CHAPTER XV.
On the Monday morning, at nine o'clock, M. Daburon was preparing tostart for the Palais de Justice, where he expected to find Gevrol andhis man, and perhaps old Tabaret. His preparations were nearly made,when his servant announced that a young lady, accompanied by anotherconsiderably older, asked to speak with him. She declined givingher name, saying, however, that she would not refuse it, if it wasabsolutely necessary in order to be received.
"Show them in," said the magistrate.
He thought it must be a relation of one or other of the prisoners, whosecase he had had in hand when this fresh crime occurred. He determined tosend her away quickly. He was standing before the fireplace, seekingfor an address in a small china plate filled with visiting cards. Atthe sound of the opening of the door, at the rustling of a silk dressgliding by the window, he did not take the trouble to move, nor deigneven to turn his head. He contented himself with merely casting acareless glance into the mirror.
But he immediately started with a movement of dismay, as if he had seena ghost. In his confusion, he dropped the card-plate, which fell noisilyon to the hearth, and broke into a thousand pieces.
"Claire!" he stammered, "Claire!"
And as if he feared equally either being deceived by an illusion oractually seeing her whose name he had uttered, he turned slowly round.
It was truly Mademoiselle d'Arlange. This young girl, usually so proudand reserved, had had the courage to come to his house alone, or almostso, for her governess, whom she had left in the ante-room, could hardlycount. She was evidently obeying some powerful emotion, since it madeher forget her habitual timidity.
Never, even in the time when a sight of her was his greatest happiness,had she appeared to him more fascinating. Her beauty, ordinarilyveiled by a sweet sadness, was bright and shining. Her features had ananimation which he had never seen in them before. In her eyes, renderedmore brilliant by recent tears but partly wiped away, shone the noblestresolution. One could see that she was conscious of performing a greatduty, and that she performed it, if not with pleasure, at least withthat simplicity which in itself is heroism.
She advanced calm and dignified, and held out her hand to the magistratein that English style that some ladies can render so gracefully.
"We are always friends, are we not?" asked she, with a sad smile.
The magistrate did not dare take the ungloved hand she held out to him.He scarcely touched it with the tips of his fingers, as though he fearedtoo great an emotion.
"Yes," he replied indistinctly, "I am always devoted to you."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange sat down in the large armchair, where, two nightspreviously, old Tabaret had planned Albert's arrest. M. Daburon remainedstanding leaning against his writing-table.
"You know why I have come?" asked the young girl.
With a nod, he replied in the affirmative.
He divined her object only too easily; and he was asking himself whetherhe would be able to resist prayers from such a mouth. What was she aboutto ask of him? What could he refuse her? Ah, if he had but foreseenthis? He had not yet got over his surprise.
"I only knew of this dreadful event yesterday," pursued Claire; "mygrandmother considered it best to hide it from me, and, but for mydevoted Schmidt, I should still be ignorant of it all. What a night Ihave passed! At first I was terrified; but, when they told me that alldepended upon you, my fears were dispelled. It is for my sake, is itnot, that you have undertaken this investigation? Oh, you are good, Iknow it! How can I ever express my gratitude?"
What humiliation for the worthy magistrate were these heartfelt thanks!Yes, he had at first thought of Mademoiselle d'Arlange, but since--Hebowed his head to avoid Claire's glance, so pure and so daring.
"Do not thank me, mademoiselle," he stammered, "I have not the claimthat you think upon your gratitude."
Claire had been too troubled herself, at first, to notice themagistrate's agitation. The trembling of his voice attracted herattention; but she did not suspect the cause. She thought that herpresence recalled sad memories, that he doubtless still loved her,and that he suffered. This idea saddened her, and filled her withself-reproach.
"And yet, sir," she continued, "I thank you all the same. I might neverhave dared go to another magistrate, to speak to a stranger! Besides,what value would another attach to my words, not knowing me? While you,so generous, will re-assure me, will tell me by what awful mistake hehas been arrested like a villain and thrown into prison."
"Alas!" sighed the magistrate, so low that Claire scarcely heard him,and did not understand the terrible meaning of the exclamation.
"With you," she continued, "I am not afraid. You are my friend, you toldme so; you will not refuse my prayers. Give him his liberty quickly. Ido not know exactly of what he is accused, but I swear to you that he isinnocent."
Claire spoke in the positive manner of one who saw no obstacle in theway of the very simple and natural desire which she had expressed. Aformal assurance given by her ought to be amply sufficient; with aword, M. Daburon would repair everything. The magistrate was silent. Headmired that saint-like ignorance of everything, that artless and frankconfidence which doubted nothing. She had commenced by wounding him,unconsciously, it is true, but he had quite forgotten that.
He was really an upright man, as good as the best, as is proved fromthe fact that he trembled at the moment of unveiling the fatal truth. Hehesitated to pronounce the words which, like a whirlwind, would overturnthe fragile edifice of this young girl's happiness. He who had been sohumiliated, so despised, he was going to have his revenge; and yethe did not experience the least feeling of a shameful, though easilyunderstood, satisfaction.
"And if I should tell you, mademoiselle," he commenced, "that M. Albertis not innocent?"
She half-raised herself with a protesting gesture.
He continued, "If I should tell you that he is guilty?"
"Oh, sir!" interrupted Claire, "you cannot think so!"
"I do think so, mademoiselle," exclaimed the magistrate in a sad voice,"and I must add that I am morally certain of it."
Claire looked at the investigating magistrate with profound amazement.Could it be really he who was speaking thus. Had she heard him aright?Did she understand? She was far from sure. Had he answered seriously?Was he not deluding her by a cruel unworthy jest? She asked herself thisscarcely knowing what she did: for to her everything appeared possible,probable, rather than that which he had said.
Not daring to raise his eyes, he continued in a tone, expressive of thesincerest pity, "I suffer cruelly for you at this moment, mademoiselle;but I have the sad courage to tell you the truth, and you must summonyours to hear it. It is far better that you should know everything fromthe mouth of a friend. Summon, then, all your fortitude; strengthen yournoble soul against a most dreadful misfortune. No, there is no mistake.Justice has not been deceived. The Viscount de Commarin is accused ofan assassination; and everything, you understand me, proves that hecommitted it."
Like a doctor, who pours out drop by drop a dangerous medicine, M.Daburon pronounced this last sentence slowly, word by word. He watchedcarefully the result, ready to cease speaking, if the shock was toogreat. He did not suppose that this young girl, timid to excess, with asensitiveness almost a disease, would be able to hear without flinchingsuch a terrible revelation. He expected a burst of despair, tears,distressing cries. She might perhaps faint away; and he stood ready tocall in the worthy Schmidt.
He was mistaken. Claire drew herself up full of energy and courage. Theflame of indignation flushed her cheeks, and dried her tears.
"It is false," she cried, "and those who say it are liars! He cannotbe--no, he cannot be an assassin. If he were here, sir, and shouldhimself say, 'It is true,' I would refuse to believe it; I would stillcry out, 'It is false!'"
"He has not yet admitted it," continued the magistrate, "but he willconfess. Even if he should not, there are more proofs than are needed toconvict him. The charges against him
are as impossible to deny as is thesun which shines upon us."
"Ah! well," interrupted Mademoiselle d'Arlange, in a voice filledwith emotion, "I assert, I repeat, that justice is deceived. Yes," shepersisted, in answer to the magistrate's gesture of denial, "yes, he isinnocent. I am sure of it; and I would proclaim it, even were the wholeworld to join with you in accusing him. Do you not see that I know himbetter even than he can know himself, that my faith in him is absolute,as is my faith in God, that I would doubt myself before doubting him?"
The investigating magistrate attempted timidly to make an objection;Claire quickly interrupted him.
"Must I then, sir," said she, "in order to convince you, forget that Iam a young girl, and that I am not talking to my mother, but to a man!For his sake I will do so. It is four years, sir, since we first lovedeach other. Since that time, I have not kept a single one of my thoughtsfrom him, nor has he hid one of his from me. For four years, there hasnever been a secret between us; he lived in me, as I lived in him.I alone can say how worthy he is to be loved; I alone know all thatgrandeur of soul, nobleness of thought, generosity of feelings, out ofwhich you have so easily made an assassin. And I have seen him, oh! sounhappy, while all the world envied his lot. He is, like me, alone inthe world; his father never loved him. Sustained one by the other, wehave passed through many unhappy days; and it is at the very moment ourtrials are ending that he has become a criminal? Why? tell me, why?"
"Neither the name nor the fortune of the Count de Commarin would descendto him, mademoiselle; and the knowledge of it came upon him with asudden shock. One old woman alone was able to prove this. To maintainhis position, he killed her."
"What infamy," cried the young girl, "what a shameful, wicked, calumny!I know, sir, that story of fallen greatness; he himself told me of it.It is true, that for three days this misfortune unmanned him; but, if hewas dismayed, it was on my account more than his own. He was distressedat thinking that perhaps I should be grieved, when he confessed to methat he could no longer give me all that his love dreamed of. I grieved?Ah! what to me are that great name, that immense wealth? I owe to themthe only unhappiness I have ever known. Was it, then, for such thingsthat I loved him? It was thus that I replied to him; and he, so sad,immediately recovered his gaiety. He thanked me, saying, 'You love me;the rest is of no consequence.' I chided him, then, for having doubtedme; and after that, you pretend that he cowardly assassinated an oldwoman? You would not dare repeat it."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange ceased speaking, a smile of victory on her lips.That smile meant, "At last I have attained my end: you are conquered;what can you reply to all that I have said?"
The investigating magistrate did not long leave this smiling illusion tothe unhappy child. He did not perceive how cruel and offensive was hispersistence. Always the same predominant idea! In persuading Claire, hewould justify his own conduct to himself.
"You do not know, mademoiselle," he resumed, "how a sudden calamity mayeffect a good man's reason. It is only at the time a thing escapes usthat we feel the greatness of the loss. God preserve me from doubtingall that you have said; but picture to yourself the immensity of theblow which struck M. de Commarin. Can you say that on leaving you he didnot give way to despair? Think of the extremities to which it mayhave led him. He may have been for a time bewildered, and have actedunconsciously. Perhaps this is the way the crime should be explained."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange's face grew deathly pale, and betrayed the utmostterror. The magistrate thought that at last doubt had begun to effecther pure and noble belief.
"He must, then, have been mad," she murmured.
"Possibly," replied the magistrate; "and yet the circumstances of thecrime denote a well-laid plan. Believe me, then, mademoiselle, and donot be too confident. Pray, and wait patiently for the issue of thisterrible trial. Listen to my voice, it is that of a friend. You used tohave in me the confidence a daughter gives to her father, you told meso; do not, then, refuse my advice. Remain silent and wait. Hide yourgrief to all; you might hereafter regret having exposed it. Young,inexperienced, without a guide, without a mother, alas! you sadlymisplaced your first affections."
"No, sir, no," stammered Claire. "Ah!" she added, "you talk like therest of the world, that prudent and egotistical world, which I despiseand hate."
"Poor child," continued M. Daburon, pitiless even in his compassion,"unhappy young girl! This is your first deception! Nothing more terriblecould be imagined; few women would know how to bear it. But you areyoung; you are brave; your life will not be ruined. Hereafter you willfeel horrified at this crime. There is no wound, I know by experience,which time does not heal."
Claire tried to grasp what the magistrate was saying, but his wordsreached her only as confused sounds, their meaning entirely escaped her.
"I do not understand you, sir," she said. "What advice, then, do yougive me?"
"The only advice that reason dictates, and that my affection for you cansuggest, mademoiselle. I speak to you as a kind and devoted brother.I say to you: 'Courage, Claire, resign yourself to the saddest, thegreatest sacrifice which honour can ask of a young girl. Weep, yes, weepfor your deceived love; but forget it. Pray heaven to help you do so. Hewhom you have loved is no longer worthy of you.'"
The magistrate stopped slightly frightened. Mademoiselle d'Arlange hadbecome livid.
But though the body was weak, the soul still remained firm.
"You said, just now," she murmured, "that he could only have committedthis crime in a moment of distraction, in a fit of madness?"
"Yes, it is possible."
"Then, sir, not knowing what he did, he can not be guilty."
The investigating magistrate forgot a certain troublesome question whichhe put to himself one morning in bed after his illness.
"Neither justice nor society, mademoiselle," he replied, "can take thatinto account. God alone, who sees into the depths of our hearts, canjudge, can decide those questions which human justice must pass by. Inour eyes, M. de Commarin is a criminal. There may be certain extenuatingcircumstances to soften the punishment; but the moral effect will be thesame. Even if he were acquitted, and I wish he may be, but without hope,he will not be less unworthy. He will always carry the dishonour, thestain of blood cowardly shed. Therefore, forget him."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange stopped the magistrate with a look in whichflashed the strongest resentment.
"That is to say," she exclaimed, "that you counsel me to abandon him inhis misfortune. All the world deserts him; and your prudence advises meto act with the world. Men behave thus, I have heard, when one of theirfriends is down; but women never do. Look about you; however humiliated,however wretched, however low, a man may be, you will always find awoman near to sustain and console him. When the last friend has boldlytaken to flight, when the last relation has abandoned him, womanremains."
The magistrate regretted having been carried away perhaps a little toofar. Claire's excitement frightened him. He tried, but in vain, to stopher.
"I may be timid," she continued with increasing energy, "but I am nocoward. I chose Albert voluntarily from amongst all. Whatever happens,I will never desert him. No, I will never say, 'I do not know this man.'He would have given me half of his prosperity, and of his glory. Iwill share, whether he wishes it or not, half of his shame and of hismisfortune. Between two, the burden will be less heavy to bear. Strike!I will cling so closely to him that no blow shall touch him withoutreaching me, too. You counsel me to forget him. Teach me, then, how to.I forget him? Could I, even if I wished? But I do not wish it. I lovehim. It is no more in my power to cease loving him than it is toarrest, by the sole effort of my will, the beating of my heart. He is aprisoner, accused of murder. So be it. I love him. He is guilty! Whatof that? I love him. You will condemn him, you will dishonour him.Condemned and dishonoured, I shall love him still. You will send himto a convict prison. I will follow him; and in the prison, under theconvict's dress, I will yet love him. If he falls to the bottom of theabyss, I will
fall with him. My life is his, let him dispose of it. No,nothing will separate me from him, nothing short of death! And, if hemust mount the scaffold, I shall die, I know it, from the blow whichkills him."
M. Daburon had buried his face in his hands. He did not wish Claire toperceive a trace of the emotion which affected him.
"How she loves him!" he thought, "how she loves him!"
His mind was sunk in the darkest thoughts. All the stings of jealousywere rending him. What would not be his delight, if he were the objectof so irresistible a passion as that which burst forth before him! Whatwould he not give in return! He had, too, a young and ardent soul, aburning thirst for love. But who had ever thought of that? He had beenesteemed, respected, perhaps feared, but not loved; and he never wouldbe. Was he, then, unworthy of it? Why do so many men pass through lifedispossessed of love, while others, the vilest beings sometimes, seem topossess a mysterious power, which charms and seduces, and inspires thoseblind and impetuous feelings which to assert themselves rush to thesacrifice all the while longing for it? Have women, then, no reason, nodiscernment?
Mademoiselle d'Arlange's silence brought the magistrate back to thereality. He raised his eyes to her. Overcome by the violence of heremotion, she lay back in her chair, and breathed with such difficultythat M. Daburon feared she was about to faint. He moved quickly towardsthe bell, to summon aid; but Claire noticed the movement, and stoppedhim.
"What would you do?" she asked.
"You seemed suffering so," he stammered, "that I----"
"It is nothing, sir," replied she. "I may seem weak; but I am not so. Iam strong, believe me, very strong. It is true that I suffer, as I neverbelieved that one could suffer. It is cruel for a young girl to have todo violence to all her feelings. You ought to be satisfied, sir. I havetorn aside all veils; and you have read even the inmost recesses ofmy heart. But I do not regret it; it was for his sake. That which I doregret is my having lowered my self so far as to defend him; but he willforgive me that one doubt. Your assurance took me unawares. A manlike him does not need defence; his innocence must be proved; and, Godhelping me, I will prove it."
As Claire was half-rising to depart, M. Daburon detained her by agesture. In his blindness, he thought he would be doing wrong to leavethis poor young girl in the slightest way deceived. Having gone so faras to begin, he persuaded himself that his duty bade him go on to theend. He said to himself, in all good faith, that he would thus preserveClaire from herself, and spare her in the future many bitter regrets.The surgeon who has commenced a painful operation does not leave ithalf-finished because the patient struggles, suffers, and cries out.
"It is painful, Mademoiselle,--" he began.
Claire did not let him finish.
"Enough, sir," said she; "all that you can say will be of no avail. Irespect your unhappy conviction. I ask, in return, the same regard formine. If you were truly my friend, I would ask you to aid me in the taskof saving him, to which I am about to devote myself. But, doubtless, youwould not do so."
"If you knew the proofs which I possess, mademoiselle," he said in acold tone, which expressed his determination not to give way to anger,"if I detailed them to you, you would no longer hope."
"Speak, sir," cried Claire imperiously.
"You wish it, mademoiselle? Very well; I will give you in detail all theevidence we have collected. I am entirely yours, as you are aware. Butyet, why should I harass you with all these proofs? There is one whichalone is decisive. The murder was committed on the evening of ShroveTuesday; and the prisoner cannot give an account of what he did on thatevening. He went out, however, and only returned home about two o'clockin the morning, his clothes soiled and torn, and his gloves frayed."
"Oh! enough, sir, enough!" interrupted Claire, whose eyes beamed oncemore with happiness. "You say it was on Shrove Tuesday evening?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Ah! I was sure," she cried triumphantly. "I told you truly that hecould not be guilty."
She clasped her hands, and, from the movement of her lips, it wasevident that she was praying. The expression of the most perfect faithrepresented by some of the Italian painters illuminated her beautifulface while she rendered thanks to God in the effusion of her gratitude.
The magistrate was so disconcerted, that he forgot to admire her. Heawaited an explanation.
"Well?" he asked impatiently.
"Sir," replied Claire, "if that is your strongest proof, it exists nolonger. Albert passed the entire evening you speak of with me."
"With you?" stammered the magistrate.
"Yes, with me, at my home."
M. Daburon was astounded. Was he dreaming? He hardly knew.
"What!" he exclaimed, "the viscount was at your house? Your grandmother,your companion, your servants, they all saw him and spoke to him?"
"No, sir; he came and left in secret. He wished no one to see him; hedesired to be alone with me."
"Ah!" said the magistrate with a sigh of relief. The sigh signified:"It's all clear--only too evident. She is determined to save him, at therisk even of compromising her reputation. Poor girl! But has this ideaonly just occurred to her?"
The "Ah!" was interpreted very differently by Mademoiselle d'Arlange.She thought that M. Daburon was astonished at her consenting to receiveAlbert.
"Your surprise is an insult, sir," said she.
"Mademoiselle!"
"A daughter of my family, sir, may receive her betrothed without dangerof anything occurring for which she would have to blush."
She spoke thus, and at the same time was red with shame, grief, andanger. She began to hate M. Daburon.
"I had no such insulting thought as you imagine, mademoiselle," said themagistrate. "I was only wondering why M. de Commarin went secretly toyour house, when his approaching marriage gave him the right to presenthimself openly at all hours. I still wonder, how, on such a visit, hecould get his clothes in the condition in which we found them."
"That is to say, sir," replied Claire bitterly, "that you doubt myword!"
"The circumstances are such, mademoiselle,--"
"You accuse me, then, of falsehood, sir. Know that, were we criminals,we should not descend to justifying ourselves; we should never pray norask for pardon."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange's haughty, contemptuous tone could only anger themagistrate. How harshly she treated him! And simply because he would notconsent to be her dupe.
"Above all, mademoiselle," he answered severely, "I am a magistrate; andI have a duty to perform. A crime has been committed. Everything pointsto M. Albert de Commarin as the guilty man. I arrest him; I examine him;and I find overwhelming proofs against him. You come and tell me thatthey are false; that is not enough. So long as you addressed me as afriend, you found me kind and gentle. Now it is the magistrate to whomyou speak: and it is the magistrate who answers, 'Prove it.'"
"My word, sir,--"
"Prove it!"
Mademoiselle d'Arlange rose slowly, casting upon the magistrate a lookfull of astonishment and suspicion.
"Would you, then, be glad, sir," she asked, "to find Albert guilty?Would it give you such great pleasure to have him convicted? Do you thenhate this prisoner, whose fate is in your hands? One would almost thinkso. Can you answer for your impartiality? Do not certain memories weighheavily in the scale? Are you sure that you are not, armed with the law,revenging yourself upon a rival?"
"This is too much," murmured the magistrate, "this is too much!"
"Do you know the unusual, the dangerous position we are in at thismoment? One day, I remember, you declared your love for me. It appearedto me sincere and honest; it touched me. I was obliged to refuse you,because I loved another; and I pitied you. Now that other is accusedof murder, and you are his judge; and I find myself between you two,praying to you for him. In undertaking the investigation you acquired anopportunity to help him; and yet you seem to be against him."
Every word Claire uttered fell upon M. Daburon's heart like a slap onhis face. Was
it really she who was speaking? Whence came this suddenboldness, which made her choose all those words which found an echo inhis heart?
"Mademoiselle," said he, "your grief has been too much for you. From youalone could I pardon what you have just said. Your ignorance of thingsmakes you unjust. If you think that Albert's fate depends upon mypleasure, you are mistaken. To convince me is nothing; it is necessaryto convince others. That I should believe you is all very natural, Iknow you. But what weight will others attach to your testimony, whenyou go to them with a true story--most true, I believe, but yet highlyimprobable?"
Tears came into Claire's eyes.
"If I have unjustly offended you, sir," said she, "pardon me; myunhappiness makes me forget myself."
"You cannot offend me, mademoiselle," replied the magistrate. "I havealready told you that I am devoted to your service."
"Then sir, help me to prove the truth of what I have said. I will tellyou everything."
M. Daburon was fully convinced that Claire was seeking to deceive him;but her confidence astonished him. He wondered what fable she was aboutto concoct.
"Sir," began Claire, "you know what obstacles have stood in the way ofmy marriage with Albert. The Count de Commarin would not accept me fora daughter-in-law, because I am poor, I possess nothing. It took Albertfive years to triumph over his father's objections. Twice the countyielded; twice he recalled his consent, which he said had been extortedfrom him. At last, about a month ago, he gave his consent of his ownaccord. But these hesitations, delays, refusals, had deeply hurt mygrandmother. You know her sensitive nature; and, in this case, I mustconfess she was right. Though the wedding day had been fixed, themarchioness declared that we should not be compromised nor laughed atagain for any apparent haste to contract a marriage so advantageous,that we had often before been accused of ambition. She decided,therefore, that, until the publication of the banns, Albert shouldonly be admitted into the house every other day, for two hours in theafternoon, and in her presence. We could not get her to alter thisdetermination. Such was the state of affairs, when, on Sunday morning,a note came to me from Albert. He told me that pressing business wouldprevent his coming, although it was his regular day. What could havehappened to keep him away? I feared some evil. The next day I awaitedhim impatiently and distracted, when his valet brought Schmidt anote for me. In that letter, sir, Albert entreated me to grant himan interview. It was necessary, he wrote, that he should have a longconversation with me, alone, and without delay. Our whole future, headded, depended upon this interview. He left me to fix the day and hour,urging me to confide in no one. I did not hesitate. I sent him word tomeet me on the Tuesday evening, at the little garden gate, which opensinto an unfrequented street. To inform me of his presence, he was toknock just as nine o'clock chimed at the Invalides. I knew that mygrandmother had invited a number of her friends for that evening; and Ithought that, by pretending a headache, I might retire early, and so befree. I expected, also, that Madame d'Arlange would keep Schmidt withher."
"Excuse me, mademoiselle," interrupted M. Daburon, "what day did youwrite to M. Albert?"
"On Tuesday."
"Can you fix the hour?"
"I must have sent the letter between two and three o'clock."
"Thanks, mademoiselle. Continue, I pray."
"All my anticipations," continued Claire, "were realised. I retiredduring the evening, and I went into the garden a little before theappointed time. I had procured the key of the little door; and I atonce tried it. Unfortunately, I could not make it turn, the lock was sorusty. I exerted all my strength in vain. I was in despair, when nineo'clock struck. At the third stroke, Albert knocked. I told him of theaccident; and I threw him the key, that he might try and unlock thedoor. He tried, but without success. I then begged him to postpone ourinterview. He replied that it was impossible, that what he had to sayadmitted of no delay; that, during three days he had hesitated aboutconfiding in me, and had suffered martyrdom, and that he could endure itno longer. We were speaking, you must understand, through the door. Atlast, he declared that he would climb over the wall. I begged him not todo so, fearing an accident. The wall is very high, as you know; the topis covered with pieces of broken glass, and the acacia branches stretchout above like a hedge. But he laughed at my fears, and said that,unless I absolutely forbade him to do so, he was going to attemptto scale the wall. I dared not say no; and he risked it. I was veryfrightened, and trembled like a leaf. Fortunately, he is very active,and got over without hurting himself. He had come, sir, to tell me ofthe misfortune which had befallen him. We first of all sat down upon thelittle seat you know of, in front of the grove; then, as the rain wasfalling, we took shelter in the summer house. It was past midnight whenAlbert left me, quieted and almost gay. He went back in the same manner,only with less danger, because I made him use the gardener's ladder,which I laid down alongside the wall when he had reached the otherside."
This account, given in the simplest and most natural manner, puzzled M.Daburon. What was he to think?
"Mademoiselle," he asked, "had the rain commenced to fall when M. Albertclimbed over the wall?"
"No, sir, the first drops fell when we were on the seat. I recollectit very well, because he opened his umbrella, and I thought of Paul andVirginia."
"Excuse me a minute, mademoiselle," said the magistrate.
He sat down at his desk, and rapidly wrote two letters. In the first, hegave orders for Albert to be brought at once to his office in the Palaisde Justice. In the second, he directed a detective to go immediately tothe Faubourg St. Germain to the d'Arlange house, and examine the wallat the bottom of the garden, and make a note of any marks of its havingbeen scaled, if any such existed. He explained that the wall had beenclimbed twice, both before and during the rain; consequently the marksof the going and returning would be different from each other.
He enjoined upon the detective to proceed with the utmost caution, andto invent a plausible pretext which would explain his investigations.
Having finished writing, the magistrate rang for his servant, who soonappeared.
"Here," said he, "are two letters, which you must take to my clerk,Constant. Tell him to read them, and to have the orders they containexecuted at once,--at once, you understand. Run, take a cab, and bequick! Ah! one word. If Constant is not in my office, have him soughtfor; he will not be far off, as he is waiting for me. Go quickly!"
M. Daburon then turned and said to Claire: "Have you kept the letter,mademoiselle, in which M. Albert asked for this interview?"
"Yes, sir, I even think I have it with me."
She arose, felt in her pocket, and drew out a much crumpled piece ofpaper.
"Here it is!"
The investigating magistrate took it. A suspicion crossed his mind. Thiscompromising letter happened to be very conveniently in Claire's pocket;and yet young girls do not usually carry about with them requests forsecret interviews. At a glance, he read the ten lines of the note.
"No date," he murmured, "no stamp, nothing at all."
Claire did not hear him; she was racking her brain to find other proofsof the interview.
"Sir," said she suddenly, "it often happens, that when we wish to be,and believe ourselves alone, we are nevertheless observed. Summon, Ibeseech you, all of my grandmother's servants, and inquire if any ofthem saw Albert that night."
"Inquire of your servants! Can you dream of such a thing, mademoiselle?"
"What, sir? You fear that I shall be compromised. What of that, if he isonly freed?"
M. Daburon could not help admiring her. What sublime devotion in thisyoung girl, whether she spoke the truth or not! He could understand theviolence she had been doing to her feelings during the past hour, he whoknew her character so well.
"That is not all," she added; "the key which I threw to Albert, he didnot return it to me; he must have forgotten to do so. If it is found inhis possession, it will well prove that he was in the garden."
"I will give orders respecting i
t, mademoiselle."
"There is still another thing," continued Claire; "while I am here, sendsome one to examine the wall."
She seemed to think of everything.
"That is already done, mademoiselle," replied M. Daburon. "I will nothide from you that one of the letters which I have just sent off orderedan examination of your grandmother's wall, a secret examination, though,be assured."
Claire rose joyfully, and for the second time held out her hand to themagistrate.
"Oh, thanks!" she said, "a thousand thanks! Now I can well see that youare with me. But I have still another idea: Albert ought to have thenote I wrote on Tuesday."
"No, mademoiselle, he burnt it."
Claire drew back. She imagined she felt a touch of irony in themagistrate's reply. There was none, however. M. Daburon remembered theletter thrown into the fire by Albert on the Tuesday afternoon. It couldonly been the one Claire had sent him. It was to her, then, that thewords, "She cannot resist me," applied. He understood, now, the actionand the remark.
"Can you understand, mademoiselle," he next asked, "how M. de Commarincould lead justice astray, and expose me to committing a most deplorableerror, when it would have been so easy to have told me all this?"
"It seems to me, sir, that an honourable man cannot confess that he hasobtained a secret interview from a lady, until he has full permissionfrom her to do so. He ought to risk his life sooner than the honour ofher who has trusted in him; but be assured Albert relied on me."
There was nothing to reply to this; and the sentiments expressed byMademoiselle d'Arlange gave a meaning to one of Albert's replies in theexamination.
"This is not all yet, mademoiselle," continued the magistrate; "all thatyou have told me here, you must repeat in my office, at the Palais deJustice. My clerk will take down your testimony, and you must signit. This proceeding will be painful to you; but it is a necessaryformality."
"Ah, sir, I will do so with pleasure. What can I refuse, when I knowthat he is in prison? I was determined to do everything. If he hadbeen tried at the assizes, I would have gone there. Yes, I would havepresented myself, and there before all I would have told the truth.Doubtless," she added sadly, "I should have been greatly compromised. Ishould have been looked upon as a heroine of romance; but what matterspublic opinion, the blame or approval of the world, since I am sure ofhis love?"
She rose from her seat, readjusting her cloak and the strings of herbonnet.
"Is it necessary," she asked, "that I should await the return of thepolice agents who are examining the wall?"
"It is needless, mademoiselle."
"Then," she continued in a sweet voice, "I can only beseech you," sheclasped her hands, "conjure you," her eyes implored, "to let Albert outof prison."
"He shall be liberated as soon as possible; I give you my word."
"Oh, to-day, dear M. Daburon, to-day, I beg of you, now, at once! Sincehe is innocent, be kind, for you are our friend. Do you wish me to godown on my knees?"
The magistrate had only just time to extend his arms, and prevent her.
He was choking with emotion, the unhappy man! Ah! how much he envied theprisoner's lot!
"That which you ask of me is impossible, mademoiselle," said he inan almost inaudible voice, "impracticable, upon my honour. Ah! if itdepended upon me alone, I could not, even were he guilty, see you weep,and resist."
Mademoiselle d'Arlange, hitherto so firm, could no longer restrain hersobs.
"Miserable girl that I am!" she cried, "he is suffering, he is inprison; I am free, and yet I can do nothing for him! Great heaven!inspire me with accents to touch the hearts of men! At whose feet must Icast myself to obtain his pardon?"
She suddenly stopped, surprised at having uttered such a word.
"Pardon!" she repeated fiercely; "he has no need of pardon. Why am Ionly a woman? Can I not find one man who will help me? Yes," she saidafter a moment's reflection, "there is one man who owes himself toAlbert; since he it was who put him in this position,--the Count deCommarin. He is his father, and yet he has abandoned him. Ah, well! Iwill remind him that he still has a son."
The magistrate rose to see her to the door; but she had alreadydisappeared, taking the kind-hearted Schmidt with her.
M. Daburon, more dead than alive, sank back again in his chair. His eyesfilled with tears.
"And that is what she is!" he murmured. "Ah! I made no vulgar choice! Ihad divined and understood all her good qualities."
He had never loved her so much; and he felt that he would never beconsoled for not having won her love in return. But, in the midst of hismeditations, a sudden thought passed like a flash across his brain.
Had Claire spoken the truth? Had she not been playing a part previouslyprepared? No, most decidedly no! But she might have been herselfdeceived, might have been the dupe of some skillful trick.
In that case old Tabaret's prediction was now realised.
Tabaret had said: "Look out for an indisputable _alibi_."
How could he show the falsity of this one, planned in advance, affirmedby Claire, who was herself deceived?
How could he expose a plan, so well laid that the prisoner had beenable without danger to await certain results, with his arms folded, andwithout himself moving in the matter?
And yet, if Claire's story were true, and Albert innocent!
The magistrate struggled in the midst of inextricable difficulties,without a plan, without an idea.
He arose.
"Oh!" he said in a loud voice, as though encouraging himself, "at thePalais, all will be unravelled."