went to see
+the priest at Brechy, and did not find him,” who would have seen any
+thing unnatural in my statement?
+
+P.--And, in order to fulfil so simple a duty, you chose a roundabout
+way, which is not only troublesome, but actually dangerous, right across
+the swamps?
+
+A.--I chose the shortest way.
+
+P.--Then, why were you so frightened upon meeting young Ribot at the
+Seille Canal?
+
+A.--I was not frightened, but simply surprised, as one is apt to be
+when suddenly meeting a man where no one is expected. And, if I was
+surprised, young Ribot was not less so.
+
+P.--You see that you hoped to meet no one?
+
+A.--Pardon me, I did not say so. To expect is not the same as to hope.
+
+P.--Why, then did you take such pains to explain your being there?
+
+A.--I gave no explanations. Young Ribot first told me, laughingly, where
+he was going, and then I told him that I was going to Brechy.
+
+P.--You told him, also, that you were going through the marshes to shoot
+birds, and, at the same time you showed him your gun?
+
+A.--That may be. But is that any proof against me? I think just the
+contrary. If I had had such criminal intentions as the prosecution
+suggests, I should certainly have gone back after meeting people,
+knowing that I was exposed to great danger. But I was only going to see
+my friend, the priest.
+
+P.--And for such a visit you took your gun?
+
+A.--My land lies in the woods and marshes, and there was not a day when
+I did not bag a rabbit or a waterfowl. Everybody in the neighborhood
+will tell you that I never went out without a gun.
+
+P.--And on your return, why did you go through the forest of
+Rochepommier?
+
+A.--Because, from the place where I was on the road, it was probably the
+shortest way to Boiscoran. I say probably, because just then I did not
+think much about that. A man who is taking a walk would be very much
+embarrassed, in the majority of cases, if he had to give a precise
+account why he took one road rather than another.
+
+P.--You were seen in the forest by a woodcutter, called Gaudry?
+
+A.--So I was told by the magistrate.
+
+P.--That witness deposes that you were in a state of great excitement.
+You were tearing leaves from the branches, you were talking loud.
+
+A.--I certainly was very much vexed at having lost my evening, and
+particularly vexed at having relied on the little peasant-girl. It is
+quite likely that I might have exclaimed, as I walked along, “Plague
+upon my friend, the priest, who goes and dines in town!” or some such
+words.
+
+There was a smile in the assembly, but not such as to attract the
+president’s attention.
+
+P.--You know that the priest of Brechy was dining out that day?
+
+M. Magloire rose, and said,--
+
+“It is through us, sir, that the accused has found out this fact. When
+he told us how he had spent the evening, we went to see the priest
+at Brechy, who told us how it came about that neither he nor his
+old servant was at the parsonage. At our request the priest has been
+summoned. We shall also produce another priest, who at that time passed
+the Marshalls’ Cross-roads, and was the one whom the little girl had
+seen.”
+
+Having made a sign to counsel to sit down again, the president once more
+turns to the accused.
+
+P.--The woman Courtois who met you deposes that you looked very curious.
+You did not speak to her: you were in great haste to escape from her.
+
+A.--The night was much too dark for the woman to see my face. She asked
+me to render her a slight service, and I did so. I did not speak to her,
+because I had nothing to say to her. I did not leave her suddenly, but
+only got ahead of her, because her ass walked very slowly.
+
+At a sign from the president, the ushers raise the red cloth which cover
+the objects on the table.
+
+Great curiosity is manifested by the whole audience; and all rise, and
+stretch their necks to see better. On the table are displayed clothes,
+a pair of velveteen trousers, a shooting-jacket of maroon-colored
+velveteen, an old straw hat, and a pair of dun-colored leather boots. By
+their side lie a double-barrelled gun, packages of cartridges, two bowls
+filled with small-shot, and, finally, a large china basin, with a dark
+sediment at the bottom.
+
+P.--(Showing these objects to the accused.) Are those the clothes which
+you wore the evening of the crime?
+
+A.--Yes, sir.
+
+P.--A curious costume in which to visit a venerable ecclesiastic, and to
+perform religious duties.
+
+A.--The priest at Brechy was my friend. Our intimacy will explain, even
+if it does not justify, the liberty I took.
+
+P.--Do you also recognize this basin? The water has been allowed to
+evaporate, and the residue alone remains there on the bottom.
+
+A.--It is true, that, when the magistrate appeared at my house, he found
+there the basin full of dark water, which was thick with half-burnt
+_debris_. He asked me about this water, and I did not hesitate a moment
+to tell him that I had washed my hands in it the evening before, after
+my return home.
+
+Is it not evident, that if I had been guilty, my first effort would
+have been to put every evidence of my crime out of the way? And yet this
+circumstance is looked upon as the strongest evidence of my guilt, and
+the prosecution produces it as the most serious charge against me.
+
+P.--It is very strong and serious indeed.
+
+A.--Well, nothing can be more easily explained than that. I am a great
+smoker. When I left home the evening of the crime, I took cigars in
+abundance; but, when I was about to light one, I found that I had no
+matches.
+
+M. Magloire rises, and says,--
+
+“And I wish to point out that this is not one of those explanations
+which are invented, after the fact, to meet the necessities of a
+doubtful case. We have absolute and overwhelming proof of it. M. de
+Boiscoran did not have the little match-box which he usually carries
+about him, at that time, because he had left it at M. de Chandore’s
+house, on the mantelpiece, where I have seen it, and where it still is.”
+
+P.--That is sufficient, M. Magloire. Let the defendant go on.
+
+A.--I wanted to smoke; and so I resorted to the usual expedient, which
+all sportsmen know. I tore open one of my cartridges, put, instead of
+the lead, a piece of paper inside, and set it on fire.
+
+P.--And thus you get a light?
+
+A.--Not always, but certainly in one case out of three.
+
+P.--And the operation blackens the hands?
+
+A.--Not the operation itself. But, when I had lit my cigar, I could not
+throw away the burning paper as it was: I might have kindled a regular
+fire.
+
+P.--In the marshes?
+
+A.--But, sir, I smoked five or six cigars during the evening, which
+means that I had to repeat the operation a dozen times at least, and
+in different places,--in the woods and on the high-road. Each time I
+quenched the fire with my fingers; and, as the powder is always greasy,
+my hands naturally became soon as black as those of a charcoal-burner.
+
+The accused gives this explanation in a perfectly natural but still
+rather excited manner, which seems to make a great impression.
+
+P.--Let us go on to your gun. Do you recognize it?
+
+A.--Yes, sir. May I look at it?
+
+P.--Yes.
+
+The accused takes up the gun with feverish eagerness, snaps the two
+cocks, and puts one of his fingers inside the barrels.
+
+He turns crimson, and, bending down to his counsel, says a few words to
+them so quickly and so low, that they do not reach us.
+
+P.--What is the matter?
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--(Rising.) A fact has become patent which at once
+establishes the innocence of M. de Boiscoran. By providential
+intercession, his servant Anthony had cleaned the gun two days before
+the day of the crime. It appears now that one of the barrels is still
+clean, and in good condition. Hence it cannot be M. de Boiscoran who has
+fired twice at Count Claudieuse.
+
+During this time the accused has gone up to the table on which the
+objects are lying. He wraps his handkerchief around the ramrod, slips it
+into one of the barrels, draws it out again, and shows that it is hardly
+soiled.
+
+The whole audience is in a state of great excitement.
+
+P.--Do the same thing to the other barrel.
+
+The accused does it. The handkerchief remains clean.
+
+P.--You see, and still you have told us that you had burnt, perhaps, a
+dozen cartridges to light your cigars. But the prosecution had foreseen
+this objection, and they are prepared to meet it. Sheriff, bring in the
+witness, Maucroy.
+
+Our readers all know this gentleman, whose beautiful collection of
+weapons, sporting-articles, and fishing-tackle, is one of the ornaments
+of our great Square. He is dressed up, and without hesitation takes the
+required oath.
+
+P.--Repeat your deposition with regard to this gun.
+
+WITNESS.--It is an excellent gun, and very costly: such guns are not
+made in France, where people are too economical.
+
+At this answer the whole audience laughs. M. Maucroy is not exactly
+famous for cheap bargains. Even some of the jurymen can hardly control
+their laughter.
+
+P.--Never mind your reflections on that object. Tell us only what you
+know about the peculiarities of this gun.
+
+WITNESS.--Well, thanks to a peculiar arrangement of the cartridges, and
+thanks, also, to the special nature of the fulminating material, the
+barrels hardly ever become foul.
+
+A.--(Eagerly.) You are mistaken, sir. I have myself cleaned my gun
+frequently; and I have, just on the contrary, found the barrels
+extremely foul.
+
+WITNESS.--Because you had fired too often. But I mean to say that you
+can use up two or three cartridges without a trace being left in the
+barrels.
+
+A.--I deny that positively.
+
+P.--(To witness.) And if a dozen cartridges were burnt?
+
+WITNESS.--Oh, then, the barrels would be very foul.
+
+P.--Examine the barrels, and tell us what you see.
+
+WITNESS.--(After a minute examination.) I declare that two cartridges
+cannot have been used since the gun was cleaned.
+
+P.--(To the accused.) Well, what becomes of that dozen cartridges which
+you have used up to light your cigars, and which had blackened your
+hands so badly?
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--The question is too serious to be left entirely in the
+hands of a single witness.
+
+THE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY.--We only desire the truth. It is easy to make
+an experiment.
+
+WITNESS.--Oh, certainly!
+
+P.--Let it be done.
+
+Witness puts a cartridge into each barrel, and goes to the window to
+explode them. The sudden explosion is followed by the screams of several
+ladies.
+
+WITNESS.--(Returning, and showing that the barrels are no more foul than
+they were before.) Well, you see I was right.
+
+P.--(To the accused.) You see this circumstance on which you relied so
+securely, so far from helping you, only proves that your explanation of
+the blackened state of your hands was a falsehood.
+
+Upon the president’s order, witness is taken out, and the examination of
+the accused is continued.
+
+P.--What were your relations with Count Claudieuse?
+
+A.--We had no intercourse with each other.
+
+P.--But it was known all over the country that you hated him?
+
+A.--That is a mistake. I declare, upon my honor, that I always looked
+upon him as the best and most honorable of men.
+
+P.--There, at least, you agree with all who knew him. Still you are at
+law with him?
+
+A.--I have inherited that suit from my uncle, together with his fortune.
+I carried it on, but very quietly. I asked for nothing better than a
+compromise.
+
+P.--And, when Count Claudieuse refused, you were incensed?
+
+A.--No.
+
+P.--You were so irritated against him, that you once actually aimed your
+gun at him. At another time you said, “He will not leave me alone till I
+put a ball into him.” Do not deny! You will hear what the witnesses say.
+
+Thereupon, the accused resumes his place. He looks as confident as
+ever, and carries his head high. He has entirely overcome any feeling
+of discouragement, and converses with his counsel in the most composed
+manner.
+
+There can be no doubt, that, at this stage of the proceedings, public
+opinion is on his side. He has won the good-will even of those who came
+there strongly prejudiced. No one can help being impressed by his proud
+but mournful expression of fate; and all are touched by the extreme
+simplicity of his answers.
+
+Although the discussion about the gun has not turned out to his
+advantage, it does not seem to have injured him. People are eagerly
+discussing the question of the fouling of guns. A number of incredulous
+persons, whom the experiment has not convinced, maintain that M. Maucroy
+has been too rash in his statements. Others express surprise at the
+reserve shown by counsel,--less by that of M. Folgat, who is unknown
+here, than by that of M. Magloire, who usually allows no opportunity to
+escape, but is sure to profit by the smallest incident.
+
+The proceedings are not exactly suspended; but there is a pause, whilst
+the ushers cover the articles on the table once more with red cloth,
+and, after several comings and goings, roll a large arm-chair in front
+of the judge’s seat.
+
+At last one of the ushers comes up to the president, and whispers
+something into his ear.
+
+The president only nods his head.
+
+When the usher has left the room, M. Domini says,--
+
+“We shall now proceed to hear the witnesses, and we propose to begin
+with Count Claudieuse. Although seriously indisposed, he has preferred
+to appear in court.”
+
+At these words Dr. Seignebos is seen to start up, as if he wished to
+address the court; but one of his friends, sitting by him, pulls him
+down by his coat. M. Folgat makes a sign to him, and he sits down again.
+
+P.--Sheriff, bring in Count Claudieuse.
+
+
+[Examination of Witnesses.]
+
+The small door through which the armorer Maucroy had been admitted opens
+once more, and Count Claudieuse enters. Supported and almost carried by
+his man-servant.
+
+He is greeted by a murmur of sympathetic pity. He is frightfully thin;
+and his features look as haggard as if he were about to give up the
+ghost. The whole vitality of his system seems to have centred in his
+eyes, which shine with extraordinary brilliancy.
+
+He takes the oath in an almost inaudible voice.
+
+But the silence is so deep, that when the president asks him the usual
+question, “Do you swear to tell the whole truth?” and he answers, “I
+swear,” the words are distinctly heard all over the court-room.
+
+P.--(Very kindly.) We are very much obliged to you, sir, for the effort
+which you have made. That chair has been brought in for you: please sit
+down.
+
+COUNT CLAUDIEUSE.--I thank you, sir; but I am strong enough to stand.
+
+P.--Please tell us, then, what you know of the attempt made on your
+life.
+
+C.C.--It might have been eleven o’clock: I had gone to bed a little
+while before, and blown out my light. I was in that half state which is
+neither waking nor sleeping, when I saw my room lighted up by a dazzling
+glare. I saw it was fire. I jumped out of bed, and, only lightly
+dressed, rushed down the stairs. I found some difficulty in opening the
+outer door, which I had locked myself. At last I succeeded. But I had no
+sooner put my foot outside than I felt a terrible pain in my right side,
+and at the same time I heard an explosion of fire-arms. Instinctively I
+rushed towards the place from which the shot seemed to have been fired;
+but, before I had taken three steps, I was struck once more in my
+shoulder, and fell down unconscious.
+
+P.--How long a time was there between the first and the second shots?
+
+C.C.--Almost three or four seconds.
+
+P.--Was that time enough to distinguish the murderer?
+
+C.C.--Yes; and I saw him run from behind a wood-pile, where he had been
+lying in ambush, and escape into the country.
+
+P.--You can tell us, no doubt, how he was dressed?
+
+C.C.--Certainly. He had on a pair of light gray trousers, a dark coat,
+and a large straw hat.
+
+At a sign from the president, and in the midst of the most profound
+silence, the ushers remove the red cloth from the table.
+
+P.--(Pointing at the clothes of the accused.) Does the costume which you
+describe correspond with those cloths?
+
+C.C.--Of course; for they are the same.
+
+P.--Then you must have recognized the murderer.
+
+C.C.--The fire was so large at that time, that it was as bright as
+daylight. I recognized M. Jacques de Boiscoran.
+
+There was, probably, in the whole vast audience assembled under that
+roof, not a heart that was not seized with unspeakable anguish when
+these crushing words were uttered.
+
+We were so fully prepared for them, that we could watch the accused
+closely.
+
+Not a muscle in his face seemed to move. His counsel showed as little
+any signs of surprise or emotion.
+
+Like ourselves, the president also, and the prosecuting attorney, had
+been watching the accused and his counsel. Did they expect a protest, an
+answer, any thing at all? Perhaps they did.
+
+But, as nothing came, the president continued, turning to witness,--
+
+P.--Your declaration is a very serious one, sir.
+
+C.C.--I know its weight.
+
+P.--It is entirely different from your first deposition made before the
+investigating magistrate.
+
+C.C.--It is.
+
+P.--When you were examined a few hours after the crime, you declared
+that you had not recognized the murderer. More than that, when M. de
+Boiscoran’s name was mentioned, you seemed to be indignant of such a
+suspicion, and almost became surety yourself for his innocence.
+
+C.C.--That was contrary to truth. I felt a very natural sense of
+commiseration, and tried to save a man who belonged to a highly esteemed
+family from disgraceful punishment.
+
+P.--But now?
+
+C.C.--Now I see that I was wrong, and that the law ought to have its
+course. And this is my reason for coming here,--although afflicted by a
+disease which never spares, and on the point of appearing before God--in
+order to tell you M. de Boiscoran is guilty. I recognized him.
+
+P.--(To the accused.) Do you hear?
+
+The accused rises and says,--
+
+A.--By all that is dear and sacred to me in the world, I swear that I
+am innocent. Count Claudieuse says he is about to appear before God: I
+appeal to the justice of God.
+
+Sobs well-nigh drown the voice of the accused. The Marchioness de
+Boiscoran is overcome by a nervous attack. She is carried out stiff and
+inanimate; and Dr. Seignebos and Miss Chandore hasten after her.
+
+A.--(To Count Claudieuse.) You have killed my mother!
+
+Certainly, all who had hoped for scenes of thrilling interest were not
+disappointed. Everybody looks overcome with excitement. Tears appear in
+the eyes of almost all the ladies.
+
+And yet those who watch the glances which are exchanged between M. de
+Boiscoran and Count Claudieuse cannot help asking themselves, if there
+is not something else between these two men, besides what the trial has
+made known. We cannot explain to ourselves these singular answers given
+to the president’s questions, nor does any one understand the silence
+observed by M. de Boiscoran’s counsel. Do they abandon their client? No;
+for we see them go up to him, shake hands with him, and lavish upon him
+every sign of friendly consolation and encouragement.
+
+We may even be permitted to say, that, to all appearances, the president
+himself and the prosecuting attorney were, for a moment, perfectly
+overcome with surprise. At all events, we thought so at the moment.
+
+But the president continues,--
+
+P.--I have but just been asking the accused, count, whether there was
+any ground of enmity between you.
+
+C.C.--(In a steadily declining voice.) I know no other ground except our
+lawsuit about a little stream of water.
+
+P.--Has not the accused once threatened to fire at you?
+
+C.C.--Yes; but I did not think he was in earnest, and I never resented
+the matter.
+
+P. Do you persist in your declaration?
+
+C.C.--I do. And once more, upon my oath, I declare solemnly that I
+recognized, in such a manner as to prevent any possible mistake, M.
+Jacques Boiscoran.
+
+It was evidently time that Count Claudieuse should end his evidence. He
+begins to totter; his eyes close; his head rolls from side to side; and
+two ushers have to come to his assistance to enable him, with the help
+of his own servant, to leave the room.
+
+Is the Countess Claudieuse to be called next?
+
+It was thought so; but it was not so. The countess being kept by the
+bedside of one of her daughters, who is most dangerously ill, will not
+be called at all; and the clerk of the court is ordered to read her
+deposition.
+
+Although her description of the terrible event is very graphic,
+it contains no new facts, and will remain without influence on the
+proceedings.
+
+The next witness is Ribot.
+
+This is a fine handsome countryman, a regular village cock, with a
+pink-and-blue cravat around his neck, and a huge gold chain dangling
+from his watch-pocket. He seems to be very proud of his appearance and
+looks around with an air of the most perfect self-satisfaction.
+
+In the same way he relates his meeting with the accused in a tone of
+great importance. He knows every thing and explains every thing. With
+a little encouragement he would, no doubt, declare that the accused had
+confided to him all his plans of incendiarism and murder. His answers
+are almost all received with great hilarity, which bring down upon the
+audience another and very severe reprimand from the president.
+
+The witness Gaudry, who succeeds him, is a small, wretched-looking man,
+with a false and timid eye, who exhausts himself in bows and scrapes.
+Quite different from Ribot, he seems to have forgotten every thing. It
+is evident he is afraid of committing himself. He praises the count; but
+he does not speak the less well of M. de Boiscoran. He assures the court
+of his profound respect for them all,--for the ladies and gentlemen
+present, for everybody, in fine.
+
+The woman Courtois, who comes next, evidently wishes she were a thousand
+miles away. The president has to make the very greatest efforts to
+obtain, word by word, her evidence, which, after all, amounts to next to
+nothing.
+
+Then follow two farmers from Brechy, who have been present at the
+violent altercation which ended in M. de Boiscoran’s aiming with his gun
+at Count Claudieuse.
+
+Their account, interrupted by numberless parentheses, is very obscure.
+One of the counsel of the defendant requests them to be more explicit;
+and thereupon they become utterly unintelligible. Besides, they
+contradict each other. One has looked upon the act of the accused as a
+mere jest: the other has looked upon it so seriously as to throw himself
+between the two men, in order to prevent M. de Boiscoran from killing
+his adversary then and there.
+
+Once more the accused protests, energetically, he never hated Count
+Claudieuse: there was no reason why he should hate him.
+
+The obstinate peasant insists upon it that a lawsuit is always a
+sufficient reason for hating a man. And thereupon he undertakes to
+explain the lawsuit, and how Count Claudieuse, by stopping the water of
+the Seille, overflowed M. de Boiscoran’s meadows.
+
+The president at last stops the discussion, and orders another witness
+to be brought in.
+
+This man swears he has heard M. de Boiscoran say, that, sooner or later,
+he would put a ball into Count Claudieuse. He adds, that the accused
+is a terrible man, who threatened to shoot people upon the slightest
+provocation. And, to support his evidence, he states that once before,
+to the knowledge of the whole country, M. de Boiscoran has fired at a
+man.
+
+The accused undertakes to explain this. A scamp, who he thinks was no
+one else but the witness on the stand, came every night and stole his
+tenants’ fruit and vegetables. One night he kept watch, and gave him a
+load of salt. He does not know whether he hit him. At all events, the
+thief never complained, and thus was never found out.
+
+The next witness is a constable from Brechy. He deposes that once Count
+Claudieuse, by stopping up the waters of the little stream, the
+Seille, had caused M. de Boiscoran a loss of twenty thousand weight of
+first-rate hay. He confesses that such a bad neighbor would certainly
+have exasperated him.
+
+The prosecuting attorney does not deny the fact, but adds, that Count
+Claudieuse offered to pay damages. M. de Boiscoran had refused with
+insulting haughtiness.
+
+The accused replies, that he had refused upon the advice of his lawyer,
+but that he had not used insulting words.
+
+Next appeared the witnesses summoned by the defence.
+
+The first is the excellent priest from Brechy. He confirms the statement
+of the accused. He was dining, the evening of the crime, at the house
+of M. de Besson; his servant had come for him; and the parsonage was
+deserted. He states that he had really arranged with M. de Boiscoran
+that the latter should come some evening of that week to fulfil the
+religious duties which the church requires before it allows a marriage
+to be consecrated. He has known Jacques de Boiscoran from a child, and
+knows no better and no more honorable man. In his opinion, that hatred,
+of which so much has been said, never had any existence. He cannot
+believe, and does not believe, that the accused is guilty.
+
+The second witness is the priest of an adjoining parish. He states,
+that, between nine and ten o’clock, he was on the road, near the
+Marshalls’ Cross-roads. The night was quite dark. He is of the same size
+as the priest at Brechy; and the little girl might very well have taken
+him for the latter, thus misleading M. de Boiscoran.
+
+Three other witnesses are introduced; and then, as neither the accused
+nor his counsel have any thing to add, the prosecuting attorney begins
+his speech.
+
+
+[The Charge.]
+
+M. Gransiere’s eloquence is so widely known, and so justly appreciated,
+that we need not refer to it here. We will only say that he surpassed
+himself in this charge, which, for more than an hour, held the large
+assembly in anxious and breathless suspense, and caused all hearts to
+vibrate with the most intense excitement.
+
+He commences with a description of Valpinson, “this poetic and charming
+residence, where the noble old trees of Rochepommier are mirrored in the
+crystal waves of the Seille.
+
+“There,” he went on to say,--“there lived the Count and the Countess
+Claudieuse,--he one of those noblemen of a past age who worshipped
+honor, and were devoted to duty; she one of those women who are the
+glory of their sex, and the perfect model of all domestic virtues.
+
+“Heaven had blessed their union, and given them two children, to whom
+they were tenderly attached. Fortune smiled upon their wise efforts.
+Esteemed by all, cherished, and revered, they lived happy, and might
+have counted upon long years of prosperity.
+
+“But no. Hate was hovering over them.
+
+“One evening, a fatal glare arouses the count. He rushes out; he hears
+the report of a gun. He hears it a second time, and he sinks down,
+bathed in his blood. The countess also is alarmed by the explosion, and
+hastens to the spot: she stumbles; she sees the lifeless body of her
+husband, and sinks unconscious to the ground.
+
+“Are the children also to perish? No. Providence watches. A flash of
+intelligence pierces the night of an insane man, who rushes through
+the flames, and snatches the children from the fire that was already
+threatening their couch.
+
+“Their lives are saved; but the fire continues its destructive march.
+
+“At the sound of the terrible fire-bell, all the inhabitants of the
+neighboring villages hurry to the spot. But there is no one to direct
+their efforts; there are no engines; and they can do nothing.
+
+“But all of a sudden a distant rumbling sound revives hope in their
+hearts. They know the fire-engines are coming. They come; they reach the
+spot; and whatever men can do is done at once.
+
+“But great God! What mean those cries of horror which suddenly rise on
+all sides? The roof of the house is falling, and buries under its ruins
+two men, the most zealous and most courageous of all the zealous and
+courageous men,--Bolton the drummer, who had just now summoned his
+neighbors to come to the rescue, and Guillebault, a father with five
+children.
+
+“High above the crash and the hissing of flames rise their heart-rending
+cries. They call for help. Will they be allowed to perish? A gendarme
+rushes forward, and with him a farmer from Brechy. But their heroism
+is useless: the monster keeps its prey. The two men also are apparently
+doomed; and only by unheard-of efforts, and at great peril of life, can
+they be rescued from the furnace. But they are so grievously wounded,
+that they will remain infirm for the rest of their lives, compelled to
+appeal to public charity for their subsistence.”
+
+Then the prosecuting attorney proceeds to paint the whole of the
+disaster at Valpinson in the sombrest colors, and with all the resources
+of his well-known eloquence. He describes the Countess Claudieuse as
+she kneels by the side of her dying husband, while the crowd is eagerly
+pressing around the wounded man and struggling with the flames for the
+charred remains of the unfortunate firemen. With increasing vehemence,
+he says next,--
+
+“And during all this time what becomes of the author of these fearful
+misdeeds? When his hatred is gratified, he flees through the wood, and
+returns to his home. Remorse, there is none. As soon as he reaches the
+house, he eats, drinks, smokes his cigar. His position in the country is
+such, and the precautionary measures he had taken appear to him so well
+chosen, that he thinks he is above suspicion. He is calm. He feels so
+perfectly safe, that he neglects the commonest precautions, and does not
+even take the trouble of pouring out the water in which he has washed
+his hands, blackened as they are by the fire he has just kindled.
+
+“He forgets that Providence whose torch on great occasions illumines and
+guides human justice.
+
+“And how, indeed, could the law ever have expected to find the guilty
+man in one of the most magnificent chateaux of the country but for a
+direct intervention of Providence?
+
+“For the incendiary, the assassin, was actually there, at the Chateau
+Boiscoran.
+
+“And let no one come and tell us that the past life of Jacques de
+Boiscoran is such as to protect him against the formidable charges that
+are brought against him. We know his past life.
+
+“A perfect model of those idle young men who spend in riotous living a
+fortune painfully amassed by their fathers, Jacques de Boiscoran had not
+even a profession. Useless to society, a burden to himself, he passed
+through life like a ship without rudder and without compass, indulging
+in all kinds of unhealthy fashions in order to spend the hours that were
+weighing heavily upon him.
+
+“And yet he was ambitious; but his ambition lay in the direction of
+those dangerous and wicked intrigues which inevitably lead men to crime.
+
+“Hence we see him mixed up with all those sterile and wanton party
+movements which discredit our days, uttering over and over again hollow
+phrases in condemnation of all that is noble and sacred, appealing to
+the most execrable passions of the multitude”--
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--If this is a political affair, we ought to be informed
+beforehand.
+
+ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--There is no question of politics here. We speak of
+the life of a man who has been an apostle of strife.
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--Does the attorney-general fancy he is preaching peace?
+
+PRESIDENT.--I request counsel for the defence not to interrupt.
+
+ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--And it is in this ambition of the accused that we
+must look for a key to that terrible hatred which has led him to
+commit such crimes. That lawsuit about a stream of water is a matter of
+comparatively little importance. But Jacques de Boiscoran was preparing
+to become a candidate for election.
+
+A.--I never dreamed of it.
+
+ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Not noticing the interruption.) He did not say so;
+but his friends said it for him, and went about everywhere, repeating
+that by his position, his wealth, and his opinions, he was the man best
+worthy of the votes of Republicans. And he would have had an excellent
+chance, if there had not stood between him and the object of his desires
+Count Claudieuse, who had already more than once succeeded in defeating
+similar plots.
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--(Warmly.) Do you refer to me?
+
+ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--I allude to no one.
+
+M. MAGLOIRE.--You might just as well say at once, that my friends as
+well as myself are all M. de Boiscoran’s accomplices; and that we have
+employed him to rid us of a formidable adversary.
+
+ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Continues.) Gentlemen, this is the real motive of
+the crime. Hence that hatred which the accused soon is unable to conceal
+any longer, which overflows in invectives, which breaks forth in threats
+of death, and which actually carries him so far that he points his gun
+at Count Claudieuse.
+
+The attorney-general next passes on to examine the charges, which, he
+declares, are overwhelming and irrefutable. Then he goes on,--
+
+“But what need is there of such questions after the crushing evidence of
+Count Claudieuse? You have heard it,--on the point of appearing before
+God!
+
+“His first impulse was to follow the generous nature of his heart, and
+to pardon the man who had attempted his life. He desired to save him;
+but, as he felt death come nearer, he saw that he had no right to shield
+a criminal from the sword of justice: he remembered that there were
+other victims beside himself.
+
+“And then, rising from his bed of agony, he dragged himself here into
+court, in order to tell you. ‘That is the man! By the light of the fire
+which he had kindled, I saw him and recognized him. He is the man!’
+
+“And could you hesitate after such evidence? No! I can not and will not
+believe it. After such crimes, society expects that justice should be
+done,--justice in the name of Count Claudieuse on his deathbed,--justice
+in the name of the dead,--justice in the name of Bolton’s mother, and of
+Guillebault’s widow and her five children.”
+
+A murmur of approbation accompanied the last words of M. Gransiere, and
+continued for some time after he had concluded. There is not a woman in
+the whole assembly who does not shed tears.
+
+P.--The counsel for the defence.
+
+
+[Pleading.]
+
+As M. Magloire had so far alone taken an active part in the defence, it
+was generally believed that he would speak. But it was not so. M. Folgat
+rises.
+
+Our court-house here in Sauveterre has at various times reechoed the
+words of almost all our great masters of forensic eloquence. We have
+heard Berryer, Dufaure, Jules Favre, and others; but, even after these
+illustrious orators, M. Folgat still succeeds in astonishing and moving
+us deeply.
+
+We can, of course, report here only a few of his phrases; and we must
+utterly abandon all hope of giving an idea of his proud and disdainful
+attitude, his admirable manner, full of authority, and especially of his
+full, rich voice, which found its way into every heart.
+
+“To defend certain men against certain charges,” he began, “would be
+to insult them. They cannot be touched. To the portrait drawn by the
+prosecuting attorney, I shall simply oppose the answer given by the
+venerable priest of Brechy. What did he tell you? M. de Boiscoran is the
+best and most honorable of men. There is the truth; they wish to make
+him out a political intriguant. He had, it is true, a desire to
+be useful to his country. But, while others debated, he acted. The
+Sauveterre Volunteers will tell you to what passions he appealed before
+the enemy, and by what intrigues he won the cross which Chausy himself
+fastened to his breast. He wanted power, you say. No: he wished for
+happiness. You speak of a letter written by him, the evening of the
+crime, to his betrothed. I challenge you to read it. It covers four
+pages: before you have read two, you will be forced to abandon the
+case.”
+
+Then the young advocate repeats the evidence given by the accused; and
+really, under the influence of his eloquence, the charges seem to fall
+to the ground, and to be utterly annihilated.
+
+“And now,” he went on, “what other evidence remains there? The evidence
+given by Count Claudieuse. It is crushing, you say. I say it is
+singular. What! here is a witness who sees his last hour drawing nigh,
+and who yet waits for the last minute of his life before he speaks. And
+you think that is natural! You pretend that it was generosity which made
+him keep silent. I, I ask you how the most cruel enemy could have acted
+more atrociously?
+
+“‘Never was a case clearer,’ says the prosecution. On the contrary,
+I maintain that never was a case more obscure; and that, so far from
+fathoming the secret of the whole affair, the prosecution has not found
+out the first word of it.”
+
+M. Folgat takes his seat, and the sheriff’s officers have to interfere
+to prevent applause from breaking out. If the vote had been taken at
+that moment, M. de Boiscoran would have been acquitted.
+
+But the proceedings are suspended for fifteen minutes; and in the
+meantime the lamps are lit, for night begins to fall.
+
+When the president resumes his chair, the attorney-general claims his
+right to speak.
+
+“I shall not reply as I had at first proposed. Count Claudieuse is
+about to pay with his life for the effort which he has made to place his
+evidence before you. He could not even be carried home. He is perhaps
+at this very moment drawing his last breath upon earth in the adjoining
+room.”
+
+The counsel for the defence do not desire to address the jury; and, as
+the accused also declares that he has nothing more to say, the president
+sums up, and the jurymen withdrew to their room to deliberate.
+
+The heat is overwhelming, the restraint almost unbearable; and all faces
+bear the marks of oppressive fatigue; but nobody thinks of leaving the
+house. A thousand contradictory reports circulate through the excited
+crowd. Some say that Count Claudieuse has died; others, on the contrary,
+report him better, and add that he has sent for the priest from Brechy.
+
+At last, a few minutes after nine o’clock, the jury reappears.
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran is declared guilty, and, on the score of
+extenuating circumstances, sentenced to twenty years’ penal labor.
+
+
+
+
+THIRD PART--COCOLEU
+
+
+
+I.
+
+Thus M. Galpin triumphed, and M. Gransiere had reason to be proud of his
+eloquence. Jacques de Boiscoran had been found guilty.
+
+But he looked calm, and even haughty, as the president, M. Domini,
+pronounced the terrible sentence, a thousand times braver at that
+moment than the man who, facing the squad of soldiers from whom he is to
+receive death, refuses to have his eyes bandaged, and himself gives the
+word of command with a firm voice.
+
+That very morning, a few moments before the beginning of the trial, he
+had said to Dionysia,--
+
+“I know what is in store for me; but I am innocent. They shall not see
+me turn pale, nor hear me ask for mercy.”
+
+And, gathering up all the energy of which the human heart is capable, he
+had made a supreme effort at the decisive moment, and kept his word.
+
+Turning quietly to his counsel at the moment when the last words of the
+president were lost among the din of the crowd, he said,--
+
+“Did I not tell you that the day would come when you yourself would be
+the first to put a weapon into my hands?”
+
+M. Folgat rose promptly.
+
+He showed neither the anger nor the disappointment of an advocate who
+has just had a cause which he knew to be just.
+
+“That day has not come yet,” he replied. “Remember your promise. As long
+as there remains a ray of hope, we shall fight. Now we have much more
+than mere hope at this moment. In less than a month, in a week, perhaps
+to-morrow, we shall have our revenge.”
+
+The unfortunate man shook his head.
+
+“I shall nevertheless have undergone the disgrace of a condemnation,” he
+murmured.
+
+The taking the ribbon of the Legion of Honor from his buttonhole, he
+handed it to M. Folgat, saying--
+
+“Keep this in memory of me, and if I never regain the right to wear
+it”--
+
+In the meantime, however, the gendarmes, whose duty it was to guard the
+prisoner, had risen; and the sergeant said to Jacques,--
+
+“We must go, sir. Come, come! You need not despair. You need not lose
+courage. All is not over yet. There is still the appeal for you, and
+then the petition for pardon, not to speak of what may happen, and
+cannot be foreseen.”
+
+M. Folgat was allowed to accompany the prisoner, and was getting ready
+to do so; but the latter said, with a pained voice,--
+
+“No, my friend, please leave me alone. Others have more need of your
+presence than I have. Dionysia, my poor father, my mother. Go to them.
+Tell them that the horror of my condemnation lies in the thought of
+them. May they forgive me for the affliction which I cause them, and for
+the disgrace of having me for their son, for her betrothed!”
+
+Then, pressing the hands of his counsel, he added,--
+
+“And you, my friends, how shall I ever express to you my gratitude? Ah!
+if incomparable talents, and matchless zeal and ability, had sufficed,
+I know I should be free. But instead of that”--he pointed at the little
+door through which he was to pass, and said in a heartrending tone,--
+
+“Instead of that, there is the door to the galleys. Henceforth”--
+
+A sob cut short his words. His strength was exhausted; for if there are,
+so to say, no limits to the power of endurance of the spirit, the energy
+of the body has its bounds. Refusing the arm which the sergeant offered
+him, he rushed out of the room.
+
+M. Magloire was well-nigh beside himself with grief.
+
+“Ah! why could we not save him?” he said to his young colleague. “Let
+them come and speak to me again of the power of conviction. But we must
+not stay here: let us go!”
+
+They threw themselves into the crowd, which was slowly dispersing, all
+palpitating yet with the excitement of the day.
+
+A strange reaction was already beginning to set in,--a reaction
+perfectly illogic, and yet intelligible, and by no means rare under
+similar circumstances.
+
+Jacques de Boiscoran, an object of general execration as long as he
+was only suspected, regained the sympathy of all the moment he was
+condemned. It was as if the fatal sentence had wiped out the horror of
+the crime. He was pitied; his fate was deplored; and as they thought
+of his family, his mother, and his betrothed, they almost cursed the
+severity of the judges.
+
+Besides, even the least observant among those present had been struck by
+the singular course which the proceedings had taken. There was not
+one, probably, in that vast assembly who did not feel that there was
+a mysterious and unexplored side of the case, which neither the
+prosecution nor the defence had chosen to approach. Why had Cocoleu been
+mentioned only once, and then quite incidentally? He was an idiot, to be
+sure; but it was nevertheless through his evidence alone that suspicions
+had been aroused against M. de Boiscoran. Why had he not been summoned
+either by the prosecution or by the defence?
+
+The evidence given by Count Claudieuse, also, although apparently so
+conclusive at the moment, was now severely criticised.
+
+The most indulgent said,--
+
+“That was not well done. That was a trick. Why did he not speak out
+before? People do not wait for a man to be down before they strike him.”
+
+Others added,--
+
+“And did you notice how M. de Boiscoran and Count Claudieuse looked at
+each other? Did you hear what they said to each other? One might have
+sworn that there was something else, something very different from a
+mere lawsuit, between them.”
+
+And on all sides people repeated,--
+
+“At all events, M. Folgat is right. The whole matter is far from
+being cleared up. The jury was long before they agreed. Perhaps M.
+de Boiscoran would have been acquitted, if, at the last moment, M.
+Gransiere had not announced the impending death of Count Claudieuse in
+the adjoining room.”
+
+M. Magloire and M. Folgat listened to all these remarks, as they heard
+them in the crowd here and there, with great satisfaction; for in spite
+of all the assertions of magistrates and judges, in spite of all the
+thundering condemnations against the practice, public opinion will find
+an echo in the court-room; and, more frequently than we think, public
+opinion does dictate the verdict of the jury.
+
+“And now,” said M. Magloire to his young colleague, “now we can be
+content. I know Sauveterre by heart. I tell you public opinion is
+henceforth on our side.”
+
+By dint of perseverance they made their way, at last, out through the
+narrow door of the court-room, when one of the ushers stopped them.
+
+“They wish to see you,” said the man.
+
+“Who?”
+
+“The family of the prisoner. Poor people! They are all in there, in
+M. Mechinet’s office. M. Daubigeon told me to keep it for them. The
+Marchioness de Boiscoran also was carried there when she was taken ill
+in the court-room.”
+
+He accompanied the two gentlemen, while telling them this, to the end of
+the hall; then he opened a door, and said,--
+
+“They are in there,” and withdrew discreetly.
+
+There, in an easy-chair, with closed eyes, and half-open lips, lay
+Jacques’s mother. Her livid pallor and her stiff limbs made her look
+like a dead person; but, from time to time, spasms shook her whole body,
+from head to foot. M. de Chandore stood on one side, and the marquis,
+her husband, on the other, watching her with mournful eyes and in
+perfect silence. They had been thunderstruck; and, from the moment when
+the fatal sentence fell upon their ears, neither of them had uttered a
+word.
+
+Dionysia alone seemed to have preserved the faculty of reasoning and
+moving. But her face was deep purple; her dry eyes shone with a painful
+light; and her body shook as with fever. As soon as the two advocates
+appeared, she cried,--
+
+“And you call this human justice?”
+
+And, as they were silent, she added,---
+
+“Here is Jacques condemned to penal labor; that is to say, he is
+judicially dishonored, lost, disgraced, forever cut off from human
+society. He is innocent; but that does not matter. His best friends
+will know him no longer: no hand will touch his hand hereafter; and
+even those who were most proud of his affection will pretend to have
+forgotten his name.”
+
+“I understand your grief but too well, madam,” said M. Magloire.
+
+“My grief is not as great as my indignation,” she broke in. “Jacques
+must be avenged, and he shall be avenged! I am only twenty, and he is
+not thirty yet: there is a whole life before us which we can devote to
+the work of his rehabilitation; for I do not mean to abandon him. I!
+His undeserved misfortunes make him a thousand times dearer to me, and
+almost sacred. I was his betrothed this morning: this evening I am his
+wife. His condemnation was our nuptial benediction. And if it is true,
+as grandpapa says, that the law prohibits a prisoner to marry the woman
+he loves, well, I will be his without marriage.”
+
+Dionysia spoke all this aloud, so loud that it seemed she wanted all the
+earth to hear what she was saying.
+
+“Ah! let me reassure you by a single word, madam,” said M. Folgat. “We
+have not yet come to that. The sentence is not final.”
+
+The Marquis de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore started.
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“An oversight which M. Galpin has committed makes the whole proceeding
+null and void. You will ask how a man of his character, so painstaking
+and so formal, should have made such a blunder. Probably because he was
+blinded by passion. Why had nobody noticed this oversight? Because fate
+owed us this compensation. There can be no question about the matter.
+The defect is a defect of form; and the law provides expressly for the
+case. The sentence must be declared void, and we shall have another
+trial.”
+
+“And you never told us anything of that?” asked Dionysia.
+
+“We hardly dared to think of it,” replied M. Magloire. “It was one of
+those secrets which we dare not confide to our own pillow. Remember,
+that, in the course of the proceedings, the error might have been
+corrected at any time. Now it is too late. We have time before us;
+and the conduct of Count Claudieuse relieves us from all restraint of
+delicacy. The veil shall be torn now.”
+
+The door opened violently, interrupting his words. Dr. Seignebos
+entered, red with anger, and darting fiery glances from under his gold
+spectacles.
+
+“Count Claudieuse?” M. Folgat asked eagerly.
+
+“Is next door,” replied the doctor. “They have had him down on a
+mattress, and his wife is by his side. What a profession ours is! Here
+is a man, a wretch, whom I should be most happy to strangle with my own
+hands; and I am compelled to do all I can to recall him to life: I
+must lavish my attentions upon him, and seek every means to relieve his
+sufferings.”
+
+“Is he any better?”
+
+“Not at all! Unless a special miracle should be performed in his behalf,
+he will leave the court-house only feet forward, and that in twenty-four
+hours. I have not concealed it from the countess; and I have told her,
+that, if she wishes her husband to die in peace with Heaven, she has but
+just time to send for a priest.”
+
+“And has she sent for one?”
+
+“Not at all! She told me her husband would be terrified by the
+appearance of a priest, and that would hasten his end. Even when
+the good priest from Brechy came of his own accord, she sent him off
+unceremoniously.”
+
+“Ah the miserable woman!” cried Dionysia.
+
+And, after a moment’s reflection, she added,--
+
+“And yet that may be our salvation. Yes, certainly. Why should I
+hesitate? Wait for me here: I am coming back.”
+
+She hurried out. Her grandpapa was about to follow her; but M. Folgat
+stopped him.
+
+“Let her do it,” he said,--“let her do it!”
+
+It had just struck ten o’clock. The court-house, just now as full and as
+noisy as a bee-hive, was silent and deserted. In the immense hall, badly
+lighted by a smoking lamp, there were only two men to be seen. One was
+the priest from Brechy, who was praying on his knees close to a door;
+and the other was the watchman, who was slowly walking up and down, and
+whose steps resounded there as in a church.
+
+Dionysia went straight up to the latter.
+
+“Where is Count Claudieuse?” she asked.
+
+“There, madam,” replied the man, pointing at the door before which the
+priest was praying,--“there, in the private office of the commonwealth
+attorney.”
+
+“Who is with him?”
+
+“His wife, madam, and a servant.”
+
+“Well, go in and tell the Countess Claudieuse,--but so that her
+husband does not hear you,--that Miss Chandore desires to see her a few
+moments.”
+
+The watchman made no objection, and went in. But, when he came back, he
+said to the young girl,--
+
+“Madam, the countess sends word that she cannot leave her husband, who
+is very low.”
+
+She stopped him by an impatient gesture, and said,--
+
+“Never mind! Go back and tell the countess, that, if she does not come
+out, I shall go in this moment; that, if it must be, I shall force my
+way in; that I shall call for help; that nothing will keep me. I must
+absolutely see her.”
+
+“But, madam”--
+
+“Go! Don’t you see that it is a question of life and death?”
+
+There was such authority in her voice, that the watchman no longer
+hesitated. He went in once more, and reappeared a moment after.
+
+“Go in,” he said to the young girl.
+
+She went in, and found herself in a little anteroom which preceded the
+office of the commonwealth attorney. A large lamp illuminated the room.
+The door leading to the room in which the count was lying was closed.
+
+In the centre of the room stood the Countess Claudieuse. All these
+successive blows had not broken her indomitable energy. She looked pale,
+but calm.
+
+“Since you insist upon it, madam,” she began, “I come to tell you
+myself that I cannot listen to you. Are you not aware that I am standing
+between two open graves,--that of my poor girl, who is dying at my
+house, and that of my husband, who is breathing his last in there?”
+
+She made a motion as if she were about to retire; but Dionysia stopped
+her by a threatening look, and said with a trembling voice,--
+
+“If you go back into that room where your husband is, I shall go back
+with you, and I shall speak before him. I shall ask you right before
+him, how you dare order a priest away from his bedside at the moment
+of death, and whether, after having robbed him of all his happiness in
+life, you mean to make him unhappy in all eternity.”
+
+Instinctively the countess drew back.
+
+“I do not understand you,” she said.
+
+“Yes, you do understand me, madam. Why will you deny it? Do you not see
+that I know every thing, and that I have guessed what you have not told
+me? Jacques was your lover; and your husband has had his revenge.”
+
+“Ah!” cried the countess, “that is too much; that is too much!”
+
+“And you have permitted it,” Dionysia went on with breathless haste;
+“and you did not come, and cry out in open court that your husband was
+a false witness! What a woman you must be! You do not mind it, that your
+love carries a poor unfortunate man to the galleys. You mean to live on
+with this thought in your heart, that the man whom you love is innocent,
+and nevertheless, disgraced forever, and cut off from human society. A
+priest might induce the count to retract his statement, you know very
+well; and hence you refuse to let the priest from Brechy come to his
+bedside. And what is the end and aim of all your crimes? To save your
+false reputation as an honest woman. Ah! that is miserable; that is
+mean; that is infamous!”
+
+The countess was roused at last. What all M. Folgat’s skill and ability
+had not been able to accomplish, Dionysia obtained in an instant by the
+force of her passion. Throwing aside her mask, the countess exclaimed
+with a perfect burst of rage,--
+
+“Well, then, no, no! I have not acted so, and permitted all this to
+happen, because I care for my reputation. My reputation!--what does it
+matter? It was only a week ago, when Jacques had succeeded in escaping
+from prison, I offered to flee with him. He had only to say a word, and
+I should have given up my family, my children, my country, every thing,
+for him. He answered, ‘Rather the galleys!’”
+
+In the midst of all her fearful sufferings, Dionysia’s heart filled with
+unspeakable happiness as she heard these words. Ah! now she could no
+longer doubt Jacques.
+
+“He has condemned himself, you see,” continued the countess. “I was
+quite willing to ruin myself for him, but certainly not for another
+woman.”
+
+“And that other woman--no doubt you mean me!”
+
+“Yes!--you for whose sake he abandoned me,--you whom he was going
+to marry,--you with whom he hoped to enjoy long happy years, and a
+happiness not furtive and sinful like ours, but a legitimate, honest
+happiness.”
+
+Tears were trembling in Dionysia’s eyes. She was beloved: she thought of
+what she must suffer who was not beloved.
+
+“And yet I should have been generous,” she murmured. The countess broke
+out into a fierce, savage laugh.
+
+“And the proof of it is,” said the young girl, “that I came to offer you
+a bargain.”
+
+“A bargain?”
+
+“Yes. Save Jacques, and, by all that is sacred to me in the world, I
+promise I will enter a convent: I will disappear, and you shall never
+hear my name any more.”
+
+Intense astonishment seized the countess, and she looked at Dionysia
+with a glance full of doubt and mistrust. Such devotion seemed to her
+too sublime not to conceal some snare.
+
+“You would really do that?” she asked.
+
+“Unhesitatingly.”
+
+“You would make a great sacrifice for my benefit?”
+
+“For yours? No, madam, for Jacques’s.”
+
+“You love him very dearly, do you?”
+
+“I love him dearly enough to prefer his happiness to my own a thousand
+times over. Even if I were buried in the depths of a convent, I should
+still have the consolation of knowing that he owed his rehabilitation to
+me; and I should suffer less in knowing that he belonged to another than
+that he was innocent, and yet condemned.”
+
+But, in proportion as the young girl thus confirmed her sincerity,
+the brow of the countess grew darker and sterner, and passing blushes
+mantled her cheek. At last she said with haughty irony,--
+
+“Admirable!”
+
+“Madam!”
+
+“You condescend to give up M. de Boiscoran. Will that make him love
+me? You know very well he will not. You know that he loves you alone.
+Heroism with such conditions is easy enough. What have you to fear?
+Buried in a convent, he will love you only all the more ardently, and he
+will execrate me all the more fervently.”
+
+“He shall never know any thing of our bargain!”
+
+“Ah! What does that matter? He will guess it, if you do not tell him.
+No: I know what awaits me. I have felt it now for two years,--this agony
+of seeing him becoming daily more detached from me. What have I not done
+to keep him near me! How I have stooped to meanness, to falsehood,
+to keep him a single day longer, perhaps a single hour! But all was
+useless. I was a burden to him. He loved me no longer; and my love
+became to him a heavier load than the cannon-ball which they will fasten
+to his chains at the galleys.”
+
+Dionysia shuddered.
+
+“That is horrible!” she murmured.
+
+“Horrible! Yes, but true. You look amazed. That is because you have as
+yet only seen the morning dawn of your love: wait for the dark evening,
+and you will understand me. Is not the story of all of us women the
+same! I have seen Jacques at my feet as you see him at yours: the vows
+he swears to you, he once swore to me; and he swore them to me with the
+same voice, tremulous with passion, and with the same burning glances.
+But you think you will be his wife, and I never was. What does that
+matter? What does he tell you? That he will love you forever, because
+his love is under the protection of God and of men. He told me,
+precisely because our love was not thus protected, that we should be
+united by indissoluble bonds,--bonds stronger than all others. You have
+his promise: so had I. And the proof of it is that I gave him every
+thing,--my honor and the honor of my family, and that I would have
+given him still more, if there had been any more to give. And now to be
+betrayed, forsaken, despised, to sink lower and lower, until at last
+I must become the object of your pity! To have fallen so low, that you
+should dare come and offer me to give up Jacques for my benefit! Ah,
+that is maddening! And I should let the vengeance I hold in my hands
+slip from me at your bidding! I should be stupid enough, blind enough,
+to allow myself to be touched by your hypocritical tears! I should
+secure your happiness by the sacrifice of my reputation! No, madam,
+cherish no such hope!”
+
+Her voice expired in her throat in a kind of toneless rattle. She walked
+up and down a few times in the room. Then she placed herself straight
+before Dionysia, and, looking fixedly into her eyes, she asked,--
+
+“Who suggested to you this plan of coming here, this supreme insult
+which you tried to inflict upon me?”
+
+Dionysia was seized with unspeakable horror, and hardly found heart to
+reply.
+
+“No one,” she murmured.
+
+“M. Folgat?”
+
+“Knows nothing of it.”
+
+“And Jacques?”
+
+“I have not seen him. The thought occurred to me quite suddenly, like an
+inspiration on high. When Dr. Seignebos told me that you had refused
+to admit the priest from Brechy, I said to myself, ‘This is the last
+misfortune, and the greatest of them all! If Count Claudieuse dies
+without retracting, Jacques can never be fully restored, whatever may
+happen hereafter, not even if his innocence should be established.’ Then
+I made up my mind to come to you. Ah! it was a hard task. But I was
+in hopes I might touch your heart, or that you might be moved by the
+greatness of my sacrifice.”
+
+The countess was really moved. There is no heart absolutely bad, as
+there is none altogether good. As she listened to Dionysia’s passionate
+entreaty, her resolution began to grow weaker.
+
+“Would it be such a great sacrifice?” she asked.
+
+Tears sprang to the eyes of the poor young girl.
+
+“Alas!” she said, “I offer you my life. I know very well you will not be
+long jealous of me.”
+
+She was interrupted by groans, which seemed to come from the room in
+which the count was lying.
+
+The countess half-opened the door; and immediately a feeble, and yet
+imperious voice was heard calling out,--
+
+“Genevieve, I say, Genevieve!”
+
+“I am coming, my dear, in a moment,” replied the countess.
+
+“What security can you give me,” she said, in a hard and stern voice,
+after having closed the door again,--“what security do you give me, that
+if Jacques’s innocence were established, and he reinstated, you would
+not forget your promises?”
+
+“Ah, madam! How or upon what do you want me to swear that I am ready
+to disappear. Choose your own securities, and I will do whatever you
+require.”
+
+Then, sinking down on her knees, before the countess, she went on,--
+
+“Here I am at your feet, madam, humble and suppliant,--I whom you accuse
+of a desire to insult you. Have pity on Jacques! Ah! if you loved him as
+much as I do, you would not hesitate.”
+
+The countess raised her suddenly and quickly, and holding her hands in
+her own, looked at her for more than a minute without saying a word,
+but with heaving bosom and trembling lips. At last she asked in a voice
+which was so deeply affected, that it was hardly intelligible.
+
+“What do you want me to do?”
+
+“Induce Count Claudieuse to retract.”
+
+The countess shook her head.
+
+“It would be useless to try. You do not know the count. He is a man of
+iron. You might tear his flesh inch by inch with hot iron pincers, and
+he would not take back one of his words. You cannot conceive what he
+has suffered, nor the depth of the hatred, the rage, and the thirst of
+vengeance, which have accumulated in his heart. It was to torture me
+that he brought me here to his bedside. Only five minutes ago he told me
+that he died content, since Jacques was declared guilty, and condemned
+through his evidence.”
+
+She was conquered: her energy was exhausted, and tears came to her eyes.
+
+“He has been so cruelly tried!” she went on. “He loved me to
+distraction; he loved nothing in the world but me. And I--Ah, if we
+could know, if we could foresee! No, I shall never be able to induce him
+to retract.”
+
+Dionysia almost forgot her own great grief.
+
+“Nor do I expect you to obtain that favor,” she said very gently.
+
+“Who, then?”
+
+“The priest from Brechy. He will surely find words to shake even the
+firmest resolution. He can speak in the name of that God, who, even on
+the cross, forgave those who crucified Him.”
+
+One moment longer the countess hesitated; and then, overcoming finally
+the last rebellious impulses of her pride, she said,--
+
+“Well, I will call the priest.”
+
+“And I, madam, I swear I will keep my promise.”
+
+But the countess stopped her, and said, making a supreme effort over
+herself,--
+
+“No: I shall try to save Jacques without making conditions. Let him be
+yours. He loves you, and you were ready to sacrifice your life for his
+sake. He forsakes me; but I sacrifice my honor to him. Farewell!”
+
+And hastening to the door, while Dionysia returned to her friends, she
+summoned the priest from Brechy.
+
+
+
+II.
+
+M. Daubigeon, the commonwealth attorney, learned that morning from his
+chief clerk what had happened, and how the proceedings in the Boiscoran
+case were necessarily null and void on account of a fatal error in form.
+The counsel of the defence had lost no time, and, after spending the
+whole night in consultation, had early that morning presented their
+application for a new trial to the court.
+
+The commonwealth attorney took no pains to conceal his satisfaction.
+
+“Now,” he cried, “this will worry my friend Galpin, and clip his wings
+considerably; and yet I had called his attention to the lines of Horace,
+in which he speaks of Phaeton’s sad fate, and says,--
+
+‘Terret ambustus Phaeton avaras Spes.’
+
+But he would not listen to me, forgetting, that, without prudence, force
+is a danger. And there he is now, in great difficulty, I am sure.”
+
+And at once he made haste to dress, and to go and see M. Galpin in
+order to hear all the details accurately, as he told his clerk, but, in
+reality, in order to enjoy to his heart’s content the discomfiture of
+the ambitious magistrate.
+
+He found him furious, and ready to tear his hair.
+
+“I am disgraced,” he repeated: “I am ruined; I am lost. All my
+prospects, all my hopes, are gone. I shall never be forgiven for such an
+oversight.”
+
+To look at M. Daubigeon, you would have thought he was sincerely
+distressed.
+
+“Is it really true,” he said with an air of assumed pity,--“is it really
+true, what they tell me, that this unlucky mistake was made by you?”
+
+“By me? Yes, indeed! I forgot those wretched details which a scholar
+knows by heart. Can you understand that? And to say that no one noticed
+my inconceivable blindness! Neither the first court of inquiry, nor
+the attorney-general himself, nor the presiding judge, ever said a word
+about it. It is my fate. And that is to be the result of my labors.
+Everybody, no doubt, said, ‘Oh! M. Galpin has the case in hand; he knows
+all about it: no need to look after the matter when such a man has taken
+hold of it.’ And here I am. Oh! I might kill myself.”
+
+“It is all the more fortunate,” replied M. Daubigeon, “that yesterday
+the case was hanging on a thread.”
+
+The magistrate gnashed his teeth, and replied,--
+
+“Yes, on a thread, thanks to M. Domini! whose weakness I cannot
+comprehend, and who did not know at all, or who was not willing to know,
+how to make the most of the evidence. But it was M. Gransiere’s fault
+quite as much. What had he to do with politics to drag them into the
+affair? And whom did he want to hit? No one else but M. Magloire, the
+man whom everybody respects in the whole district, and who had three
+warm personal friends among the jurymen. I foresaw it, and I told him
+where he would get into trouble. But there are people who will not
+listen. M. Gransiere wants to be elected himself. It is a fancy, a
+monomania of our day: everybody wants to be a deputy. I wish Heaven
+would confound all ambitious men!”
+
+For the first time in his life, and no doubt for the last time also,
+the commonwealth attorney rejoiced at the misfortune of others. Taking
+savage pleasure in turning the dagger in his poor friend’s wounds, he
+said,--
+
+“No doubt M. Folgat’s speech had something to do with it.”
+
+“Nothing at all.”
+
+“He was brilliantly successful.”
+
+“He took them by surprise. It was nothing but a big voice, and grand,
+rolling sentences.”
+
+“But still”--
+
+“And what did he say, after all? That the prosecution did not know the
+real secret of the case. That is absurd!”
+
+“The new judges may not think so, however.”
+
+“We shall see.”
+
+“This time M. de Boiscoran’s defence will be very different. He will
+spare nobody. He is down now, and cannot fall any lower.”
+
+“That may be. But he also risks having a less indulgent jury, and not
+getting off with twenty years.”
+
+“What do his counsel say?”
+
+“I do not know. But I have just sent my clerk to find out; and, if you
+choose to wait”--
+
+M. Daubigeon did wait, and he did well; for M. Mechinet came in very
+soon after, with a long face for the world, but inwardly delighted.
+
+“Well?” asked M. Galpin eagerly.
+
+He shook his head, and said in a melancholy tone of voice,--
+
+“I have never seen any thing like this. How fickle public opinion is,
+after all! Day before yesterday M. de Boiscoran could not have passed
+through the town without being mobbed. If he should show himself to-day,
+they would carry him in triumph. He has been condemned, and now he is
+a martyr. It is known already that the sentence is void, and they are
+delighted. My sisters have just told me that the ladies in good society
+propose to give to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and to Miss Chandore
+some public evidence of their sympathy. The members of the bar will give
+M. Folgat a public dinner.”
+
+“Why that is monstrous!” cried M. Galpin.
+
+“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “‘the opinions of men are more fickle and
+changeable than the waves of the sea.’”
+
+But, interrupting the quotation, M. Galpin asked his clerk,--
+
+“Well, what else?”
+
+“I went to hand M. Gransiere the letter which you gave me for him”--
+
+“What did he say?”
+
+“I found him in consultation with the president, M. Domini. He took the
+letter, glanced at it rapidly, and told me in his most icy tone, ‘Very
+well!’ To tell the truth, I thought, that, in spite of his stiff and
+grand air, he was in reality furious.”
+
+The magistrate looked utterly in despair.
+
+“I can’t stand it,” he said sighing. “These men whose veins have no
+blood in them, but poison, never forgive.”
+
+“Day before yesterday you thought very highly of him.”
+
+“Day before yesterday he did not look upon me as the cause of a great
+misfortune for him.”
+
+M. Mechinet went on quite eagerly,--
+
+“After leaving M. Gransiere, I went to the court-house, and there I
+head the great piece of news which has set all the town agog. Count
+Claudieuse is dead.”
+
+M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin looked at each other, and exclaimed in the
+same breath,--
+
+“Great God! Is that so?”
+
+“He breathed his last this morning, at two or three minutes before six
+o’clock. I saw his body in the private room of the attorney-general.
+The priest from Brechy was there, and two other priests from his parish.
+They were waiting for a bier to have him carried to his house.”
+
+“Poor man!” murmured M. Daubigeon.
+
+“But I heard a great deal more,” Mechinet said, “from the watchman who
+was on guard last night. He told me that when the trial was over, and
+it became known that Count Claudieuse was likely to die, the priest
+from Brechy came there, and asked to be allowed to offer him the last
+consolations of his church. The countess refused to let him come to the
+bedside of her husband. The watchman was amazed at this; and just then
+Miss Chandore suddenly appeared, and sent word to the countess that she
+wanted to speak to her.”
+
+“Is it possible?”
+
+“Quite certain. They remained together for more than a quarter of
+an hour. What did they say? The watchman told me he was dying with
+curiosity to know; but he could hear nothing, because there was the
+priest from Brechy, all the while, kneeling before the door, and
+praying. When they parted, they looked terribly excited. Then the
+countess immediately called in the priest, and he stayed with the count
+till he died.”
+
+M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin had not yet recovered from their amazement at
+this account, when somebody knocked timidly at the door.
+
+“Come in!” cried Mechinet.
+
+The door opened, and the sergeant of gendarmes appeared.
+
+“I have been sent here by the attorney-general,” he said; “and the
+servant told me you were up here. We have just caught Trumence.”
+
+“That man who had escaped from jail?”
+
+“Yes. We were about to carry him back there, when he told us that he
+had a secret to reveal, a very important, urgent secret, concerning the
+condemned prisoner, Boiscoran.”
+
+“Trumence?”
+
+“Yes. Then we carried him to the court-house, and I came for orders.”
+
+“Run and say that I am coming to see him!” cried M. Daubigeon. “Make
+haste! I am coming after you.”
+
+But the gendarme, a model of obedience, had not waited so long: he was
+already down stairs.
+
+“I must leave you, Galpin,” said M. Daubigeon, very much excited. “You
+heard what the man said. We must know what that means at once.”
+
+But the magistrate was not less excited.
+
+“You permit me to accompany you, I hope?” he asked.
+
+He had a right to do so.
+
+“Certainly,” replied the commonwealth attorney. “But make haste!”
+
+The recommendation was not needed. M. Galpin had already put on his
+boots. He now slipped his overcoat over his home dress, as he was; and
+off they went.
+
+Mechinet followed the two gentlemen as they hastened down the street;
+and the good people of Sauveterre, always on the lookout, were not a
+little scandalized at seeing their well-known magistrate, M. Galpin, in
+his home costume,--he who generally was most scrupulously precise in his
+dress.
+
+Standing on their door-steps, they said to each other,--
+
+“Something very important must have happened. Just look at these
+gentlemen!”
+
+The fact was, they were walking so fast, that people might well wonder;
+and they did not say a word all the way.
+
+But, ere they reached the court-house, they were forced to stop; for
+some four or five hundred people were filling the court, crowding on the
+steps, and actually pressing against the doors.
+
+Immediately all became silent; hats were raised; the crowd parted; and a
+passage was opened.
+
+On the porch appeared the priest from Brechy, and two other priests.
+
+Behind them came attendants from the hospital, who bore a bier covered
+with black cloth; and beneath the cloth the outlines of a human body
+could be seen.
+
+The women began to cry; and those who had room enough knelt down.
+
+“Poor countess!” murmured one of them. “Here is her husband dead, and
+they say one of her daughters is dying at home.”
+
+But M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and Mechinet were too preoccupied with
+their own interests to think of stopping for more reliable news. The way
+was open: they went in, and hastened to the clerk’s office, where the
+gendarmes had taken Trumence, and now were guarding him.
+
+He rose as soon as he recognized the gentlemen, and respectfully took
+off his cap. It was really Trumence; but the good-for-nothing vagrant
+did not present his usual careless appearance. He looked pale, and was
+evidently very much excited.
+
+“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “so you have allowed yourself to be retaken?”
+
+“Beg pardon, judge,” replied the poor fellow, “I was not retaken. I came
+of my own accord.”
+
+“Involuntarily, you mean?”
+
+“Quite by my own free will! Just ask the sergeant.”
+
+The sergeant stepped forward, touched his cap, and reported,--
+
+“That is the naked truth. Trumence came himself to our barrack, and
+said, ‘I surrender as a prisoner. I wish to speak to the commonwealth
+attorney, and give importance evidence.’”
+
+The vagabond drew himself up proudly,--
+
+“You see, sir, that I did not lie. While these gentlemen were galloping
+all over the country in search of me, I was snugly ensconced in a garret
+at the Red Lamb, and did not think of coming out from there till I
+should be entirely forgotten.”
+
+“Yes; but people who lodge at the Red Lamb have to pay, and you had no
+money.”
+
+Trumence very quietly drew from his pocket a handful of Napoleons, and
+of five-and-twenty-franc notes, and showed them.
+
+“You see that I had the wherewithal to pay for my room,” he said. “But I
+surrendered, because, after all, I am an honest man, and I would rather
+suffer some trouble myself than see an innocent gentleman go to the
+galleys.”
+
+“M. de Boiscoran?”
+
+“Yes. He is innocent! I know it; I am sure of it; and I can prove it.
+And, if he will not tell, I will tell,--tell every thing!”
+
+M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin were utterly astounded.
+
+“Explain yourself,” they both said in the same breath.
+
+But the vagrant shook his head, pointing at the gendarmes; and, as a man
+who is quite cognizant of all the formalities of the law, he replied,--
+
+“But it is a great secret; and, when one confesses, one does not like
+anybody else to hear it but the priest. Besides, I should like my
+deposition to be taken down in writing.”
+
+Upon a sign made by M. Galpin, the gendarmes withdrew; and Mechinet took
+his seat at a table, with a blank sheet of paper before him.
+
+“Now we can talk,” said Trumence: “that’s the way I like it. I was not
+thinking myself of running away. I was pretty well off in jail; winter
+is coming, I had not a cent; and I knew, that, if I were retaken, I
+should fare rather badly. But M. Jacques de Boiscoran had a notion to
+spend a night outside.”
+
+“Mind what you are saying,” M. Galpin broke in severely. “You cannot
+play with the law, and go off unpunished.”
+
+“May I die if I do not tell the truth!” cried Trumence. “M. Jacques has
+spent a whole night out of jail.”
+
+The magistrate trembled.
+
+“What a story that is!” he said again.
+
+“I have my proof,” replied Trumence coldly, “and you shall hear. Well,
+as he wanted to leave, M. Jacques came to me, and we agreed, that in
+consideration of a certain sum of money which he has paid me, and of
+which you have seen just now all that is left, I should make a hole in
+the wall, and that I should run off altogether, while he was to come
+back when he had done his business.”
+
+“And the jailer?” asked M. Daubigeon.
+
+Like a true peasant of his promise, Trumence was far too cunning
+to expose Blangin unnecessarily. Assuming, therefore, the whole
+responsibility of the evasion, he replied,--
+
+“The jailer saw nothing. We had no use for him. Was not I, so to say,
+under-jailer? Had not I been charged by you yourself, M. Galpin, with
+keeping watch over M. Jacques? Was it not I who opened and locked his
+door, who took him to the parlor, and brought him back again?”
+
+That was the exact truth.
+
+“Go on!” said M. Galpin harshly.
+
+“Well,” said Trumence, “every thing was done as agreed upon. One
+evening, about nine o’clock, I make my hole in the wall, and here we
+are, M. Jacques and I, on the ramparts. There he slips a package of
+banknotes into my hand, and tells me to run for it, while he goes about
+his business. I thought he was innocent then; but you see I should not
+exactly have gone through the fire for him as yet. I said to myself,
+that perhaps he was making fun of me, and that, once on the wing, he
+would not be such a fool as to go back into the cage. This made me
+curious, as he was going off, to see which way he was going,--and there
+I was, following him close upon his heels!”
+
+The magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, accustomed as they both
+were, by the nature of their profession, to conceal their feelings,
+could hardly restrain now,--one, the hope trembling within him, and the
+other, the vague apprehensions which began to fill his heart.
+
+Mechinet, who knew already all that was coming, laughed in his sleeve
+while his pen was flying rapidly over the paper.
+
+“He was afraid he might be recognized,” continued the vagrant, “and so
+M. Jacques had been running ever so fast, keeping close to the wall, and
+choosing the narrowest lanes. Fortunately, I have a pair of very good
+legs. He goes through Sauveterre like a race-horse; and, when he reaches
+Mautrec Street, he begins to ring the bell at a large gate.”
+
+“At Count Claudieuse’s house!”
+
+“I know now what house it was; but I did not know then. Well, he rings.
+A servant comes and opens. He speaks to her, and immediately she invites
+him in, and that so eagerly, that she forgets to close the gate again.”
+
+M. Daubigeon stopped him by a gesture.
+
+“Wait!” he said.
+
+And, taking up a blank form, he filled it up, rang the bell, and said
+to an usher of the court who had hastened in, giving him the printed
+paper,--
+
+“I want this to be taken immediately. Make haste; and not a word!”
+
+Then Trumence was directed to go on; and he said,--
+
+“There I was, standing in the middle of the street, feeling like a fool.
+I thought I had nothing left me but to go and use my legs: that was
+safest for me. But that wretched, half-open gate attracted me. I said to
+myself, ‘If you go in, and they catch you, they will think you have
+come to steal, and you’ll have to pay for it.’ That was true; but the
+temptation was too strong for me. My curiosity broke my heart, so to
+say, and, ‘Come what may, I’ll risk it,’ I said. I push the huge gate
+just wide enough to let me in, and here I am in a large garden. It was
+pitch dark; but, quite at the bottom of the garden, three windows in the
+lower story of the house were lighted up. I had ventured too far now
+to go back. So I went on, creeping along stealthily, until I reached a
+tree, against which I pressed closely, about the length of my arm from
+one of the windows, which belonged to a beautiful parlor. I look--and I
+see whom? M. de Boiscoran. As there were no curtains to the windows,
+I could see as well as I can see you. His face looked terrible. I was
+asking myself for whom he could be waiting there, when I saw him hiding
+behind the open door of the room, like a man who is lying in wait for
+somebody, with evil intentions. This troubled me very much; but the next
+moment a lady came in. Instantly M. Jacques shuts the door behind her;
+the lady turns round, sees him, and wants to run, uttering at the same
+time a loud cry. That lady was the Countess Claudieuse!”
+
+He looked as if he wished to pause to watch the effect of his
+revelation. But Mechinet was so impatient, that he forgot the modest
+character of his duty, and said hastily,--
+
+“Go on; go on!”
+
+“One of the windows was half open,” continued the vagrant, “and thus
+I could hear almost as well as I saw. I crouched down on all-fours and
+kept my head on a level with the ground, so as not to lose a word. Oh,
+it was fearful! At the first word I understood it all: M. Jacques and
+the Countess Claudieuse had been lovers.”
+
+“This is madness!” cried M. Galpin.
+
+“Well, I tell you I was amazed. The Countess Claudieuse--such a pious
+lady! But I have ears; don’t you think I have? M. Jacques reminded her
+of the night of the crime, how they had been together a few minutes
+before the fire broke out, as they had agreed some days before to meet
+near Valpinson at that very time. At this meeting they had burnt their
+love-letters, and M. Jacques had blackened his fingers badly in burning
+them.”
+
+“Did you really hear that?” asked M. Daubigeon.
+
+“As I hear you, sir.”
+
+“Write it down, Mechinet,” said the commonwealth attorney with great
+eagerness,--“write that down carefully.”
+
+The clerk was sure to do it.
+
+“What surprised me most,” continued Trumence, “was, that the countess
+seemed to consider M. Jacques guilty, and he thought she was. Each
+accused the other of the crime. She said, ‘You attempted the life of my
+husband, because you were afraid of him!’ And he said, ‘You wanted to
+kill him, so as to be free, and to prevent my marriage!’”
+
+M. Galpin had sunk into a chair: he stammered,--
+
+“Did anybody ever hear such a thing?”
+
+“However, they explained; and at last they found out that they were both
+of them innocent. Then M. Jacques entreated the countess to save him;
+and she replied that she would certainly not save him at the expense of
+her reputation, and so enable him, as soon as he was free once more, to
+marry Miss Chandore. Then he said to her, ‘Well, then I must tell all;’
+and she, ‘You will not be believed. I shall deny it all, and you have
+no proof!’ In his despair, he reproached her bitterly, and said she had
+never loved him at all. Then she swore she loved him more than ever; and
+that, as he was free now, she was ready to abandon every thing, and to
+escape with him to some foreign country. And she conjured him to flee,
+in a voice which moved my heart, with loving words such as I have never
+heard before in my life, and with looks which seemed to be burning fire.
+What a woman! I did not think he could possibly resist. And yet he did
+resist; and, perfectly beside himself with anger, he cried, ‘Rather the
+galleys!’ Then she laughed, mocking him, and saying, ‘Very well, you
+shall go to the galleys!’”
+
+Although Trumence entered into many details, it was quite evident that
+he kept back many things.
+
+Still M. Daubigeon did not dare question him, for fear of breaking the
+thread of his account.
+
+“But that was nothing at all,” said the vagrant. “While M. Jacques and
+the countess were quarrelling in this way, I saw the door of the parlor
+suddenly open as if by itself, and a phantom appear in it, dressed in a
+funeral pall. It was Count Claudieuse himself. His face looked terrible;
+and he had a revolver in his hand. He was leaning against the side of
+the door; and he listened while his wife and M. Jacques were talking of
+their former love-affairs. At certain words, he would raise his pistol
+as if to fire; then he would lower it again, and go on listening. It was
+so awful, I had not a dry thread on my body. It was very hard not to cry
+out to M. Jacques and the countess, ‘You poor people, don’t you see that
+the count is there?’ But they saw nothing; for they were both beside
+themselves with rage and despair: and at last M. Jacques actually raised
+his hand to strike the countess. ‘Do not strike that woman!’ suddenly
+said the count. They turn round; they see him, and utter a fearful cry.
+The countess fell on a chair as if she were dead. I was thunderstruck.
+I never in my life saw a man behave so beautifully as M. Jacques did at
+that moment. Instead of trying to escape, he opened his coat, and baring
+his breast, he said to the husband, ‘Fire! You are in your right!’ The
+count, however, laughed contemptuously, and said, ‘The court will avenge
+me!’--‘You know very well that I am innocent.’--‘All the better.’--‘It
+would be infamous to let me be condemned.’--‘I shall do more than that.
+To make your condemnation sure, I shall say that I recognized you.’
+The count was going to step forward, as he said this; but he was dying.
+Great God, what a man! He fell forward, lying at full-length on the
+floor. Then I got frightened, and ran away.”
+
+By a very great effort only could the commonwealth attorney control
+his intense excitement. His voice, however, betrayed him as he asked
+Trumence, after a solemn pause,--
+
+“Why did you not come and tell us all that at once?”
+
+The vagabond shook his head, and said,--
+
+“I meant to do so; but I was afraid. You ought to understand what I
+mean. I was afraid I might be punished very severely for having run
+off.”
+
+“Your silence has led the court to commit a grievous mistake.”
+
+“I had no idea M. Jacques would be found guilty. Big people like him,
+who can pay great lawyers, always get out of trouble. Besides, I did
+not think Count Claudieuse would carry out his threat. To be betrayed by
+one’s wife is hard; but to send an innocent man to the galleys”--
+
+“Still you see”--
+
+“Ah, if I could have foreseen! My intentions were good; and I assure
+you, although I did not come at once to denounce the whole thing, I was
+firmly resolved to make a clean breast of it if M. Jacques should get
+into trouble. And the proof of it is, that instead of running off, and
+going far away, I very quietly lay concealed at the Red Lamb, waiting
+for the sentence to be published. As soon as I heard what was done
+last night, I did not lose an hour, and surrendered at once to the
+gendarmes.”
+
+In the meantime, M. Galpin had overcome his first amazement, and now
+broke out furiously,--
+
+“This man is an impostor. The money he showed us was paid him to bear
+false witness. How can we credit his story?”
+
+“We must investigate the matter,” replied M. Daubigeon. He rang the
+bell; and, when the usher came in, he asked,--
+
+“Have you done what I told you?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” replied the man. “M. de Boiscoran and the servant of Count
+Claudieuse are here.”
+
+“Bring in the woman: when I ring, show M. de Boiscoran in.”
+
+This woman was a big country-girl, plain of face, and square of figure.
+She seemed to be very much excited, and looked crimson in her face.
+
+“Do you remember,” asked M. Daubigeon, “that one night last week a man
+came to your house, and asked to see your mistress?”
+
+“Oh, yes!” replied the honest girl. “I did not want to let him in at
+first; but he said he came from the court, and then I let him in.”
+
+“Would you recognize him?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+The commonwealth attorney rang again; the door opened, and Jacques came
+in, his face full of amazement and wonder.
+
+“That is the man!” cried the servant.
+
+“May I know?” asked the unfortunate man.
+
+“Not yet!” replied M. Daubigeon. “Go back, and be of good hope!”
+
+But Jacques remained standing where he was, like a man who has suddenly
+been overcome, looking all around with amazed eyes, and evidently unable
+to comprehend.
+
+How could he have comprehended what was going on?
+
+They had taken him out of his cell without warning; they had carried him
+to the court-house; and here he was confronted with Trumence, whom he
+thought he should never see again, and with the servant of the Countess
+Claudieuse.
+
+M. Galpin looked the picture of consternation; and M. Daubigeon, radiant
+with delight, bade him be of good hope.
+
+Hopeful of what? How? To what purpose?
+
+And Mechinet made him all kinds of signs.
+
+The usher who had brought him in had actually to take him out.
+
+Immediately the commonwealth attorney turned again to the servant-girl
+and said,--
+
+“Now, my good girl, can you tell me if any thing special happened in
+connection with this gentleman’s visit at your house?”
+
+“There was a great quarrel between him and master and mistress.”
+
+“Were you present?”
+
+“No. But I am quite certain of what I say.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Well, I will tell you. When I went up stairs to tell the countess that
+there was a gentleman below who came from the courts, she was in a great
+hurry to go down, and told me to stay with the count, my master. Of
+course, I did what she said. But no sooner was she down than I heard
+a loud cry. Master, who had looked all in a stupor, heard it too: he
+raised himself on his pillow, and asked me where my mistress was. I told
+him, and he was just settling down to try and fall asleep again, when
+the sound of loud voices came up to us. ‘That is very singular,’ said
+master. I offered to go down and see what was the matter: but he told
+me sharply not to stir an inch. And, when the voices became louder and
+louder, he said, ‘I will go down myself. Give me my dressing-gown.’
+
+“Sick as he was, exhausted, and almost on his deathbed, it was very
+imprudent in him, and might easily have cost him his life. I ventured to
+speak to him; but he swore at me, and told me to hush, and to do what he
+ordered me to do.
+
+“The count--God be merciful to his soul!--was a very good man,
+certainly; but he was a terrible man also, and when he got angry, and
+talked in a certain way, everybody in the house began to tremble, even
+mistress.
+
+“I obeyed, therefore, and did what he wanted. Poor man! He was so weak
+he could hardly stand up, and had to hold on to a chair while I helped
+him just to hang his dressing-gown over his shoulders.
+
+“Then I asked him if he would not let me help him down. But looking at
+me with awful eyes, he said, ‘You will do me the favor to stay here,
+and, whatever may happen, if you dare so much as open the door while I
+am away, you shall not stay another hour in my service.’
+
+“Then he went out, holding on to the wall; and I remained alone in the
+chamber, all trembling, and feeling as sick as if I had known that a
+great misfortune was coming upon us.
+
+“However, I heard nothing more for a time; and as the minutes passed
+away, I was just beginning to reproach myself for having been so
+foolishly alarmed, when I heard two cries; but, O sir! two such fearful,
+sharp cries, that I felt cold shivers running all over me.
+
+“As I did not dare leave the room, I put my ear to the door, and I
+heard distinctly the count’s voice, as he was quarrelling with another
+gentleman. But I could not catch a single word, and only made out that
+they were angry about a very serious matter.
+
+“All of a sudden, a great but dull noise, like that of the fall of a
+heavy body, then another awful cry, I had not a drop of blood left in my
+veins at that moment.
+
+“Fortunately, the other servants, who had gone to bed, had heard
+something. They had gotten up, and were now coming down the passage.
+
+“I left the room at all hazards, and went down stairs with the others,
+and there we found my mistress fainting in an armchair, and my master
+stretched out at full-length, lying on the floor like a dead man.”
+
+“What did I say?” cried Trumence.
+
+But the commonwealth attorney made him a sign to keep quiet; and,
+turning again to the girl, he asked,--
+
+“And the visitor?”
+
+“He was gone, sir. He had vanished.”
+
+“What did you do then?”
+
+“We raised up the count: we carried him up stairs and laid him on his
+bed. Then we brought mistress round again; and the valet went in haste
+to fetch Dr. Seignebos.”
+
+“What said the countess when she recovered her consciousness?”
+
+“Nothing. Mistress looked like a person who has been knocked in the
+head.”
+
+“Was there any thing else?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir!”
+
+“What?”
+
+“The oldest of the young ladies, Miss Martha, was seized with terrible
+convulsions.”
+
+“How was that?”
+
+“Why, I only know what miss told us herself.”
+
+“Let us hear what she said.”
+
+“Ah! It is a very singular story. When this gentleman whom I have just
+seen here rang the bell at our gate, Miss Martha, who had already gone
+to bed, got up again, and went to the window to see who it was. She saw
+me go and open, with a candle in my hand, and come back again with the
+gentleman behind me. She was just going to bed again, when she thought
+she saw one of the statues in the garden move, and walk right off. We
+told her it could not be so; but she did not mind us. She told us over
+and over again that she was quite sure that she saw that statue come
+up the avenue, and take a place behind the tree which is nearest to the
+parlor-window.”
+
+Trumence looked triumphant.
+
+“That was I!” he cried.
+
+The girl looked at him, and said, only moderately surprised,--
+
+“That may very well be.”
+
+“What do you know about it?” asked M. Daubigeon.
+
+“I know it must have been a man who had stolen into the garden, and who
+had frightened Miss Martha so terribly, because Dr. Seignebos dropped,
+in going out, a five-franc piece just at the foot of that tree, where
+miss said she had seen the man standing. The valet who showed the doctor
+out helped him look for his money; and, as they sought with the candle,
+they saw the footprints of a man who wore iron-shod shoes.”
+
+“The marks of my shoes!” broke in Trumence again; and sitting down, and
+raising his legs, he said to the magistrate,--
+
+“Just look at my shoes, and you will see there is no lack of iron
+nails!”
+
+But there was no need for such evidence; and he was told,--
+
+“Never mind that! We believe you.”
+
+“And you, my good girl,” said M. Daubigeon again, “can you tell us, if,
+after these occurrences, Count Claudieuse had any explanation with your
+mistress?”
+
+“No, I do not know. Only I saw that the count and the countess were no
+longer as they used to be with each other.”
+
+That was all she knew. She was asked to sign her deposition; and then M.
+Daubigeon told her she might go.
+
+Then, turning to Trumence, he said,--
+
+“You will be taken to jail now. But you are an honest man, and you need
+not give yourself any trouble. Go now.”
+
+The magistrate and the commonwealth attorney remained alone now, since,
+of course, a clerk counts for nothing.
+
+“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “what do you think of that?”
+
+M. Galpin was dumfounded.
+
+“It is enough to make one mad,” he murmured.
+
+“Do you begin to see how that M. Folgat was right when he said the case
+was far from being so clear as you pretended?”
+
+“Ah! who would not have been deceived as I was? You yourself, at one
+time at least, were of my opinion. And yet, if the Countess Claudieuse
+and M. de Boiscoran are both innocent, who is the guilty one?”
+
+“That is what we shall know very soon; for I am determined I will not
+allow myself a moment’s rest till I have found out the truth of the
+whole matter. How fortunate it was that this fatal error in form should
+have made the sentence null and void!”
+
+He was so much excited, that he forgot his never-failing quotations.
+Turning to the clerk, he said,--
+
+“But we must not lose a minute. Put your legs into active motion, my
+dear Mechinet, and run and ask M. Folgat to come here. I will wait for
+him here.”
+
+
+
+III.
+
+When Dionysia, after leaving the Countess Claudieuse, came back to
+Jacques’s parents and his friends, she said, radiant with hope,--
+
+“Now victory is on our side!”
+
+Her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran urged her to explain;
+but she refused to say any thing, and only later, towards evening, she
+confessed to M. Folgat what she had done with the countess, and that it
+was more than probable that the count would, before he died, retract his
+evidence.
+
+“That alone would save Jacques,” said the young advocate.
+
+But his hope only encouraged him to make still greater efforts; and, all
+overcome as he was by his labors and emotions of the trial, he spent
+the night in Grandpapa Chandore’s study, preparing with M. Magloire the
+application they proposed to make for a new trial.
+
+They finished only when it was already broad daylight: so he did not
+care to go to bed, and installed himself in a large easy-chair for the
+purpose of getting a few hours’ rest.
+
+He had, however, not slept more than an hour, when old Anthony roused
+him to tell him that there was an unknown man down stairs who asked to
+see him instantly.
+
+M. Folgat rubbed his eyes, and at once went down: in the passage he
+found himself face to face with a man of some fifty years, of rather
+suspicious appearance, who wore his mustache and his chin-beard, and was
+dressed in a tight coat and large trousers, such as old soldiers affect.
+
+“You are M. Folgat?” asked this man.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, I--I am the agent whom friend Goudar sent to England.”
+
+The young lawyer started, and asked,--
+
+“Since when are you here?”
+
+“Since this morning, by express. Twenty-four hours too late, I know;
+for I bought a newspaper at the station. M. de Boiscoran has been found
+guilty. And yet I swear I did not lose a minute; and I have well earned
+the gratuity which I was promised in case of success.”
+
+“You have been successful, have you?”
+
+“Of course. Did I not tell you in my letter from Jersey that I was sure
+of success?”
+
+“You have found Suky?”
+
+“Twenty-four hours after I wrote to you,--in a public-house at Bonly
+Bay. She would not come, the wretch!”
+
+“You have brought her, however?”
+
+“Of course. She is at the Hotel de France, where I have left her till I
+could come and see you.”
+
+“Does she know any thing?”
+
+“Every thing.”
+
+“Make haste and bring her here.”
+
+From the time when M. Folgat first hoped for this recovery of the
+servant-girl, he had made up his mind to make the most of her evidence.
+
+He had slipped a portrait of the Countess Claudieuse into an album of
+Dionysia’s, amidst some thirty photographs. He now went for this album,
+and had just put it upon the centre-table in the parlor when the agent
+came back with his captive.
+
+She was a tall, stout woman of some forty years, with hard features,
+masculine manners, and dressed, as all common English-women are, with
+great pretensions to fashion.
+
+When M. Folgat questioned her, she answered in very fair, intelligible
+French, which was only marred by her strong English accent,--
+
+“I stayed four years at the house in Vine Street; and I should be there
+still, but for the war. As soon as I entered upon my duties, I became
+aware that I was put in charge of a house in which two lovers had their
+meetings. I was not exactly pleased, because, you know, we have our
+self-respect; but it was a good place. I had very little to do, and so I
+staid. However, my master mistrusted me: I saw that very clearly. When
+a meeting was to take place, my master sent me on some errand to
+Versailles, to Saint Germain, or even to Orleans. This hurt me so much,
+that I determined I would find out what they tried so hard to conceal
+from me. It was not very difficult; and the very next week I knew that
+my master was no more Sir Francis Burnett than I was; and that he had
+borrowed the name from a friend of his.”
+
+“How did you go about to find it out?”
+
+“Oh! very simply. One day, when my master went away on foot, I followed
+him, and saw him go into a house in University Street. Before the house
+opposite, some servants were standing and talking. I asked them who
+the gentleman was; and they told me it was the son of the Marquis de
+Boiscoran.”
+
+“So much for the master; but the lady.”
+
+Suky Wood smiled.
+
+“As for the lady,” she replied, “I did the same thing to find her
+out. It cost me, however, a great deal more time and a great deal more
+patience, because she took the very greatest precautions; and I lost
+more than one afternoon in watching her. But, the more she tried to
+hide, the more I was curious to know, as a matter of course. At last,
+one evening when she left the house in her carriage, I took a cab and
+followed her. I traced her thus to her house; and next morning I talked
+to the servants there, and they told me that she was a lady who lived
+in the province, but came every year to Paris to spend a month with her
+parents, and that her name was Countess Claudieuse.”
+
+And Jacques had imagined and strongly maintained that Suky would not
+know any thing, in fact, could not know any thing!
+
+“But did you ever see this lady?” asked M. Folgat.
+
+“As well as I see you.”
+
+“Would you recognize her?”
+
+“Among thousands.”
+
+“And if you saw her portrait?”
+
+“I should know it at once.”
+
+M. Folgat handed her the album.
+
+“Well, look for her,” he said.
+
+She had found the likeness in a moment.
+
+“Here she is!” cried Suky, putting her finger on the photograph.
+
+There was no doubt any longer.
+
+“But now, Miss Suky,” said the young advocate, “you will have to repeat
+all that before a magistrate.”
+
+“I will do so with pleasure. It is the truth.”
+
+“If that is so, they will send for you at your lodgings, and you will
+please stay there till you are called. You need not trouble yourself
+about any thing. You shall have whatever you want, and they will pay you
+your wages as if you were in service.”
+
+M. Folgat had not time to say more; for Dr. Seignebos rushed in like a
+tempest, and cried out at the top of his voice,--
+
+“Victory! We are victorious now! Great Victory!”
+
+But he could not speak before Suky and the agent. They were sent off;
+and, as soon as they had left the room, he said to M. Folgat,--
+
+“I am just from the hospital. I have seen Goudar. He had done it. He had
+made Cocoleu talk.”
+
+“And what does he say?”
+
+“Well, exactly what I knew he would say, as soon as they could loose
+his tongue. But you will hear it all; for it is not enough that Cocoleu
+should confess it to Goudar: there must be witnesses present to certify
+to the confessions of the wretch.”
+
+“He will not talk before witnesses.”
+
+“He must not see them: they can be concealed. The place is admirably
+adapted for such a purpose.”
+
+“But how, if Cocoleu refuses to talk after the witnesses have been
+introduced?”
+
+“He will not. Goudar has found out a way to make him talk whenever he
+wants it. Ah! that man is a clever man, and understands his business
+thoroughly. Have you full confidence in him?”
+
+“Oh, entire!”
+
+“Well, he says he is sure he will succeed. ‘Come to-day,’ he said to me,
+‘between one and two, with M. Folgat, the commonwealth attorney, and M.
+Galpin: put yourself where I will show you, and then let me go to work.’
+Then he showed me the place where he wants us to remain, and told me how
+we should let him know when we are all ready.”
+
+M. Folgat did not hesitate.
+
+“We have not a moment to lose. Let me go at once to the court-house.”
+
+But they were hardly in the passage when they were met by Mechinet, who
+came running up out of breath, and half mad with delight.
+
+“M. Daubigeon sends me to say you must come to him at once. Great news!
+Great news!”
+
+And immediately he told them in a few words what had happened in the
+morning,--Trumence’s statement, and the deposition of the maid of
+Countess Claudieuse.
+
+“Ah, now we are safe!” cried Dr. Seignebos.
+
+M. Folgat was pale with excitement. Still he proposed,--
+
+“Let us tell the marquis and Miss Dionysia what is going on before we
+leave the house.”
+
+“No,” said the doctor, “no! Let us wait till every thing is quite safe.
+Let us go quick; let us go at once.”
+
+They were right to make haste. The magistrate and the commonwealth
+attorney were waiting for them with the greatest impatience. As soon
+as they came into the small room of the clerk’s office, M. Daubigeon
+cried,--
+
+“Well, I suppose Mechinet has told you all?”
+
+“Yes,” replied M. Folgat; “but we have some information of which you
+have heard as yet nothing.”
+
+Then he told them that Suky Wood had arrived, and what she had given in
+as evidence.
+
+M. Galpin had sunk into a chair, completely crushed by the weight of
+so many proofs of his misapprehension of the case. There he sat without
+saying a word, without moving a muscle. But M. Daubigeon was radiant.
+
+“Most assuredly,” he cried, “Jacques must be innocent!”
+
+“Most assuredly he is innocent!” said Dr. Seignebos; “and the proof of
+it is, that I know who is guilty.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“And you will know too, if you will take the trouble of following me,
+with M. Galpin, to the hospital.”
+
+It was just striking one; and not one of them all had eaten any thing
+that morning. But they had no time to think of breakfast.
+
+Without a shadow of hesitation, M. Daubigeon turned to M. Galpin, and
+said,--
+
+“Will you come, Galpin?”
+
+The poor magistrate rose mechanically, after the manner of an automaton,
+and they went out, creating no small sensation among the good people of
+Sauveterre, when they appeared thus all in a group.
+
+M. Daubigeon spoke first to the lady superior of the hospital; and,
+when he had explained to her what their purpose was in coming there, she
+raised her eyes heavenward, and said with a sigh of resignation,--
+
+“Well, gentlemen, do as you like, and I hope you will be successful;
+for it is a sore trial for us poor sisters to have these continual
+visitations in the name of the law.”
+
+“Please follow me, then, to the Insane Ward, gentlemen,” said the
+doctor.
+
+They call the Insane Ward at the Sauveterre hospital a small, low
+building, with a sanded court in front, and a tall wall around the
+whole. The building is divided into six cells, each of which has two
+doors,--one opening into the court, and the other an outside door for
+the assistants and servants.
+
+It was to one of these latter doors that Dr. Seignebos led his friends.
+And after having recommended to them the most perfect silence, so as not
+to rouse Cocoleu’s suspicions, he invited them into one of the cells,
+in which the door leading into the court had been closed. There was,
+however, a little grated window in the upper part of the door, so that
+they could, without being seen, both see and hear all that was said and
+done in the court reserved for the use of the insane.
+
+Not two yards from the little window, Goudar and Cocoleu were sitting on
+a wooden bench in the bright sunlight.
+
+By long study and a great effort of will, Goudar had succeeded in giving
+to his face a most perfect expression of stupidity: even the people
+belonging to the hospital thought he was more idiotic than the other.
+
+He held in his hand his violin, which the doctor had ordered to be left
+to him; and he accompanied himself with a few notes, as he repeated the
+same familiar song which he had sung on the New-Market Square when he
+first accosted M. Folgat.
+
+Cocoleu, a large piece of bread-and-butter in one hand, and a big
+clasp-knife in the other, was finishing his meal.
+
+But this music delighted him so intensely, that he actually forgot to
+eat, and, with hanging lip and half-closed eyes, rocked himself to and
+fro, keeping time with the measure.
+
+“They look hideous!” M. Folgat could not keep from whispering. In the
+meantime Goudar, warned by the preconcerted signal, had finished his
+song. He bent over, and drew from under the bench an enormous bottle,
+from which he seemed to draw a considerable quantity of something
+pleasant.
+
+Then he passed it to Cocoleu, who likewise began to pull, eagerly and
+long, and with an expression of idiotic beatitude. Then patting his
+stomach with his hands, he said,--
+
+“That’s--that’s--that’s--good!”
+
+M. Daubigeon whispered into Dr. Seignebos’s ear,--
+
+“Ah, I begin to see! I notice from Cocoleu’s eyes, that this practice
+with the bottle must have been going on for some time already. Cocoleu
+is drunk.”
+
+Goudar again took up his violin and repeated his song.
+
+“I--I--want--want to--to drink!” stammered Cocoleu.
+
+Goudar kept him waiting a little while, and then handed him the bottle.
+The idiot threw back his head, and drank till he had lost his breath.
+Then Goudar asked,--
+
+“Ah! you did not have such good wine to drink at Valpinson?”
+
+“Oh, yes!” replied Cocoleu.
+
+“But as much as you wanted?”
+
+“Yes. Quite--enough.”
+
+And, laughing with some difficulty, he stammered, and stuttered out,--
+
+“I got--got into the cellar through one of the windows; and I
+drank--drank through--through a--a straw.”
+
+“You must be sorry you are no longer there?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+“But, if you were so well off at Valpinson, why did you set it on fire?”
+
+The witnesses of the strange scene crowded to the little window of the
+cell, and held their breath with eager expectation.
+
+“I wanted to burn some fagots only, to make the count come out. It was
+not my fault, if the whole house got on fire.”
+
+“And why did you want to kill the count?”
+
+“Because I wanted the great lady to marry M. de Boiscoran.”
+
+“Ah! She told you to do it, did she?”
+
+“Oh, no! But she cried so much; and then she told me she would be so
+happy if her husband were dead. And she was always good to Cocoleu; and
+the count was always bad; and so I shot him.”
+
+“Well! But why, then, did you say it was M. de Boiscoran who shot the
+count?”
+
+“They said at first it was me. I did not like that. I would rather they
+should cut off his head than mine.”
+
+He shuddered as he said this, so that Goudar, afraid of having gone
+rather too fast, took up his violin, and gave him a verse of his song
+to quiet him. Then accompanying his words still now and then with a few
+notes, and after having allowed Cocoleu to caress his bottle once more,
+he asked again,--
+
+“Where did you get a gun?”
+
+“I--I had taken it from the count to shoot birds: and I--I have it
+still--still. It is hid in the hole where Michael found me.”
+
+Poor Dr. Seignebos could not stand it any longer. He suddenly pushed
+open the door, and, rushing into the court, he cried,--
+
+“Bravo, Goudar! Well done!”
+
+At the noise, Cocoleu had started up. He evidently understood it all;
+for terror drove the fumes of the wine out of his mind in an instant,
+and he looked frightened to death.
+
+“Ah, you scoundrel!” he howled.
+
+And, throwing himself upon Goudar, he plunged his knife twice into him.
+
+The movement was so rapid and so sudden, that it had been impossible to
+prevent it. Pushing M. Folgat violently back as he tried to disarm him,
+Cocoleu leaped into a corner of the court, and there, looking like a
+wild beast driven to bay, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth foaming, he
+threatened with his formidable knife to kill any one who should come
+near him.
+
+At the cries of M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin, the assistants in the
+hospital came rushing in. The struggle, however, would probably have
+been a long one, notwithstanding their numbers, if one of the keepers
+had not, with great presence of mind, climbed up to the top of the
+wall, and caught the arm of the wretch in a noose. By these means he was
+thrown down in a moment, disarmed, and rendered harmless.
+
+“You--you may--may do--do what you--you choose; I--I won’t say--say
+another w-w-word!”
+
+In the meantime, poor Dr. Seignebos, who had unwillingly caused the
+catastrophe, was distressed beyond measure; still he hastened to the
+assistance of Goudar, who lay insensible on the sand of the court. The
+two wounds which the detective had received were quite serious, but not
+fatal, or even very dangerous, as the knife had been turned aside by
+the ribs. He was at once carried into one of the private rooms of the
+hospital, and soon recovered his consciousness.
+
+When he saw all four of the gentlemen bending anxiously over his bed, he
+murmured with a mournful smile,--
+
+“Well, was I not right when I said that my profession is a rascally
+profession?”
+
+“But you are at liberty now to give it up,” replied M. Folgat, “provided
+always a certain house in Vine Street should not prove too small for
+your ambition.”
+
+The pale face of the detective recovered its color for a moment.
+
+“Will they really give it to me?” he asked.
+
+“Since you have discovered the real criminal, and handed him over to
+justice.”
+
+“Well, then, I will bless these wounds: I feel that I shall be up
+again in a fortnight. Give me quick pen and ink, that I may write my
+resignation immediately, and tell my wife the good news.”
+
+He was interrupted by the entrance of one of the officers of the
+court, who, walking up to the commonwealth attorney, said to him
+respectfully,--
+
+“Sir, the priest from Brechy is waiting for you at your office.”
+
+“I am coming directly,” replied M. Daubigeon.
+
+And, turning to his companions, he said,--
+
+“Let us go, gentlemen.”
+
+The priest was waiting, and rose quickly from his chair when he saw M.
+Daubigeon enter, accompanied by M. Galpin, M. Folgat, and Dr. Seignebos.
+
+“Perhaps you wish to speak to me alone, sir?” asked M. Daubigeon.
+
+“No, sir,” replied the old priest, “no! The words of reparation which
+have been intrusted to me must be uttered publicly.” And handing him a
+letter, he added,--
+
+“Read this. Please read it aloud.”
+
+The commonwealth attorney tore the envelope with a tremulous hand, an
+then read,--
+
+“Being about to die as a Christian, as I have lived as a Christian, I
+owe it to myself, I owe it to God whom I have offended, and I owe it to
+those men whom I have deceived, to declare the truth.
+
+“Actuated by hatred, I have been guilty of giving false evidence in
+court, and of stating wrongfully that M. de Boiscoran is the man who
+shot at me, and that I recognized him in the act.
+
+“I did not only not recognize him, but I know that he is innocent. I am
+sure of it; and I swear it by all I hold sacred in this world which I
+am about to leave, and in that world in which I must appear before my
+sovereign Judge.
+
+“May M. de Boiscoran pardon me as I pardon myself.
+
+“TRIVULCE COUNT CLAUDIEUSE.”
+
+“Poor man!” murmured M. Folgat.
+
+The priest at once went on,--
+
+“You see, gentlemen, Count Claudieuse withdraws his charge
+unconditionally. He asks for nothing in return: he only wants the truth
+to be established. And yet I beg leave to express the last wishes of a
+dying man. I beseech you, in the new trial, to make no mention of the
+name of the countess.”
+
+Tears were seen in all eyes.
+
+“You may rest assured, reverend father,” said M. Daubigeon, “that Count
+Claudieuse’s last wishes shall be attended to. The name of the countess
+shall not appear. There will be no need for it. The secret of her wrongs
+shall be religiously kept by those who know it.”
+
+It was four o’clock now.
+
+An hour later there arrived at the court-house a gendarme and Michael,
+the son of the Boiscoran tenant, who had been sent out to ascertain if
+Cocoleu’s statement was true. They brought back the gun which the wretch
+had used, and which he had concealed in that den which he had dug
+out for himself in the forest of Rochepommier, and where Michael had
+discovered him the day after the crime.
+
+Henceforth Jacques’s innocence was as clear as daylight; and although
+he had to bear the burden of his sentence till the judgment was declared
+void, it was decided, with the consent of the president of the court,
+M. Domini, and the active cooperation of M. Gransiere, that he should be
+set free that same evening.
+
+M. Folgat and M. Magloire were charged with the pleasant duty of
+informing the prisoner of this happy news. They found him walking up and
+down in his cell like a madman, devoured by unspeakable anguish, and not
+knowing what to make of the words of hope which M. Daubigeon had spoken
+to him in the morning.
+
+He was hopeful, it is true; and yet when he was told that he was safe,
+that he was free, he sank, an inert mass, into a chair, being less able
+to bear joy than sorrow.
+
+But such emotions are not apt to last long. A few moments later, and
+Jacques de Boiscoran, arm in arm with his counsel, left his prison,
+in which he had for several months suffered all that an honest man can
+suffer. He had paid a fearful penalty for what, in the eyes of so many
+men, is but a trifling wrong.
+
+When they reached the street in which the Chandores lived, M. Folgat
+said to his client,--
+
+“They do not expect you, I am sure. Go slowly, while I go ahead to
+prepare them.”
+
+He found Jacques’s parents and friends assembled in the parlor,
+suffering great anxiety; for they had not been able to ascertain if
+there were any truth in the vague rumors which had reached them.
+
+The young advocate employed the utmost caution in preparing them for the
+truth; but at the first words Dionysia asked,--
+
+“Where is Jacques?”
+
+Jacques was kneeling at her feet, overcome with gratitude and love.
+
+
+
+V.
+
+The next day the funeral of Count Claudieuse took place. His youngest
+daughter was buried at the same time; and in the evening the Countess
+left Sauveterre, to make her home henceforth with her father in Paris.
+
+
+
+In the proper course of the law, the sentence which condemned Jacques
+was declared null and void; and Cocoleu, found guilty of having
+committed the crime at Valpinson, was sentenced to hard labor for life.
+
+A month later Jacques de Boiscoran was married at the church in Brechy
+to Dionysia de Chandore. The witnesses for the bridegroom were M.
+Magloire and Dr. Seignebos; the witnesses for the bride, M. Folgat and
+M. Daubigeon.
+
+Even the excellent commonwealth attorney laid aside on that day some of
+his usual gravity. He continually repeated,--
+
+     “Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero
+     Pulsanda tellus.”
+
+And he really did drink his glass of wine, and opened the ball with the
+bride.
+
+M. Galpin, who was sent to Algiers, was not present at the wedding. But
+M. Mechinet was there, quite brilliant, and, thanks to Jacques, free
+from all pecuniary troubles.
+
+The two Blangins, husband and wife, have well-nigh spent the whole of
+the large sums of money which they extorted from Dionysia. Trumence,
+private bailiff at Boiscoran, is the terror of all vagrants.
+
+And Goudar, in his garden and nursery, sells the finest peaches in
+Paris.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg’s Within an Inch of His Life, by Emile Gaboriau
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