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

crime, and be nothing but a madman; but, if the countess is guilty, one might despair of mankind, and renounce all faith in this world. I have seen her, gentlemen, with her husband and her children. No one can feign such looks of tenderness and affection.”

“He will never give her up!” growled Dr. Seignebos,—

And touching his friend on the shoulder,—for M. Magloire had been his friend for many years, and they were quite intimate,—he said,—

“Ah! There I recognize my friend, the strange lawyer, who judges others by himself, and refuses to believe any thing bad. Oh, do not protest! For we love and honor you for that very faith, and are proud to see you among us Republicans. But I must confess you are not the man to bring light into such a dark intrigue. At twenty-eight you married a girl whom you loved dearly: you lost her, and ever since you have remained faithful to her memory, and lived so far from all passions that you no longer believe in their existence. Happy man! Your heart is still at twenty; and with your grey hair you still believe in the smiles and looks of woman.”

There was much truth in this; but there are certain truths which we are not overfond of hearing.

“My simplicity has nothing to do with the matter,” said M. Magloire. “I affirm and maintain that a man who has been for five years the lover of a woman must have some proof of it.”

“Well, there you are mistaken, master,” said the physician, arranging his spectacles with an air of self-conceit, which, under other circumstances, would have been irresistibly ludicrous.

“When women determine to be prudent and suspicious,” remarked M. de Chandore, “they never are so by halves.”

“It is evident, besides,” added M. Folgat, “that the Countess Claudieuse would never have determined upon so bold a crime, if she had not been quite sure, that after the burning of her letters, no proof could be brought against her.”

“That is it!” cried the doctor.

M. Magloire did not conceal his impatience. He said dryly,—

“Unfortunately, gentlemen, it does not depend on you to acquit or condemn M. de Boiscoran. I am not here to convince you, or to be convinced: I came to discuss with M. de Boiscoran’s friends our line of conduct, and the basis of our defence.”

And M. Magloire was evidently right in this estimate of his duty. He went and leaned against the mantelpiece; and, when the others had taken their seats around him, he began,—

“In the first place, I will admit the allegations made by M. de Boiscoran. He is innocent. He has been the lover of Countess Claudieuse; but he has no proof. This being granted, what is to be done? Shall I advise him to send for the magistrate, and to confess it all?”

No one replied at first. It was only after a long silence that Dr. Seignebos said,—

“That would be very serious.”

“Very serious, indeed,” repeated the famous lawyer. “Our own feelings give us the measure of what M. Galpin will think. First of all, he, also, will ask for proof, the evidence of a witness, any thing, in fact. And, when Jacques tells him that he has nothing to give but his word, M. Galpin will tell him that he does not speak the truth.”

“He might, perhaps, consent to extend the investigation,” said M. Seneschal. “He might possibly summon the countess.”

M. Magloire nodded, and said,—

“He would certainly summon her. But, then, would she confess? It would be madness to expect that. If she is guilty, she is far too strong-minded to let the truth escape her. She would deny every thing, haughtily, magnificently, and in such a manner as not to leave a shadow of doubt.”

“That is only too probable,” growled the doctor. “That poor Galpin is not the strongest of men.”

“What would be the result of such a step?” asked M. Magloire. “M. de Boiscoran’s case would be a hundred times worse; for to his crime would now be added the odium of the meanest, vilest calumny.”

M. Folgat was following with the utmost attention. He said,—

“I am very glad to hear my honorable colleague give utterance to that opinion. We must give up all hope of delaying the proceedings, and let M. de Boiscoran go into court at once.”

M. de Chandore raised his hands to heaven, as if in sheer despair.

“But Dionysia will die of grief and shame,” he exclaimed.

M. Magloire, absorbed in his own views, went on,—

“Well, here we are now before the court at Sauveterre, before a jury composed of people from this district, incapable of prevarication, I am sure, but, unfortunately, under the influence of that public opinion which has long since condemned M. de Boiscoran. The proceedings begin; the judge questions the accused. Will he say what he told me,—that, after having been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse, he had gone to Valpinson to carry her back her letters, and to get his own, and that they are all burnt? Suppose he says so. Immediately then there will arise a storm of indignation; and he will be overwhelmed with curses and with contempt. Well, thereupon, the president of the court uses his discretionary powers, suspends the trial, and sends for the Countess Claudieuse. Since we look upon her as guilty, we must needs endow her with supernatural energy. She had foreseen what is coming, and has read over her part. When summoned, she appears, pale, dressed in black; and a murmur of respectful sympathy greets her at her entrance. You see her before you, don’t you? The president explains to her why she has been sent for, and she does not comprehend. She cannot possibly comprehend such an abominable calumny. But when she has comprehended it? Do you see the lofty look by which she crushes Jacques, and the grandeur with which she replies, ‘When this man had failed in trying to murder my husband, he tried to disgrace his wife. I intrust to you my honor as a mother and a wife, gentlemen. I shall not answer the infamous charges of this abject calumniator.’”

“But that means the galleys for Jacques,” exclaimed M. de Chandore, “or even the scaffold!”

“That would be the maximum, at all events,” replied the advocate of Sauveterre. “But the trial goes on; the prosecuting attorney demands an overwhelming punishment; and at last the prisoner’s council is called upon to speak. Gentlemen, you were impatient at my persistence. I do not credit, I confess, the statement made by M. de Boiscoran. But my young colleague here does credit it. Well, let him tell us candidly. Would he dare to plead this statement, and assert that the Countess Claudieuse had been Jacques’s mistress?”

M. Folgat looked annoyed.

“I don’t know,” he said in an undertone.

“Well, I know you would not,” exclaimed M. Magloire; “and you would be right, for you would risk your reputation without the slightest chance of saving Jacques. Yes, no chance whatever! For after all, let us suppose,