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

“I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam,” was the reply. “But he is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mind returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his ingenuity and his cleverness”—

Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much in his cups. He exclaimed,—

“Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you just now.”

Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come. She said,—

“If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon my discretion. You need not regret having given me by your confidence some little comfort in my great sorrow. You need not; for”—

Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort she could add,—

“For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, much more.”

Mechinet had turned painfully pale. He broke in vehemently,—

“Not another word, madam: your hope already is an insult to me. You ought surely to know that by my profession, as well as by my oath, I am bound to be as silent as the very cell in which the prisoners are kept. If I, the clerk, were to betray the secret of a criminal prosecution”—

Dionysia trembled like an aspen-leaf; but her mind remained clear and decided. She said,—

“You would rather let an innocent man perish.”

“Madam!”

“You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word you could remove the mistake of which he is the victim? You would say to yourself, ‘It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak’? And you would see him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold? No, I cannot believe that! No, that cannot be true!”

“I told you, madam, I believe in M. de Boiscoran’s innocence.”

“And you refuse to aid me in establishing his innocence? O God! what ideas men form of their duty! How can I move you? How can I convince you? Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they charge with being an assassin? Must I tell you what horrible anguish we suffer, we, his friends, his relatives?—how his mother weeps, how I weep, I, his betrothed! We know he is innocent; and yet we cannot establish his innocence for want of a friend who would aid us, who would pity us!”

In all his life the clerk had not heard such burning words. He was moved to the bottom of his heart. At last he asked, trembling,—

“What do you want me to do, madam?”

“Oh! very little, sir, very little,—just to send M. de Boiscoran ten lines, and to bring us his reply.”

The boldness of the request seemed to stun the clerk. He said,—

“Never!”

“You will not have pity?”

“I should forfeit my honor.”

“And, if you let an innocent one be condemned, what would that be?”

Mechinet was evidently suffering anguish. Amazed, overcome, he did not know what to say, what to do. At last he thought of one reason for refusing, and stammered out,—

“And if I were found out? I should lose my place, ruin my sisters, destroy my career for life.”

With trembling hands, Dionysia drew from her pocket the bonds which her grandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table. She began,—

“There are twenty thousand francs.”

The clerk drew back frightened. He cried,—

“Money! You offer me money!”

“Oh, don’t be offended!” began the young girl again, with a voice that would have moved a stone. “How could I want to offend you, when I ask of you more than my life? There are services which can never be paid. But, if the enemies of M. de Boiscoran should find out that you have aided us, their rage might turn against you.”

Instinctively the clerk unloosed his cravat. The struggle within him, no doubt, was terrible. He was stifled.

“Twenty thousand francs!” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Is it not enough?” asked the young girl. “Yes, you are right: it is very little. But I have as much again for you, twice as much.”

With haggard eyes, Mechinet had approached the table, and was convulsively handling the pile of papers, while he repeated,—

“Twenty thousand francs! A thousand a year!”

“No, double that much, and moreover, our gratitude, our devoted friendship, all the influence of the two families of Boiscoran and Chandore; in a word, fortune, position, respect.”

But by this time, thanks to a supreme effort of will, the clerk had recovered his self-control.

“No more, madam, say no more!”

And with a determined, though still trembling voice, he went on,—

“Take your money back again, madam. If I were to do what you want me to do, if I were to betray my duty for money, I should be the meanest of men. If, on the other hand, I am actuated only by a sincere conviction and an interest in the truth, I may be looked upon as a fool; but I shall always be worthy of the esteem of honorable men. Take back that fortune, madam, which has made an honest man waver for a moment in his conscience. I will do what you ask, but for nothing.”

If grandpapa was getting tired of walking up and down in the Square, the sisters of Mechinet found time pass still more slowly in their workroom. They asked each other,—

“What can Miss Dionysia have to say to brother?”

At the end of ten minutes, their curiosity, stimulated by the most absurd suppositions, had become such martyrdom to them, that they made up their minds to knock at the clerk’s door.

“Ah, leave me alone!” he cried out, angry at being thus interrupted. But then he considered a moment, opened hastily, and said quite gently,—

“Go back to your room, my dear sisters, and, if you wish to spare me a very serious embarrassment, never tell anybody in this world that Miss Chandore has had a conversation with me.”

Trained to obey, the two sisters went back, but not so promptly that they should have not seen the bonds which Dionysia had thrown upon the table, and which were quite familiar in their appearance to them, as they