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

the way she spoke at that time, Magloire; and a man of more experience would have been frightened. But I was a child; I loved her with all my heart. I admired her genius; I was overcome by her sophisms.

“A letter from Count Claudieuse aroused us from our dreams.

“The countess had committed the only and the last imprudence of her whole life: she had remained three weeks longer in Paris than was agreed upon; and her impatient husband threatened to come for her.

“‘I must go back to Valpinson,’ she said; ‘for there is nothing I would not do to keep up the reputation I have managed to make for myself. My life, your life, my daughter’s life—I would give them all, without hesitation, to protect my reputation.”

“This happened—ah! the dates have remained fixed in my mind as if engraven on bronze—on the 12th October.

“‘I cannot remain longer than a month,’ she said to me, ‘without seeing you. A month from to-day, that is to say, on 12th November, at three o’clock precisely, you must be in the forest of Rochepommier, at the Red Men’s Cross-roads. I will be there.’

“And she left Paris. I was in such a state of depression, that I scarcely felt the pain of parting. The thought of being loved by such a woman filled me with extreme pride, and, no doubt, saved me from many an excess. Ambition was rising within me whenever I thought of her. I wanted to work, to distinguish myself, to become eminent in some way.

“‘I want her to be proud of me,’ I said to myself, ashamed at being nothing at my age but the son of a rich father.”

Ten times, at least, M. Magloire had risen from his chair, and moved his lips, as if about to make some objection. But he had pledged himself, in his own mind, not to interrupt Jacques, and he did his best to keep his pledge.

“In the meantime,” Jacques went on, “the day fixed by the countess was drawing near. I went down to Boiscoran; and on the appointed day, at the precise hour, I was in the forest at the Red Men’s Cross-roads. I was somewhat behind time, and I was extremely sorry for it: but I did not know the forest very well, and the place chosen by the countess for the rendezvous is in the very thickest part of the old wood. The weather was unusually severe for the season. The night before, a heavy snow had fallen: the paths were all white; and a sharp wind blew the flakes from the heavily-loaded branches. From afar off, I distinguished the countess, as she was walking, up and down in a kind of feverish excitement, confining herself to a narrow space, where the ground was dry, and where she was sheltered from the wind by enormous masses of stone. She wore a dress of dark-red silk, very long, a cloak trimmed with fur, and a velvet hat to match her dress. In three minutes I was by her side. But she did not draw her hand from her muff to offer it to me; and, without giving me time to apologize for the delay, she said in a dry tone,—

“‘When did you reach Boiscoran?’

“‘Last night.’

“‘How childish you are!’ she exclaimed, stamping her foot. ‘Last night! And on what pretext?’

“‘I need no pretext to visit my uncle.’

“‘And was he not surprised to see you drop from the clouds at this time of the year?’

“‘Why, yes, a little,’ I answered foolishly, incapable as I was of concealing the truth.

“Her dissatisfaction increased visibly.

“‘And how did you get here?’ she commenced again. ‘Did you know this cross-road?’

“‘No, I inquired about it.’

“‘From whom?’

“‘From one of my uncle’s servants; but his information was so imperfect, that I lost my way.’

“She looked at me with such a bitter, ironical smile, that I stopped.

“‘And all that, you think, is very simple,’ she broke in. ‘Do you really imagine people will think it very natural that you should thus fall like a bombshell upon Boiscoran, and immediately set out for the Red Men’s Cross-roads in the forest? Who knows but you have been followed? Who knows but behind one of these trees there may be eyes even now watching us?’

“And as she looked around with all the signs of genuine fear, I answered,—

“‘And what do you fear? Am I not here?’

“I think I can even now see the look in her eyes as she said,—

“‘I fear nothing in the world—do you hear me? nothing in the world, except being suspected; for I cannot be compromised. I like to do as I do; I like to have a lover. But I do not want it to be known; because, if it became known, there would be mischief. Between my reputation and my life I have no choice. If I were to be surprised here by any one, I would rather it should be my husband than a stranger. I have no love for the count, and I shall never forgive him for having married me; but he has saved my father’s honor, and I owe it to him to keep his honor unimpaired. He is my husband, besides, and the father of my child: I bear his name, and I want it to be respected. I should die with grief and shame and rage, if I had to give my arm to a man at whom people might look and smile. Wives are absurdly stupid when they do not feel that all the scorn with which their unfortunate husbands are received in the great world falls back upon them. No. I do not love the count, Jacques, and I love you. But remember, that, between him and you, I should not hesitate a moment, and that I should sacrifice your life and your honor, with a smile on my lips, even though my heart should break, if I could, by doing so, spare him the shadow of a suspicion.’

“I was about to reply; but she said,—

“‘No more! Every minute we stay here increases the danger. What pretext will you plead for your sudden appearance at Boiscoran?’

“‘I do not know,’ I replied.

“‘You must borrow some money from your uncle, a considerable sum, to pay your debts. He will be angry, perhaps; but that will explain your sudden fancy for travelling in the month of November. Good-by, good-by!’

“All amazed, I cried,—

“‘What! You will not let me see you again, at least from afar?’

“‘During this visit that would be the height of imprudence. But, stop! Stay at Boiscoran till Sunday. Your uncle never stays away from high mass: go with him to church. But be careful, control yourself. A single imprudence, one blunder, and I should despise you. Now we must part. You will find in Paris a letter from me.’”

Jacques paused here, looking to read in M. Magloire’s face what impression his recital had produced so far. But the famous lawyer remained impassive. He sighed, and continued,—