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diff --git a/3336-0.txt b/3336-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36d703c --- /dev/null +++ b/3336-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,22124 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 3336-0.txt or 3336-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/3/3336/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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