XXVII
All M. Lecoq's anticipations were realized. Laurence was not dead, andher letter to her parents was an odious trick. It was really she wholived in the house as Mme. Wilson. How had the lovely young girl, somuch beloved by the old justice, come to such a dreadful extremity? Thelogic of life, alas, fatally enchains all our determinations to eachother. Often an indifferent action, little wrongful in itself, is thebeginning of an atrocious crime. Each of our new resolutions dependsupon those which have preceded it, and is their logical sequence just asthe sum-total is the product of the added figures. Woe to him who, beingseized with a dizziness at the brink of the abyss, does not fly as fastas possible, without turning his head; for soon, yielding to anirresistible attraction, he approaches, braves the danger, slips, and islost. Whatever thereafter he does or attempts he will roll down thefaster, until he reaches the very bottom of the gulf.
Tremorel had by no means the implacable character of an assassin; he wasonly feeble and cowardly; yet he had committed abominable crimes. Allhis guilt came from the first feeling of envy with which he regardedSauvresy, and which he had not taken the pains to subdue. Laurence,when, on the day that she became enamoured of Tremorel, she permittedhim to press her hand, and kept it from her mother, was lost. Thehand-pressure led to the pretence of suicide in order to fly with herlover. It might also lead to infanticide.
Poor Laurence, when she was left alone by Hector's departure to theFaubourg St. Germain, on receiving M. Lecoq's letter, began to reflectupon the events of the past year. How unlooked-for and rapidlysucceeding they had been! It seemed to her that she had been whirledalong in a tempest, without a second to think or act freely. She askedherself if she were not a prey to some hideous nightmare, and if sheshould not presently awake in her pretty maidenly chamber at Orcival.Was it really she who was there in a strange house, dead to everyone,leaving behind a withered memory, reduced to live under a false name,without family or friends henceforth, or anyone in the world to help herfeebleness, at the mercy of a fugitive like herself, who was free tobreak to-morrow the bonds of caprice which to-day bound him to her? Wasit she, too, who was about to become a mother, and found herselfsuffering from the excessive misery of blushing for that maternity whichis the pride of pure young wives? A thousand memories of her past lifeflocked through her brain and cruelly revived her despair. Her heartsank as she thought of her old friendships, of her mother, her sister,the pride of her innocence, and the pure joys of the home fireside.
As she half reclined on a divan in Hector's library, she wept freely.She bewailed her life, broken at twenty, her lost youth, her vanished,once radiant hopes, the world's esteem, and her own self-respect, whichshe should never recover.
Of a sudden the door was abruptly opened.
Laurence thought it was Hector returned, and she hastily rose, passingher handkerchief across her face to try to conceal her tears.
A man whom she did not know stood upon the threshold, respectfullybowing. She was afraid, for Tremorel had said to her many times withinthe past two days, "We are pursued; let us hide well;" and though itseemed to her that she had nothing to fear, she trembled without knowingwhy.
"Who are you?" she asked, haughtily, "and who has admitted you here?What do you want?"
M. Lecoq left nothing to chance or inspiration; he foresaw everything,and regulated affairs in real life as he would the scenes in a theatre.He expected this very natural indignation and these questions, and wasprepared for them. The only reply he made was to step one side, thusrevealing M. Plantat behind him.
Laurence was so much overcome on recognizing her old friend, that, inspite of her resolution, she came near falling.
"You!" she stammered; "you!"
The old justice was, if possible, more agitated than Laurence. Was thatreally his Laurence there before him? Grief had done its work so wellthat she seemed old.
"Why did you seek for me?" she resumed. "Why add another grief to mylife? Ah, I told Hector that the letter he dictated to me would not bebelieved. There are misfortunes for which death is the only refuge."
M. Plantat was about to reply, but Lecoq was determined to take the leadin the interview.
"It is not you, Madame, that we seek," said he, "but Monsieur deTremorel."
"Hector! And why, if you please? Is he not free?"
M. Lecoq hesitated before shocking the poor girl, who had been but toocredulous in trusting to a scoundrel's oaths of fidelity. But he thoughtthat the cruel truth is less harrowing than the suspense of intimations.
"Monsieur de Tremorel," he answered, "has committed a great crime."
"He! You lie, sir."
The detective sorrowfully shook his head.
"Unhappily I have told you the truth. Monsieur de Tremorel murdered hiswife on Wednesday night. I am a detective and I have a warrant to arresthim."
He thought this terrible charge would overwhelm Laurence; he wasmistaken. She was thunderstruck, but she stood firm. The crime horrifiedher, but it did not seem to her entirely improbable, knowing as she didthe hatred with which Hector was inspired by Bertha.
"Well, perhaps he did," cried she, sublime in her energy and despair; "Iam his accomplice, then--arrest me."
This cry, which seemed to proceed from the most senseless passion,amazed the old justice, but did not surprise M. Lecoq.
"No, Madame," he resumed, "you are not this man's accomplice. Besides,the murder of his wife is the least of his crimes. Do you know why hedid not marry you? Because in concert with Bertha, he poisoned MonsieurSauvresy, who saved his life and was his best friend. We have the proofof it."
This was more than poor Laurence could bear; she staggered and fell upona sofa. But she did not doubt the truth of what M. Lecoq said. Thisterrible revelation tore away the veil which, till then, had hidden thepast from her. The poisoning of Sauvresy explained all Hector's conduct,his position, his fears, his promises, his lies, his hate, hisrecklessness, his marriage, his flight. Still she tried not to defendhim, but to share the odium of his crimes.
"I knew it," she stammered, in a voice broken by sobs, "I knew it all."
The old justice was in despair.
"How you love him, poor child!" murmured he.
This mournful exclamation restored to Laurence all her energy; she madean effort and rose, her eyes glittering with indignation:
"I love him!" cried she. "I! Ah, I can explain my conduct to you, my oldfriend, for you are worthy of hearing it. Yes, I did love him, it istrue--loved him to the forgetfulness of duty, to self-abandonment. Butone day he showed himself to me as he was; I judged him, and my love didnot survive my contempt. I was ignorant of Sauvresy's horrible death.Hector confessed to me that his life and honor were in Bertha'shands--and that she loved him. I left him free to abandon me, to marry,thus sacrificing more than my life to what I thought was his happiness;yet I was not deceived. When I fled with him I once more sacrificedmyself, when I saw that it was impossible to conceal my shame. I wantedto die. I lived, and wrote an infamous letter to my mother, and yieldedto Hector's prayers, because he pleaded with me in the name of my--ofour child!"
M. Lecoq, impatient at the loss of time, tried to say something; butLaurence would not listen to him.
"But what matter?" she continued. "I loved him, followed him, and amhis! Constancy at all hazards is the only excuse for a fault like mine.I will do my duty. I cannot be innocent when Hector has committed acrime; I desire to suffer half the punishment."
She spoke with such remarkable animation that the detective despaired ofcalming her, when two whistles in the street struck his ear. Tremorelwas returning and there was not a moment to be lost. He suddenly seizedLaurence by the arm.
"You will tell all this to the judges, Madame," said he, sternly. "Myorders are only for M. de Tremorel. Here is the warrant to arrest him."
He took out the warrant and laid it upon the table. Laurence, by theforce of her will, had become almost calm.
"You will let me speak five minutes with the Coun
t de Tremorel, will younot?" she asked.
M. Lecoq was delighted; he had looked for this request, and expected it.
"Five minutes? Yes," he replied. "But abandon all hope, Madame, ofsaving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in the court andin the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides, I am going tostay here in the next room."
The count was heard ascending the stairs.
"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"
She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low as toprevent the detective from hearing her:
"Be sure, we will not try to escape."
She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. He was palerthan death, and his eyes had a fearful, wandering expression.
"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letter which Ireceived just now is not from the man whose signature it professes tobear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, let us leave this house--"
Laurence overwhelmed him with a look full of hate and contempt, andsaid:
"It is too late."
Her countenance and voice were so strange that Tremorel, despite hisdistress, was struck by it, and asked:
"What is the matter?"
"Everything is known; it is known that you killed your wife."
"It's false!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, then, it is true," he added, "for I loved you so--"
"Really! And it was for love of me that you poisoned Sauvresy?"
He saw that he was discovered, that he had been caught in a trap, thatthey had come, in his absence, and told Laurence all. He did not attemptto deny anything.
"What shall I do?" cried he, "what shall I do?"
Laurence drew him to her, and muttered in a shuddering voice:
"Save the name of Tremorel; there are pistols here."
He recoiled, as if he had seen death itself.
"No," said he. "I can yet fly and conceal myself; I will go alone, andyou can rejoin me afterward."
"I have already told you that it is too late. The police have surroundedthe house. And--you know--it is the galleys, or--the scaffold!"
"I can get away by the courtyard."
"It is guarded; look."
He ran to the window, saw M. Lecoq's men, and returned half mad andhideous with terror.
"I can at least try," said he, "by disguising myself--"
"Fool! A detective is in there, and it was he who left that warrant toarrest you on the table."
He saw that he was lost beyond hope.
"Must I die, then?" he muttered.
"Yes, you must; but before you die write a confession of your crimes,for the innocent may be suspected--"
He sat down mechanically, took the pen which Laurence held out to him,and wrote:
"Being about to appear before God, I declare that I alone, and withoutaccomplices, poisoned Sauvresy and murdered the Countess de Tremorel, mywife."
When he had signed and dated this, Laurence opened a bureau drawer;Hector seized one of the brace of pistols which were lying in it, andshe took the other. But Tremorel, as before at the hotel, and then inthe dying Sauvresy's chamber, felt his heart fail him as he placed thepistol against his forehead. He was livid, his teeth chattered, and hetrembled so violently that he let the pistol drop.
"Laurence, my love," he stammered, "what will--become of you?"
"Me! I have sworn that I will follow you always and everywhere. Do youunderstand?"
"Ah, 'tis horrible!" said he. "It was not I who poisoned Sauvresy--itwas she--there are proofs of it; perhaps, with a good advocate--"
M. Lecoq did not lose a word or a gesture of this tragical scene. Eitherpurposely or by accident, he pushed the door-curtain, which made aslight noise.
Laurence thought the door was being opened, that the detective wasreturning, and that Hector would fall alive into their hands.
"Miserable coward!" she cried, pointing her pistol at him, "shoot, orelse--"
He hesitated; there was another rustle at the door; she fired.
Tremorel fell dead.
Laurence, with a rapid movement, took up the other pistol, and wasturning it against herself, when M. Lecoq sprung upon her and tore theweapon from her grasp.
"Unhappy girl!" cried he, "what would you do?"
"Die. Can I live now?"
"Yes, you can live," responded M. Lecoq. "And more, you ought to live."
"I am a lost woman--"
"No, you are a poor child lured away by a wretch. You say you are veryguilty; perhaps so; live to repent of it. Great sorrows like yours havetheir missions in this world, one of devotion and charity. Live, and thegood you do will attach you once more to life. You have yielded to thedeceitful promises of a villain. Remember, when you are rich, that thereare poor innocent girls forced to lead a life of miserable shame for amorsel of bread. Go to these unhappy creatures, rescue them fromdebauchery, and their honor will be yours."
M. Lecoq narrowly watched Laurence as he spoke, and perceived that hehad touched her. Still, her eyes were dry, and were lit up with astrange light.
"Besides, your life is not your own--you know."
"Ah," she returned, "I must die now, even for my child, if I would notdie of shame when he asks for his father--"
"You will reply, Madame, by showing him an honest man and an old friend,who is ready to give him his name--Monsieur Plantat."
The old justice was broken with grief; yet he had the strength to say:
"Laurence, my beloved child, I beg you accept me--"
These simple words, pronounced with infinite gentleness and sweetness,at last melted the unhappy young girl, and determined her. She burstinto tears.
She was saved.
M. Lecoq hastened to throw a shawl which he saw on a chair about hershoulders, and passed her arm through M. Plantat's, saying to thelatter:
"Go, lead her away; my men have orders to let you pass, and Palot willlend you his carriage."
"But where shall we go?"
"To Orcival; Monsieur Courtois has been informed by a letter from methat his daughter is living, and he is expecting her. Come, lose notime."
M. Lecoq, when he was left alone, listened to the departure of thecarriage which took M. Plantat and Laurence away; then he returned toTremorel's body.
"There," said he to himself, "lies a wretch whom I have killed insteadof arresting and delivering him up to justice. Have I done my duty? No;but my conscience will not reproach me, because I have acted rightly."
And running to the staircase, he called his men.
XXVIII
The day after Tremorel's death, old Bertaud and Guespin were set atliberty, and received, the former four thousand francs to buy a boat andnew tackle, and the latter ten thousand francs, with a promise of a likesum at the end of the year, if he would go and live in his own province.Fifteen days later, to the great surprise of the Orcival gossips, whohad never learned the details of these events, M. Plantat wedded Mlle.Laurence Courtois; and the groom and bride departed that very eveningfor Italy, where it was announced they would linger at least a year.
As for Papa Courtois, he has offered his beautiful domain at Orcival forsale; he proposes to settle in the middle of France, and is on thelookout for a commune in need of a good mayor.
M. Lecoq, like everybody else, would, doubtless, have forgotten theValfeuillu affair, had it not been that a notary called on himpersonally the other morning with a very gracious letter from Laurence,and an enormous sheet of stamped paper. This was no other than a titledeed to M. Plantat's pretty estate at Orcival, "with furniture, stable,carriage-house, garden, and other dependencies and appurtenancesthereunto belonging," and some neighboring acres of pleasant fields.
"Prodigious!" cried M. Lecoq. "I didn't help ingrates, after all! I amwilling to become a landed proprietor, just for the rarity of thething."
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