III.
We cannot do violence to our natural feelings without paying for it. Themarchioness had nearly fainted when she could at last take refuge in thecarriage: she was utterly overcome by the great effort she had madeto present to the curious people of Sauveterre a smiling face and calmfeatures.
"What a horrible comedy!" she murmured, as she sank back on thecushions.
"Admit, at least, madam," said the lawyer, "that it was necessary. Youhave won over, perhaps, a hundred persons to your son's side."
She made no reply. Her tears stifled her. What would she not have givenfor 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 houseseemed to her an eternity; and, although the horse was driven at afurious rate, she felt as if they were making no progress. At last thecarriage 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 washardly on the ground, when the house-door opened, and Dionysia threwherself into her arms, too deeply moved to speak. At last she brokeforth,--
"Oh, my mother, my mother! what a terrible misfortune!"
In the passage M. de Chandore was coming forward. He had not been ableto 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 sorelyembarrassed what to do with himself. No one seemed to be aware of hisexistence. He followed them, however. He entered the room, and standingby 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 wasuncommonly beautiful; but no one could ever forget her again who hadonce seen her. Small in form, she was grace personified; and all hermovements betrayed a rare and exquisite perfection. Her black hair fellin marvellous masses over her head, and contrasted strangely with herblue eyes and her fair complexion. Her skin was of dazzling whiteness.Every thing in her features spoke of excessive timidity. And yet, fromcertain movements of her lips and her eyebrows, one might have suspectedno lack of energy.
Grandpapa Chandore looked unusually tall by her side. His massive framewas imposing. He did not show his seventy-two years, but was as straightas ever, and seemed to be able to defy all the storms of life. Whatstruck strangers most, perhaps, was his dark-red complexion, which gavehim the appearance of an Indian chieftain, while his white beard andhair brought the crimson color still more prominently out. In spiteof his herculean frame and his strange complexion, his face bore theexpression of almost child-like goodness. But the first glance at hiseyes 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 manwho should dare, for instance, to offend Dionysia, would have to pay forit pretty dearly.
As to the two aunts, they were as tall and thin as a couple ofwillow-rods, pale, discreet, ultra-aristocratic in their reserve andtheir coldness; but they bore in their faces an expression of happypeace and sentimental tenderness, such as is often seen in old maidswhose temper has not been soured by celibacy. They dressed absolutelyalike, as they had done now for forty years, preferring neutral colorsand modest fashions, such as suited their simple taste.
They were crying bitterly at that moment; and M. Folgat feltinstinctively that there was no sacrifice of which they were not capablefor 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 seeus 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 movedManuel Folgat deeply.
"I can at least, in justice to myself," she went on saying, "assure youthat I have never doubted him for a moment. And how should I ever havedared to doubt? The very night on which the fire broke out, Jacqueswrote 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 readit, and then he said I was a thousand times right, because a man who hadbeen meditating such a crime could never have written that letter."
"I said so, and I still think so," added M. de Chandore; "and everysensible man will think so too; but"--
His granddaughter did not let him finish.
"It is evident therefore, that Jacques is the victim of an abominableintrigue; 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 inthis great work."
"And here I am," replied the old lady, "not less certain of my son'sinnocence than you are."
Evidently M. de Chandore had been hoping for something more; for heinterrupted 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 onlyson is wickedly accused of a crime, arrested, thrown into prison. Theywrite to him; they hope he will come at once. By no means. Let his songet out of trouble as he can. He has his _faiences_ to attend to. Oh, ifI had a son!"
"My husband," pleaded the marchioness, "thinks he can be more useful toJacques 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." Shepointed 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 workwithout losing a second. Before I can decide, however, upon what is tobe 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 lawofficers 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. Hecalled himself Jacques's friend; and Jacques liked him well enoughto induce us, my sister and myself, to give our consent to a marriagebetween him and one of our cousins, a Lavarande. Poor child. When shelearned the sad truth, she cried, 'Great God! God be blessed that Iescaped the disgrace of becoming the wife of such a man!'"
"Yes," added the other old lady, "if all Sauveterre thinks Jacquesguilty, 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, andalso of the Boiscorans. Although he was a lawyer he had become attachedto the people whose confidential adviser he had been for more thantwenty years. Even after having retired from business, M. Seneschal hadstill retained the full confidence of his former clients. They neverdecided on any grave question, without consulting him first. Hissuccessor did the business for them; but M. Seneschal directed what wasto be done.
Nor was the assistance all on one side. The example of great peoplelike M. de Chandore and Jacques's uncle had br
ought many a peasant onbusiness into M. Seneschal's office; and when he was, at a later periodof his life, attacked by the fever of political ambition, and offered to"sacrifice himself for his country" by becoming mayor of Sauveterre, anda member of the general council, their support had been of great serviceto 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 seriouslytroubled.
"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 offorty-five or fifty years, very dark, short, and fat, trying hard tobreathe in the corsets which were specially made for her by the MissesMechinet, the clerk's sisters. When she was young, she had been ratherpretty: now she still kept the red cheeks of her younger days, a forestof jet black hair, and excellent teeth. But she was not happy. Her lifehad been spent in wishing for children, and she had none.
She consoled herself, it is true, by constantly referring to all themost delicate details on the subject, mentioning not to herintimate friends only, but to any one who would listen, her constantdisappointments, the physicians she had consulted, the pilgrimages shehad undertaken, and the quantities of fish she had eaten, although sheabominated fish. All had been in vain, and as her hopes fled with heryears, she had become resigned, and indulged now in a kind of romanticsentimentality, which she carefully kept alive by reading novels andpoems without end. She had a tear ready for every unfortunate being, andsome words of comfort for every grief. Her charity was well known. Neverhad a poor woman with children appealed to her in vain. In spite of allthat, she was not easily taken in. She managed her household with herhand as well as with her eye; and no one surpassed her in the extent ofher washings, or the excellence of her dinners.
She was quite ready, therefore, to sigh and to sob when her husband toldher 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 goat once to M. de Chandore, and inform him in the most cautious manner ofwhat has happened."
"I shall take good care not to do so," replied M. Seneschal; "and I tellyou expressly not to go there yourself."
For he was by no means a philosopher; and, if he had been his ownmaster, he would have taken the first train, and gone off a hundredmiles, so as not to see the grief of the Misses Lavarande and GrandpapaChandore. He was exceedingly fond of Dionysia: he had been hard at workfor years to settle and to add to her fortune, as if she had been hisown 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 himselfif Jacques might not, after all, have committed the crimes with which hewas 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 andthe transportation of the remains of the two unfortunate victims of thefire; he had to receive the mother of one, and the widow and children ofthe other, and to listen to their complaints, and try to console themby promising the former a small pension, and the latter some help in theeducation of their children. Then he had to give directions to have thewounded men brought home; and, after that, he had gone out in searchof a house for Count Claudieuse and his wife, which had given him muchtrouble. Finally, a large part of the afternoon had been taken up by anangry discussion with Dr. Seignebos. The doctor, in the name of outragedsociety, as he called it, and in the name of justice and humanity,demanded the immediate arrest of Cocoleu, that wretch whose unconsciousstatement formed the basis of the accusation. He demanded with a furiousoath that the epileptic idiot should be sent to the hospital, and keptthere so as to be professionally examined by experts. The mayor hadfor some time refused to grant the request, which seemed to himunreasonable; but he doctor had talked so loud and insisted so strongly,that at last he had sent two gendarmes to Brechy with orders to bringback Cocoleu.
They had returned several hours later with empty hands. The idiot haddisappeared; and no one in the whole district had been able to give anyinformation as to this whereabouts.
"And you think that is natural?" exclaimed Dr. Seignebos, whose eyeswere glaring at the mayor from under his spectacles. "To me that lookslike an absolute proof that a plot has been hatched to ruin M. deBoiscoran."
"But can't you be quiet?" M. Seneschal said angrily. "Do you thinkCocoleu is lost? He will turn up again."
The doctor had left him without insisting any longer; but before goinghome, he had dropped in at his club, and there, in the presence oftwenty people he had declared that he had positive proof of a plotformed against M. de Boiscoran, whom the Monarchists had never forgivenfor having left them; and that the Jesuits were certainly mixed up withthe business.
This interference was more injurious than useful to Jacques; and theconsequences were soon seen. That same evening, when M. Galpin crossedthe New-Market Place, he was wantonly insulted. Very naturally he went,almost in a fury, to call upon the mayor, to hold him responsible forthis insult offered to Justice in his person, and asking for energeticpunishment. M. Seneschal promised to take the proper measures, andwent to the commonwealth attorney to act in concert with him. There helearned what had happened at Boiscoran, and the terrible result of theexamination.
So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques's situation,and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter wasbeginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning haddisplayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say aword to him. But even that was not all. At two o'clock precisely, thefuneral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promisedCapt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, andaccompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already givenorders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announcedvisitors,--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 preparehimself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almostcheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him hiscompanion.
"M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, whohas been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran."
"I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal," said Folgat: "I do not know themanner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of thiscountry; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit manya grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able andexperienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have bothencouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you."
"Certainly, sir, and with all my heart," replied M. Seneschal, bowingpolitely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of agreat Paris lawyer.
He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and restinghis elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shavenchin 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 aboutJacques's innocence?"
M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wiseremarks made by his wife the evening before.
"How can we know," he began at last, "what may be going on in youngbrains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance ofcertain 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 seeof wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for
my part, butthe 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 whathas happened that we come to you."
"Very well," said M. Seneschal.
Thereupon he went to work to describe the events which he had witnessedat Valpinson, and those, which, as he had learned from the commonwealthattorney, had taken place at Boiscoran; and this he did with all thelucidity of an experienced old lawyer who is accustomed to unravel themysteries of complicated suits. He wound up by saying,--
"Finally, do you know what Daubigeon said to me, whose evidence youwill certainly know how to appreciate? He said in so many words, 'Galpincould not but order the arrest of M. de Boiscoran. Is he guilty? I donot know what to think of it. The accusation is overwhelming. He swearsby all the gods that he is innocent; but he will not tell how he spentthe night.'"
M. de Chandore, in spite of his vigor, was near fainting, although hisface remained as crimson as ever. Nothing on earth could make him turnpale.
"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 thehouse, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said sohimself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, andwhich she mentioned to you. He wrote, 'I curse from the bottom of myheart 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 Irepeat, No man who premeditated such a hideous crime could possibly havewritten it. Nevertheless, I confess to you, that, when I heard thefatal news, this very allusion to some pressing business impressed mepainfully."
But the young lawyer seemed to be far from being convinced.
"It is evident," he said, "that M. de Boiscoran will on no account letit be known where he went."
"He told a falsehood, sir," insisted M. Seneschal. "He commenced bydenying that he had gone the way on which the witnesses met him."
"Very naturally, since he desires to keep the place unknown to which hewent."
"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 hissecret."
"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 isinnocent!"
"To be innocent, and to allow one's self to be condemned, is stillstranger; and yet there are instances"--
The young lawyer spoke in that short, imperious tone which is, soto say, the privilege of his profession, and with such an accent ofassurance, that M. de Chandore felt his hopes revive. M. Seneschal wassorely 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 anyconsideration. I come here without any preconceived notions. I do notknow Count Claudieuse any more than M. de Boiscoran. A crime has beencommitted: I am told the circumstances; and I at once come to theconclusion that the reasons which led to the arrest of the accused wouldlead me to set him at liberty."
"Oh!"
"Let me explain. If M. de Boiscoran is guilty, he has shown, in theway in which he received M. Galpin at the house, a perfectly unheard-ofself-control, and a matchless genius for comedy. Therefore, if he isguilty, he is immensely clever"--
"But."
"Allow me to finish. If he is guilty, he has in the examination shown amarvellous 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 unusuallyclever and so unusually stupid? Judge yourself. But again: if M. deBoiscoran is guilty, he ought to be sent to the insane asylum, and notto prison; for any one else but a madman would have poured out the dirtywater in which he had washed his blackened hands, and would have buriedanywhere that famous breech-loader, of which the prosecution makes suchgood 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 somethingmore than a logic conclusion to meet a jury with an abundance ofwitnesses 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 muststudy 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 announcedthat the carriage was at the door. M. de Chandore and M. Folgat tooktheir seats; and, while they were getting in, the mayor warned the youngParis lawyer,--
"Above all, be prudent and circumspect. The public mind is already buttoo much inflamed. Politics are mixed up with the case. I am afraid ofsome disturbance at the burial of the firemen; and they bring me wordthat Dr. Seignebos wants to make a speech at the graveyard. Good-by andgood luck!"
The driver whipped the horse, and, as the carriage was going downthrough the suburbs, M. de Chandore said,--
"I cannot understand why Anthony did not come to me immediately afterhis master had been arrested. What can have happened to him?"