Within an Inch of His Life

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> Within an Inch of His Life


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."