Within an Inch of His Life by Emile Gaboriau (latest novels to read txt) 📕

solitude of his prison; but even when he was most furious against her, a feeling of pity had risen in his heart for her whom he had once loved so dearly; for he did not disguise it to himself, he had once loved her to distraction. Even in his prison he trembled, as he thought of some of his first meetings with her, as he saw before his mind’s eye her features swimming in voluptuous languor, as he heard the silvery ring of her voice, or inhaled the perfume she loved ever to have about her. She had exposed him to the danger of losing his position, his future, his honor even; and he still felt inclined to forgive her. But now she threatened him with the loss of his betrothed, the loss of that pure and chaste love which burnt in Dionysia’s heart, and he could not endure that.

“I will spare her no longer,” he cried, mad with wrath. “I will hesitate no longer. I have not the right to do so; for I am bound to defend Dionysia!”

He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day, feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him.

It was Trumence to-night—perhaps by the jailer’s skilful management—who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and, according to the jail-dictionary, to “curl him up” there. He called him in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do. Upon Blangin’s assurance, he expected the vagabond would jump at the mere idea of escaping from jail. But by no means. Trumence’s smiling features grew dark; and, scratching himself behind the ear furiously, he replied,—

“You see—excuse me, I don’t want to run away at all.”

Jacques was amazed. If Trumence refused his cooperation he could not go out, or, at least, he would have to wait.

“Are you in earnest, Trumence?” he asked.

“Certainly I am, my dear sir. Here, you see, I am not so badly off: I have a good bed, I have two meals a day, I have nothing to do, and I pick up now and then, from one man or another, a few cents to buy me a pinch of tobacco or a glass of wine.”

“But your liberty?”

“Well, I shall get that too. I have committed no crime. I may have gotten over a wall into an orchard; but people are not hanged for that. I have consulted M. Magloire, and he told me precisely how I stand. They will try me in a police-court, and they will give me three or four months. Well, that is not so very bad. But, if I run away, they put the gendarmes on my track; they bring me back here; and then I know how they will treat me. Besides, to break jail is a grave offence.”

How could he overcome such wise conclusions and such excellent reasons? Jacques was very much troubled.

“Why should the gendarmes take you again?” he asked.

“Because they are gendarmes, my dear sir. And then, that is not all. If it were spring, I should say at once, ‘I am your man.’ But we have autumn now; we are going to have bad weather; work will be scarce.”

Although an incurable idler, Trumence had always a good deal to say about work.

“You won’t help them in the vintage?” asked Jacques.

The vagabond looked almost repenting.

“To be sure, the vintage must have commenced,” he said.

“Well?”

“But that only lasts a fortnight, and then comes winter. And winter is no man’s friend: it’s my enemy. I know I have been without a place to lie down when it has been freezing to split stones, and the snow was a foot deep. Oh! here they have stoves, and the Board gives very warm clothes.”

“Yes; but there are no merry evenings here, Trumence, eh? None of those merry evenings, when the hot wine goes round, and you tell the girls all sorts of stories, while you are shelling peas, or shucking corn?”

“Oh! I know. I do enjoy those evenings. But the cold! Where should I go when I have not a cent?”

That was exactly where Jacques wanted to lead him.

“I have money,” he said.

“I know you have.”

“You do not think I would let you go off with empty pockets? I would give you any thing you may ask.”

“Really?” cried the vagrant.

And looking at Jacques with a mingled expression of hope, surprise, and delight, he added,—

“You see I should want a good deal. Winter is long. I should want—let me see, I should want fifty Napoleons!”

“You shall have a hundred,” said Jacques.

Trumence’s eyes began to dance. He probably had a vision of those irresistible taverns at Rochefort, where he had led such a merry life. But he could not believe such happiness to be real.

“You are not making fun of me?” he asked timidly.

“Do you want the whole sum at once?” replied Jacques. “Wait.”

He drew from the drawer in his table a thousand-franc note. But, at the sight of the note, the vagrant drew back the hand which he had promptly stretched out to take the money.

“Oh! that kind? No! I know what that paper is worth: I have had some of them myself. But what could I do with one of them now? It would not be worth more to me than a leaf of a tree; for, at the first place I should want it changed, they would arrest me.”

“That is easily remedied. By to-morrow I shall have gold, or small notes, so you can have your choice.”

This time Trumence clapped his hands in great joy.

“Give me some of one kind, and some of the other,” he said, “and I am your man! Hurrah for liberty! Where is that wall that we are to go through?”

“I will show you to-morrow; and till then, Trumence, silence.”

It was only the next day that Blangin showed Jacques the place where the wall had least thickness. It was in a kind of cellar, where nobody ever came, and where cast-off tools were stored away.

“In order that you may not be interrupted,” said the jailer, “I will ask two of my comrades to dine with me, and I shall invite the sergeant on duty. They will enjoy themselves, and never think of the prisoners. My wife will keep a sharp lookout; and, if any of the rounds should come this way, she would warn you, and quick, quick, you would be back in your room.”

All was settled; and, as soon as night came, Jacques and Trumence, taking a candle with them, slipped down into the cellar, and went to work. It was a hard task to get through this old wall, and Jacques would never have