IX.
During the last twenty-four hours, Mechinet had changed so much, thathis sisters recognized him no longer. Immediately after Dionysia'sdeparture, they had come to him, hoping to hear at last what was meantby that mysterious interview; but at the first word he had cried outwith a tone of voice which frightened his sisters to death,--
"That is none of your business! That is nobody's business!" and he hadremained alone, quite overcome by his adventure, and dreaming of themeans to make good his promise without ruining himself. That was no easymatter.
When the decisive moment arrived, he discovered that he would never beable to get the note into M. de Boiscoran's hands, without being caughtby that lynx-eyed M. Galpin: as the letter was burning in his pocket, hesaw himself compelled, after long hesitation, to appeal for help to theman who waited on Jacques,--to Trumence, in fine. The latter was, afterall, a good enough fellow; his only besetting sin being unconquerablelaziness, and his only crime in the eyes of the law perpetual vagrancy.He was attached to Mechinet, who upon former occasions, when he was injail, had given him some tobacco, or a little money to buy a glass ofwine. He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to givea letter to M. de Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer. He acquittedhimself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission. But,because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinetfelt quite at peace. Besides being tormented by the thought that hehad betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of anaccomplice. How easily might he not be betrayed! A slight indiscretion,an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it. What would becomeof him then?
He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one.He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitiousdreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage.And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he haddone, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state ofmind 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 someuntoward 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 fromhim, 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 hisstrange position. His vanity was flattered by the confidence which thisyoung lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the mostbeautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country.
"You were quite right to send for me, madam," he replied, "if I can beof any service to you."
In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, hereplied,--
"I am entirely of M. Folgat's opinion, and think that grief andisolation 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. Theattorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments hisenergy."
"And then."
"Then we must induce M. de Boiscoran to speak. I know very well that heis firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, sinceyou 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 notime."
The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how verypale 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: hesaid in the quietest tone,--
"To be sure; but how?"
"Blangin the keeper, and his wife, keep their places only becausethey give them a support. Why might I not offer them, in return foran interview with M. de Boiscoran, the means to go and live in thecountry?"
"Why not?" said the clerk.
And in a lower voice, replying to the voice of his conscience, he wenton,--
"The jail in Sauveterre is not at all like the police-stations andprisons of larger towns. The prisoners are few in number; they arehardly 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 onceyielded to Dionysia's suggestions, Mechinet had, unconsciously, boundhimself to her forever.
"No: do not go there, madam," he said. "You could not make Blanginbelieve that he runs no danger; nor could you sufficiently arouse hiscupidity. 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 thesame hour."
And he went away, leaving Dionysia so buoyed up by hope, that all theevening, and the next day, the two aunts and the marchioness, neither ofwhom 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-fourhours had gone by, she would see Jacques; and she kept saying toherself,--
"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 thousandfrancs. 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, althoughhe 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 doorwill stand open, and Blangin's wife, whom you know very well, as she hasformerly been in your service, will be standing in the door. If she doesnot speak to you, you keep on: something has happened. If she does speakto you, go up to her, you, quite alone, and she will show you into asmall room which adjoins her own. There you will stay till Blangin,perhaps at a late hour, thinks he can safely take you to M. deBoiscoran's cell. When the interview is over, you come back into thelittle room, where a bed will be ready for you, and you spend the nightthere; for this is the hardest part of it: you cannot leave the prisontill 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 jailerwas perfectly natural; but to obtain M. de Chandore's consent was a muchmore difficult task. The poor girl understood this so well, that, forthe first time in her life, she felt embarrassed in her grandfather'spresence. She hesitated, she prepared her little speech, and sheselected carefully her words. But in spite of all her skill, in spite ofall the art with which she managed to present her strange request, M. deChandore had no sooner understood her project than he exclaimed,--
"Never, never, never!"
Perhaps in his whole life the old gentleman had never expressed himselfin so positive a manner. His brow had never looked
so dark. Usually,when his granddaughter had a petition, his lips might say, "No;" but hiseyes always said, "Yes."
"Impossible!" he repeated, and in a tone of voice which seemed to admitof no reply.
Surely, in all these painful events, he had not spared himself, and hehad 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 askedhim for twenty thousand francs, and he had given them to her, howeverbig the sum might be everywhere, however immense in a small town likeSauveterre. He was quite ready to give her as much again, or twice asmuch, without asking any more questions.
But for Dionysia to leave her home one evening at six o'clock, and notto 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 tohave an interview with her betrothed, who was accused of incendiarismand murder; to remain there all night, alone, absolutely at the mercy ofthe 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 grandfatherbecame 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 willruin 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 wellfor her sake. Let the marchioness go and spend the night at the jail. Iagree 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 discussmeans to listen to arguments on the other side.
"Do not insist, my dear child," he said again. "My mind is made up; andI assure you"--
"Don't say so, papa," said the young girl.
And her attitude was so determined, and her voice so firm, that the oldgentleman 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 littlegranddaughter, who loves you so dearly, to the painful necessity ofdisobeying you for the first time in her life."
"Because, for the first time in her life I am not doing what mygranddaughter 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 atthis prison would be risking, understand me well, your honor,--thattender, delicate honor which is tarnished by a breath, which involvesthe 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 toblame 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 theidea of not having done my duty."
M. de Chandore began to despair.
"And if I were to beg you, Dionysia, instead of commanding. If yourold grandfather were to beseech you on his knees to abandon your fatalproject."
"You would cause me fearful pain, dear papa: but it would be all invain; for I must resist your prayers, as I must resist your orders."
"Inexorable!" cried the old gentleman. "She is immovable!" And suddenlychanging 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 letBlangin know my will."
Dionysia, turning as pale as death, but with burning eyes, drew back astep, 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 aconvent to-morrow, and you will never see me again in your life, noteven if I should die, which would certainly soon"--
M. de Chandore, raising his hands to heaven, and with an accent ofgenuine despair, exclaimed,--
"Ah, my God! Are these our children? And is this what is in store forus old people? We have spent a lifetime in watching over them; we havesubmissively gratified all their fancies; they have been our greatestanxiety, 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 thatwe are! One fine day, a man goes by, a careless, thoughtless man, witha bright eye and a ready tongue, and it is all over. Our child is nolonger our own; our child no longer knows us. Go, old man, and die inyour 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, istoo fearful. How can you doubt me?"
She had knelt down. She was weeping; and her hot tears fell upon the oldgentleman'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 oughtto be punished as much as he is; for I know, if he had asked me, Ishould 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, hisheart torn by unspeakable grief, he went down the steep street withhis daughter on his arm. Dionysia had chosen her simplest and plainestdress; and the little bag she carried on her arm contained not sixteenbut twenty thousand francs. As a matter of course, it had been necessaryto take the marchioness into their confidence; but neither she, nor theMisses Lavarande, nor M. Folgat, had raised an objection. Down to theprison, grandfather and grandchild had not exchanged a word; but, whenthey 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! Gohome quickly, and be not troubled about me."
Then joining the keeper's wife, she disappeared inside the prison.