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

Dionysia was seized with unspeakable horror, and hardly found heart to reply.

“No one,” she murmured.

“M. Folgat?”

“Knows nothing of it.”

“And Jacques?”

“I have not seen him. The thought occurred to me quite suddenly, like an inspiration on high. When Dr. Seignebos told me that you had refused to admit the priest from Brechy, I said to myself, ‘This is the last misfortune, and the greatest of them all! If Count Claudieuse dies without retracting, Jacques can never be fully restored, whatever may happen hereafter, not even if his innocence should be established.’ Then I made up my mind to come to you. Ah! it was a hard task. But I was in hopes I might touch your heart, or that you might be moved by the greatness of my sacrifice.”

The countess was really moved. There is no heart absolutely bad, as there is none altogether good. As she listened to Dionysia’s passionate entreaty, her resolution began to grow weaker.

“Would it be such a great sacrifice?” she asked.

Tears sprang to the eyes of the poor young girl.

“Alas!” she said, “I offer you my life. I know very well you will not be long jealous of me.”

She was interrupted by groans, which seemed to come from the room in which the count was lying.

The countess half-opened the door; and immediately a feeble, and yet imperious voice was heard calling out,—

“Genevieve, I say, Genevieve!”

“I am coming, my dear, in a moment,” replied the countess.

“What security can you give me,” she said, in a hard and stern voice, after having closed the door again,—“what security do you give me, that if Jacques’s innocence were established, and he reinstated, you would not forget your promises?”

“Ah, madam! How or upon what do you want me to swear that I am ready to disappear. Choose your own securities, and I will do whatever you require.”

Then, sinking down on her knees, before the countess, she went on,—

“Here I am at your feet, madam, humble and suppliant,—I whom you accuse of a desire to insult you. Have pity on Jacques! Ah! if you loved him as much as I do, you would not hesitate.”

The countess raised her suddenly and quickly, and holding her hands in her own, looked at her for more than a minute without saying a word, but with heaving bosom and trembling lips. At last she asked in a voice which was so deeply affected, that it was hardly intelligible.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Induce Count Claudieuse to retract.”

The countess shook her head.

“It would be useless to try. You do not know the count. He is a man of iron. You might tear his flesh inch by inch with hot iron pincers, and he would not take back one of his words. You cannot conceive what he has suffered, nor the depth of the hatred, the rage, and the thirst of vengeance, which have accumulated in his heart. It was to torture me that he brought me here to his bedside. Only five minutes ago he told me that he died content, since Jacques was declared guilty, and condemned through his evidence.”

She was conquered: her energy was exhausted, and tears came to her eyes.

“He has been so cruelly tried!” she went on. “He loved me to distraction; he loved nothing in the world but me. And I—Ah, if we could know, if we could foresee! No, I shall never be able to induce him to retract.”

Dionysia almost forgot her own great grief.

“Nor do I expect you to obtain that favor,” she said very gently.

“Who, then?”

“The priest from Brechy. He will surely find words to shake even the firmest resolution. He can speak in the name of that God, who, even on the cross, forgave those who crucified Him.”

One moment longer the countess hesitated; and then, overcoming finally the last rebellious impulses of her pride, she said,—

“Well, I will call the priest.”

“And I, madam, I swear I will keep my promise.”

But the countess stopped her, and said, making a supreme effort over herself,—

“No: I shall try to save Jacques without making conditions. Let him be yours. He loves you, and you were ready to sacrifice your life for his sake. He forsakes me; but I sacrifice my honor to him. Farewell!”

And hastening to the door, while Dionysia returned to her friends, she summoned the priest from Brechy.

II.

M. Daubigeon, the commonwealth attorney, learned that morning from his chief clerk what had happened, and how the proceedings in the Boiscoran case were necessarily null and void on account of a fatal error in form. The counsel of the defence had lost no time, and, after spending the whole night in consultation, had early that morning presented their application for a new trial to the court.

The commonwealth attorney took no pains to conceal his satisfaction.

“Now,” he cried, “this will worry my friend Galpin, and clip his wings considerably; and yet I had called his attention to the lines of Horace, in which he speaks of Phaeton’s sad fate, and says,—

‘Terret ambustus Phaeton avaras Spes.’

But he would not listen to me, forgetting, that, without prudence, force is a danger. And there he is now, in great difficulty, I am sure.”

And at once he made haste to dress, and to go and see M. Galpin in order to hear all the details accurately, as he told his clerk, but, in reality, in order to enjoy to his heart’s content the discomfiture of the ambitious magistrate.

He found him furious, and ready to tear his hair.

“I am disgraced,” he repeated: “I am ruined; I am lost. All my prospects, all my hopes, are gone. I shall never be forgiven for such an oversight.”

To look at M. Daubigeon, you would have thought he was sincerely distressed.

“Is it really true,” he said with an air of assumed pity,—“is it really true, what they tell me, that this unlucky mistake was made by you?”

“By me? Yes, indeed! I forgot those wretched details which a scholar knows by heart. Can you understand that? And to say that no one noticed my inconceivable blindness! Neither the first court of inquiry, nor the attorney-general himself, nor the presiding judge, ever said a word about it. It is my fate. And that is to be