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

“O God!” she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, “why will you discourage me?”

He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, she said,—

“Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won’t be long.”

And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her dressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their supper, which consisted of a small piece of pork and a light salad, with an abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore they all started up.

“You, miss,” cried the elder of the two,—“you!”

Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple “you” meant. It meant, with the help of the tone of voice, “What? your betrothed is charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned—and you are here?”

But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.

“Yes,” she replied, “it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; and I come to ask you to show me some samples.”

The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother’s advice, had made an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they sold.

“I will do so with pleasure,” said the older sister. “Just allow me to light a lamp. It is almost dark.”

While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her brother,—

“Are you not going to the Orpheon?”

“Not to-night,” he replied.

“Are you not expected to be there?”

“No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court.”

While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a candle.

“Good-night!” he said to his sisters. “I won’t see you again to-night,” and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his hand.

“Where is your brother going?” Dionysia asked eagerly.

“To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of the staircase.”

Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunity slip,—an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering up all her courage, she said,—

“But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my dear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment.” And she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the poor lady of reason.

The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key of his room.

“I want to speak to you instantly,” said Dionysia.

Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word. He made a movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girl said,—

“No, in your room. We must not be overheard. Open sir, please. Open, somebody might come.”

The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half a minute to find the keyhole, and put the key in. At last, when the door was opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass: but she said, “No, go in!”

He obeyed. She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, she shut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed. Mechinet the clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness. Dionysia was timidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remaining speechless for some time. At this moment, however, it was certainly not the young girl who was embarrassed.

“Sit down, M. Mechinet,” she said, “and listen to me.”

He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down.

“You know me, don’t you?” asked Dionysia.

“Certainly I do, madam.”

“You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. de Boiscoran?”

The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat his forehead furiously with his hand, and said,—

“Ah, what a fool I was! Now I see.”

“Yes, you are right,” replied the girl. “I come to talk to you about M. de Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband.”

She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained there face to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he asking himself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far she might venture.

“You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M. de Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of all crimes!”

“Oh, surely, I do!” replied Mechinet.

And, carried away by his emotion, he added,—

“But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at all the examinations, and who have no small experience in criminal matters,—that I believe M. de Boiscoran innocent. I know M. Galpin does not think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, nor the town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction. You see, I was there when they fell upon M. de Boiscoran, asleep in his bed. Well, the very tone of his voice, as he cried out, ‘Oh, my dear Galpin!’ told me that the man is not guilty.”

“Oh, sir,” stammered Dionysia, “thanks, thanks!”

“There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmed my conviction. As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. de Boiscoran does! You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to remove the seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that were asked. I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought. He said I was a fool. Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is. Ah! I beg your pardon, I mean that he is mistaken. The more I see of M. de Boiscoran, the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say to clear up the whole matter.”

Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she well-nigh forgot why she had come.

“Then,” she asked, “you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?”