Within an Inch of His Life

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


"And the countess?"

"The countess was kneeling by her husband; and, with the help of her
women, she was trying to resuscitate him by rubbing him, and putting
hot napkins on his chest. But for these wise precautions she would be
a widow at this moment; whilst, as it is, he may live a long time yet.
This precious count has a wonderful tenacity of life. We, four of us,
then took him and carried him up stairs, and put him to bed, after
having carefully warmed it first. He soon began to move; he opened his
eyes; and a quarter of an hour later he had recovered his consciousness,
and spoke readily, though with a somewhat feeble voice. Then, of course,
I asked what had happened, and for the first time in my life I saw the
marvellous self-possession of the countess forsake her. She stammered
pitifully, looking at her husband with a most frightened air, as if she
wished to read in his eyes what she should say. He undertook to answer
me; but he, also was evidently very much embarrassed. He said, that
being left alone, and feeling better than usual, he had taken it into
his head to try his strength. He had risen, put on his dressing-gown,
and gone down stairs; but, in the act of entering the room, he had
become dizzy, and had fallen so unfortunately as to hurt his forehead
against the sharp corner of a table. I affected to believe it, and said,
'You have done a very imprudent thing, and you must not do it again.'
Then he looked at his wife in a very singular way, and replied, 'Oh! you
can be sure I shall not commit another imprudence. I want too much to
get well. I have never wished it so much as now.'"

M. Folgat was on the point of replying; but the doctor closed his lips
with his hand, and said,--

"Wait, I have not done yet."

And, manipulating his spectacles most assiduously, he added,--

"I was just going home, when suddenly a chambermaid came in with a
frightened air to tell the countess that her older daughter, little
Martha, whom you know, had just been seized with terrible convulsions.
Of course I went to see her, and found her suffering from a truly
fearful nervous attack. It was only with great difficulty I could quiet
her; and when I thought she had recovered, suspecting that there might
be some connection between her attack and the accident that had befallen
her father, I said in the most paternal tone I could assume, 'Now my
child, you must tell me what was the matter.' She hesitated a while, and
then she said, 'I was frightened.'--'Frightened at what, my darling?'
She raised herself on her bed, trying to consult her mother's eyes; but
I had placed myself between them, so that she could not see them. When I
repeated my question, she said, 'Well, you see, I had just gone to bed,
when I heard the bell ring. I got up, and went to the window to see
who could be coming so late. I saw the servant go and open the door,
a candlestick in her hand, and come back to the house, followed by a
gentleman, whom I did not know.' The countess interrupted her here,
saying, 'It was a messenger from the court, who had been sent to me with
an urgent letter.' But I pretended not to hear her; and, turning still
to Martha, I asked again, 'And it was this gentleman who frightened you
so?'--'Oh, no!'--'What then?' Out of the corner of my eye I was watching
the countess. She seemed to be terribly embarrassed. Still she did not
dare to stop her daughter. 'Well, doctor,' said the little girl, 'no
sooner had the gentleman gone into the house than I saw one of the
statues under the trees there come down from its pedestal, move on, and
glide very quietly along the avenue of lime-trees.'"

M. Folgat trembled.

"Do you remember, doctor," he said, "the day we were questioning little
Martha, she said she was terribly frightened by the statutes in the
garden?"

"Yes, indeed!" replied the doctor. "But wait a while. The countess
promptly interrupted her daughter, saying to me, 'But, dear doctor, you
ought to forbid the child to have such notions in her head. At Valpinson
she never was afraid, and even at night, quite alone, and without a
light, all over the house. But here she is frightened at every thing;
and, as soon as night comes, she fancies the garden is full of ghosts.
You are too big now, Martha, to think that statues, which are made of
stone, can come to life, and walk about.' The child was shuddering.

"'The other times, mamma,' she said, 'I was not quite sure; but this
time I am sure. I wanted to go away from the window, and I could not do
it. It was too strong for me: so that I saw it all, saw it perfectly. I
saw the statue, the ghost, come up the avenue slowly and cautiously, and
then place itself behind the last tree, the one that is nearest to the
parlor window. Then I heard a loud cry, then nothing more. The ghost
remained all the time behind the tree, and I saw all it did: it turned
to the left and the right; it drew itself up; and it crouched down.
Then, all of a sudden, two terrible cries; but, O mamma, such cries!
Then the ghost raised one arm, this way, and all of a sudden it
was gone; but almost the same moment another one came out, and then
disappeared, too.'"

M. Folgat was utterly overcome with amazement.

"Oh, these ghosts!" he said.

"You suspect them, do you? I suspected them at once. Still I pretended
to turn Martha's whole story into a joke, and tried to explain to her
how the darkness made us liable to have all kinds of optical illusions;
so that when I left, and a servant was sent with a candle to light me on
my way, the countess was quite sure that I had no suspicion. I had none;
but I had more than that. As soon as I entered the garden, therefore, I
dropped a piece of money which I had kept in my hand for the purpose. Of
course I set to work looking for it at the foot of the tree nearest to
the parlor-window, while the servant helped with his candle. Well, M.
Folgat, I can assure you that it was not a ghost that had been walking
about under the trees; and, if the footmarks which I found there were
made by a statue, that statue must have enormous feet, and wear huge
iron-shod shoes."

The young advocate was prepared for this. He said,--

"There is no doubt: the scene had a witness."



XXX.

"What scene? What witness? That is what I wanted to hear from you, and
why I was waiting so impatiently for you," said Dr. Seignebos to M.
Folgat. "I have seen and stated the results: now it is for you to give
me the cause."

Nevertheless, he did not seem to be in the least surprised by what the
young advocate told him of Jacques's desperate enterprise, and of the
tragic result. As soon as he had heard it all, he exclaimed,--

"I thought so: yes, upon my word! By racking my brains all night long,
I had very nearly guessed the whole story. And who, in Jacques's place,
would not have been desirous to make one last effort? But certainly fate
is against him."

"Who knows?" said M. Folgat. And, without giving the doctor time to
reply, he went on,--

"In what are our chances worse than they were before? In no way. We can
to-day, just as well as we could yesterday, lay our hands upon those
proofs which we know do exist, and which would save us. Who tells us
that at this moment Sir Francis Burnett and Suky Wood may not have been
found? Is your confidence in Goudar shaken?"

"Oh, as to that, not at all! I saw him this morning at the hospital,
when I paid my usual visit; and he found an opportunity to tell me that
he was almost certain of success."

"Well?"

"I am persuaded Cocoleu will speak. But will he speak in time? That is
the question. Ah, if we had but a month's time, I should say Jacques is
safe. But our hours are counted, you know. The court will be held
next week. I am told the presiding judge has already arrived, and M.
Gransiere has engaged rooms at the hotel. What do you mean to do if
nothing new occurs in the meantime?"

"M. Magloire and I will obstinately adhere to our plan of defence."

"And if Count Claudieuse keeps his promise, and declares that he
recognized Jacques in the act of firing at him?"

"We shall say he is mistaken."

"And Jacques will be condemned."

"Well," said the young advocate.

And lowering his voice, as if he did not wish to be overheard, he
added,--

"Only the sentence will not be a fatal sentence. Ah, do not interrupt
me, doctor, and upon your life, upon Jacques's life, do not say a
word of what I am going to tell you. A suspicion which should cross
M. Galpin's mind would destroy my last hope; for it would give him an
opportunity of correcting a blunder which he has committed, and which
justifies me in saying to you, 'Even if the count should give evidence,
even if sentence should be passed, nothing would be lost yet.'"

He had become animated; and his accent and his gestures made you feel
that he was sure of himself.

"No," he repeated, "nothing would be lost; and then we should have time
before us, while waiting for a second trial, to hunt up our witnesses,
and to force Cocoleu to tell the truth. Let the count say what he
chooses, I like it all the better: I shall thus be relieved of my last
scruples. It seemed to me odious to betray the countess, because I
thought the most cruelly punished would be the count. But, if the count
attacks us, we are on the defence; and public opinion will be on our
side. More than that, they will admire us for having sacrificed our
honor to a woman's honor, and for having allowed ourselves to be
condemned rather than to give up the name of her who has given herself
to us."

The physician did not seem to be convinced; but the young advocate paid
no attention. He went on,--

"No, our success in a second trial would be almost certain. The scene
in Mautrec Street has been seen by a witness: his iron-shod shoes have
left, as you say, their marks under the linden-trees nearest to the
parlor-window, and little Martha has watched his movements. Who can this
witness be unless it is Trumence? Well, we shall lay hands upon him. He
was standing so that he could see every thing, and hear every word.
He will tell what he saw and what he heard. He will tell how Count
Claudieuse called out to M. de Boiscoran, 'No, I do not want to kill
you! I have a surer vengeance than that: you shall go to the galleys.'"

Dr. Seignebos sadly shook his head as he said,--

"I hope your expectations may be realized, my dear sir."

But they came again for the doctor the third time to-day. Shaking hands
with the young advocate, he parted with his young friend, who after a
short visit to M. Magloire, whom he thought it his duty to keep well
informed of all that was going on, hastened to the house of M. de
Chandore. As soon as he looked into Dionysia's face, he knew that he
had nothing to tell her; that she knew all the facts, and how unjust her
suspicions had been.

"What did I tell you, madam?" he said very modestly.

She blushed, ashamed at having let him see the secret doubts which had
troubled her so sorely, and, instead of replying, she said,--

"There are some letters for you, M. Folgat. They have carried them up
stairs to your room."

He found two letters,--one from Mrs. Goudar, the other from the agent
who had been sent to England.

The former was of no importance. Mrs. Goudar only asked him to send a
note, which she enclosed, to her husband.

The second, on the other hand, was of the very greatest interest. The
agent wrote,--

"Not without great difficulties, and especially not without a heavy
outlay of money, I have at length discovered Sir Francis Burnett's
brother in London, the former cashier of the house of Gilmour and
Benson.

"Our Sir Francis is not dead. He was sent by his father to Madras, to
attend to very important financial matters, and is expected back by the
next mail steamer. We shall be informed of his arrival on the very day
on which he lands.

"I have had less trouble in discovering Suky Wood's family. They are
people very well off, who keep a sailor's tavern in Folkstone. They
had news from their daughter about three weeks ago; but, although
they profess to be very much attached to her, they could not tell me
accurately where she was just now. All they know is, that she has gone
to Jersey to act as barmaid in a public house.

"But that is enough for me. The island is not very large; and I know it
quite well, having once before followed a notary public there, who had
run off with the money of his clients. You may consider Suky as safe.

"When you receive this letter, I shall be on my way to Jersey.

"Send me money there to the Golden Apple Hotel, where I propose to
lodge. Life is amazingly dear in London; and I have very little left of
the sum you gave me on parting."

Thus, in this direction, at least, every thing was going well.

Quite elated by this first success, M. Folgat put a thousand-franc note
into an envelope, directed it as desired, and sent it at once to the
post-office. Then he asked M. de Chandore to lend him his carriage, and
went out to Boiscoran.

He wanted to see Michael, the tenant's son, who had been so prompt
in finding Cocoleu, and in bringing him into town. He found him,
fortunately, just coming home, bringing in a cart loaded with straw;
and, taking him aside, he asked him,--

"Will you render M. de Boiscoran a great service?"

"What must I do?" replied the young man in a tone of voice which said,
better than all protestations could have done, that he was ready to do
any thing.

"Do you know Trumence?"

"The former basket-weaver of Tremblade?"

"Exactly."

"Upon my word, don't I know him? He has stolen apples enough from me,
the scamp! But I don't blame him so much, after all; for he is a good
fellow, in spite of that."

"He was in prison at Sauveterre."

"Yes, I know; he had broken down a gate near Brechy and"--

"Well, he has escaped."

"Ah, the scamp!"

"And we must find him again. They have put the gendarmes on his track;
but will they catch him?"

Michael burst out laughing.

"Never in his life!" he said. "Trumence will make his way to Oleron,
where he has friends; the gendarmes will be after him in vain."

M. Folgat slapped Michael amicably on the shoulder, and said,--

"But you, if you choose? Oh! do not look angry at me. We do not want to
have him arrested. All I want you to do is to hand him a letter from me,
and to bring me back his answer."

"If that is all, then I am your man. Just give me time to change my
clothes, and to let father know, and I am off."

Thus M. Folgat began, as far as in him lay, to prepare for future
action, trying to counteract all the cunning measures of the prosecution
by such combinations as were suggested to him by his experience and his
genius.

Did it follow from this, that his faith in ultimate success was strong
enough to make him speak of it to his most reliable friends, even, say
to Dr. Seignebos, to M. Magloire, or to good M. Mechinet?

No; for, bearing all the responsibility on his own shoulders, he had
carefully weighed the contrary chances of the terrible game in which he
proposed to engage, and in which the stakes were the honor and the life
of a man. He knew, better than anybody else, that a mere nothing might
destroy all his plans, and that Jacques's fate was dependent on the most
trivial accident.

Like a great general on the eve of a battle, he managed to control his
feelings, affecting, for the benefit of others, a confidence which he
did not really feel, and allowing no feature of his face to betray the
great anxiety which generally kept him awake more than half the night.

And certainly it required a character of marvellous strength to remain
impassive and resolute under such circumstances.

Everybody around him was in despair, and gave up all hope.

The house of M. de Chandore, once so full of life and merriment, had
become as silent and sombre as a tomb.

The last two months had made of M. de Chandore an old man in good
earnest. His tall figure had begun to stoop, and he looked bent and
broken. He walked with difficulty, and his hands began to tremble.

The Marquis de Boiscoran had been hit even harder. He, who only a few
weeks before looked robust and hearty, now appeared almost decrepit. He
did not eat, so to say, and did not sleep. He became frightfully thin.
It gave him pain to utter a word.

As to the marchioness, the very sources of life seemed to have been
sapped within her. She had had to hear M. Magloire say that Jacques's
safety would have been put beyond all doubt if they had succeeded in
obtaining a change of venue, or an adjournment of the trial. And it was
her fault that such a change had not been applied for. That thought was
death to her. She had hardly strength enough left to drag herself every
day as far as the jail to see her son.

The two Misses Lavarande had to bear all the practical difficulties
arising from this sore trial: they went and came, looking as pale as
ghosts, whispering in a low voice, and walking on tiptoe, as if there
had been a death in the house.

Dionysia alone showed greater energy as the troubles increased. She did
not indulge in much hope.

"I know Jacques will be condemned," she said to M. Folgat. But she
said, also, that despair belonged to criminals only, and that the fatal
mistake for which Jacques was likely to suffer ought to inspire his
friends with nothing but indignation and thirst for vengeance.

And, while her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran went out as
little as possible, she took pains to show herself in town, astonishing
the ladies "in good society" by the way in which she received their
false expressions of sympathy. But it was evident that she was only
held up by a kind of feverish excitement, which gave to her cheeks their
bright color, to her eyes their brilliancy, and to her voice its clear,
silvery ring. Ah! for her sake mainly, M. Folgat longed to end this
uncertainty which is so much more painful than the greatest misfortune.

The time was drawing near.

As Dr. Seignebos had announced, the president of the tribunal, M.
Domini, had already arrived in Sauveterre.

He was one of those men whose character is an honor to the bench, full
of the dignity of his profession, but not thinking himself infallible,
firm without useless rigor, cold and still kind-hearted, having no
other mistress but Justice, and knowing no other ambition but that of
establishing the truth.

He had examined Jacques, as he was bound to do; but the examination had
been, as it always is, a mere formality, and had led to no result.

The next step was the selection of a jury.

The jurymen had already begun to arrive from all parts of the
department. They lodged at the Hotel de France, where they took their
meals in common in the large back dining-room, which is always specially
reserved for their use.

In the afternoon one might see them, looking grave and thoughtful, take
a walk on the New-Market Square, or on the old ramparts.

M. Gransiere, also, had arrived. But he kept strictly in retirement
in his room at the Hotel de la Poste, where M. Galpin every day spent
several hours in close conference with him.

"It seems," said Mechinet in confidence to M. Folgat,--"it seems they
are preparing an overwhelming charge."

The day after, Dionysia opened "The Sauveterre Independent," and found
in it an announcement of the cases set down for each day,--

MONDAY..... Fraudulent bankruptcy, defalcation, forgery.
TUESDAY.... Murder, theft.
WEDNESDAY.. Infanticide, domestic theft.
THURSDAY... Incendiarism, and attempted assassination
(case of M. de Boiscoran).

This was, therefore, the great day on which the good people of
Sauveterre expected to enjoy the most delightful emotions. Hence there
was an immense pressure brought to bear upon all the principal members
of the court to obtain tickets of admission. People who, the night
before, had refused to speak to M. Galpin, would stop him the next day
in the street, and beg him to give them a ticket, not for themselves,
but for "their lady." Finally, the unheard-of fact became known,
that tickets were openly sold for money! One family had actually the
incomprehensible courage to write to the Marquis de Boiscoran for
three tickets, promising, in return, "by their attitude in court" to
contribute to the acquittal of the accused.

In the midst of all these rumors, the city was suddenly startled by
a list of subscriptions in behalf of the families of the unfortunate
firemen who had perished in the fire at Valpinson.

Who had started this paper? M. Seneschal tried in vain to discover the
hand that had struck this blow. The secret of this treacherous trick was
well kept. But it was a most atrocious trick to revive thus, on the eve
of the trial, such mournful memories and such bitter hatred.

"That man Galpin had a hand in it," said Dr. Seignebos, grinding his
teeth. "And to think that he may, after all, be triumphant! Ah, why did
not Goudar commence his experiment a little sooner?"

For Goudar, while assuring everybody of certain success, asked for time.
To disarm the mistrust of an idiot like Cocoleu was not the work of a
day or a week. He declared, that, if he should be overhasty, he would
most assuredly ruin every thing.

Otherwise, nothing new occurred.

Count Claudieuse was getting rather better.

The agent in Jersey had telegraphed that he was on Suky's track; that he
would certainly catch her, but that he could not say when.

Michael, finally, had in vain searched the whole district, and been all
over Oleron; no one had been able to give him any news of Trumence.

Thus, on the day when the session began, a council was held, in which
all of Jacques's friends took part; and here it was resolved that his
counsel would not mention the name of the Countess Claudieuse, and
would, even if the count should offer to give evidence, adhere to the
plan of defence suggested by M. Folgat.

Alas! the chances of success seemed hourly to diminish; for the jury,
very much against the usual experience, appeared to be excessively
severe. The bankrupt was sentenced to twenty years' hard labor. The
man accused of murder could not even obtain the plea of "extenuating
circumstances," and was sentenced to death.

This was on Wednesday.

It was decided that M. de Chandore and the Marquis and the Marchioness
de Boiscoran should attend the trial. They wanted to spare Dionysia the
terrible excitement; but she declared that, in that case, she should
go alone to the court-house; and thus they were forced to submit to her
will.

Thanks to an order from M. Domini, M. Folgat and M. Magloire could spend
the evening with Jacques in order to determine all the details, and to
agree upon certain replies to be given.

Jacques looked excessively pale, but was quite composed. And when his
counsel left him, saying,--

"Keep up your courage and hope," he replied,--

"Hope I have none; but courage--I assure you, I have courage!"



XXXI.

At last, in his dark cell, Jacques de Boiscoran saw the day break that
was to decide his fate.

He was to be tried to-day.

The occasion was, of course, too good to be neglected by "The Sauveterre
Independent." Although a morning paper, it published, "in view of
the gravity of the circumstances," an evening edition, which a dozen
newsboys cried out in the streets up to mid-night. And this was what it
said,--

ASSIZES AT SAUVETERRE.

THURSDAY, 23.

Presiding Judge.--M. DOMINI.

ASSASSINATION! INCENDIARISM!

[Special Correspondence of the Independent.]

Whence this unusual commotion, this uproar, this great excitement, in
our peaceful city? Whence these gatherings of our public squares, these
groups in front of all the houses! Whence this restlessness on all
faces, this anxiety in all eyes?

The reason is, that to-day this terrible Valpinson case will be brought
up in court, after having for so many weeks now agitated our people.

To-day this man who is charged with such fearful crimes is to be tried.

Hence all steps are eagerly turned towards the court-house: the people
all hurry, and rush in the same direction.

The court-house! Long before daylight it was surrounded by an eager
multitude, which the constables and the gendarmes could only with
difficulty keep within bounds.

They press and crowd and push. Coarse words fly to and fro. From words
they pass to gestures, from gestures to blows. A row is imminent. Women
cry, men swear, and two peasants from Brechy are arrested on the spot.

It is well known that there will be few only, happy enough to get in.
The great square would not contain all these curious people, who have
gathered here from all parts of the district: how should the court-room
be able to hold them?

And still our authorities, always anxious to please their constituents,
who have bestowed their confidence upon them, have resorted to heroic
measures. They have had two partition walls taken down, so that a part
of the great hall is added to the court-room proper.

M. Lautier, the city architect, who is a good judge in such matters,
assures us that this immense hall will accommodate twelve hundred
persons.