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

“She has never caught a glimpse of her even.”

“Oh!”

“When the countess was coming down, or when she was going away, or when we wanted to walk in the garden, I sent the girl on some errand. I have sent her as far as Orleans to get rid of her for twenty-four hours. The rest of the time we staid up stairs, and waited upon ourselves.”

Evidently M. Magloire was suffering. He said,—

“You must be under a mistake. Servants are curious, and to hide from them is only to make them mad with curiosity. That girl has watched you. That girl has found means to see the countess when she came there. She must be examined. Is she still in your service?”

“No, she left me when the war broke out.”

“Why?”

“She wanted to return to England.”

“Then we cannot hope to find her again?”

“I believe not.”

“We must give it up, then. But your man-servant? Old Anthony was in your confidence. Did you never tell him any thing about it?”

“Never. Only once I sent for him to come to Vine Street when I had sprained my foot in coming down stairs.”

“So that it is impossible for you to prove that the Countess Claudieuse ever came to your house in Passy? You have no evidence of it, and no eye-witness?”

“I used to have evidence. She had brought a number of small articles for her private use; but they have disappeared during the war.”

“Ah, yes!” said M. Magloire, “always the war! It has to answer for every thing.”

Never had any of M. Galpin’s examinations been half as painful to Jacques de Boiscoran as this series of quick questions, which betrayed such distressing incredulity.

“Did I not tell you, Magloire,” he resumed, “that the countess had a genius for prudence? You can easily conceal yourself when you can spend money without counting it. Would you blame me for not having any proofs to furnish? Is it not the duty of every man of honor to do all he can to keep even a shadow of suspicion from her who has confided herself to his hands? I have done my duty, and whatever may come of it, I shall not regret it. Could I foresee such unheard-of emergencies? Could I foresee that a day might come when I, Jacques de Boiscoran, should have to denounce the Countess Claudieuse, and should be compelled to look for evidence and witnesses against her?”

The eminent advocate of Sauveterre looked aside; and, instead of replying, he said in a somewhat changed voice,—

“Go on, Jacques, go on!”

Jacques de Boiscoran tried to overcome the discouragement which well-nigh mastered him, and said,—

“It was on the 2d September, 1867, that the Countess Claudieuse for the first time entered this house in Passy, which I had purchased and furnished for her; and during the five weeks which she spent in Paris, she came almost every day, and spent several hours there.

“At her father’s house she enjoyed absolute and almost uncontrolled independence. She left her daughter—for she had at that time but one child—with her mother, the Marchioness de Tassar; and she was free to go and to come as she liked.

“When she wanted still greater freedom, she went to see her friend in Fontainebleau; and every time she did this she secured twenty-four or forty-eight hours over and above the time for the journey. I, for my part, was as perfectly free from all control. Ostensibly, I had gone to Ireland; in reality, I lived in Vine Street.

“These five weeks passed like a dream; and yet I must confess, the parting was not as painful as might have been supposed. Not that the bright prism was broken; but I always felt humiliated by the necessity of being concealed. I began to be tired of these incessant precautions; and I was quite ready to give up being Sir Francis Burnett, and to resume my identity.

“We had, besides, promised each other never to remain a month without seeing each other, at least for a few hours; and she had invented a number of expedients by which we could meet without danger.

“A family misfortune came just then to our assistance. My father’s eldest brother, that kind uncle who had furnished me the means to purchase my house in Passy, died, and left me his entire fortune. As owner of Boiscoran, I could, henceforth, live as much as I chose in the province; and at all events come there whenever I liked, without anybody’s inquiring for my reasons.”

XIV.

Jacques de Boiscoran was evidently anxious to have done with his recital, to come to that night of the fire at Valpinson, and to learn at last from the eminent advocate of Sauveterre what he had to fear or to hope. After a moment’s silence, for his breath was giving out, and after a few steps across his cell, he went on in a bitter tone of voice,—

“But why trouble you with all these details, Magloire? Would you believe me any more than you do now, if I were to enumerate to you all my meetings with the Countess Claudieuse, or if I were to repeat all her most trifling words?

“We had gradually learnt to calculate all our movements, and made our preparations so accurately, that we met constantly, and feared no danger. We said to each other at parting, or she wrote to me, ‘On such a day, at such an hour, at such a place;’ and however distant the day, or the hour, or the place, we were sure to meet. I had soon learned to know the country as well as the cleverest of poachers; and nothing was so useful to us as this familiarity with all the unknown hiding-places. The countess, on her side, never let three months pass by without discovering some urgent motive which carried her to Rochelle, to Angouleme, or to Paris; and I was there to meet her. Nothing kept her from these excursions; even when indisposed, she braved the fatigues of the journey. It is true, my life was well-nigh spent in travelling; and at any moment, when least expected, I disappeared for whole weeks. This will explain to you that restlessness at which my father sneered, and for which you, yourself, Magloire, used to blame me.”

“That is true,” replied the latter. “I remember.”

Jacques de Boiscoran did not seem to notice the encouragement.

“I should not tell the truth if I were to say that this kind of life was unpleasant to me. Mystery and danger always add to the charms of love. The difficulties only increased my passion. I saw something sublime in this success with which two superior beings devoted all their intelligence and cleverness to the carrying-on of a secret intrigue. The more fully I became aware of the veneration with which the countess was looked up to by the whole country, the more I learned to appreciate her ability