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

stones; and I, I suggested to him to write a letter, which I would send to M. de Chandore. But he became furious at once, and cried, ‘No, never! Leave me. There is nothing left for me but death.’”

M. Folgat had not uttered a word; but his pallor betrayed his emotions.

“You will understand, gentlemen,” Blangin went on, “that I did not feel quite reassured. It is a bad cell that in which M. de Boiscoran is staying. Since I have been at Sauveterre, one man has killed himself in it, and one man has tried to commit suicide. So I called Trumence, a poor vagrant who assists me in the jail; and we arranged it that one of us would always be on guard, never losing the prisoner out of sight for a moment. But it was a useless precaution. At night, when they carried M. de Boiscoran his supper, he was perfectly calm; and he even said he would try to eat something to keep his strength. Poor man! If he has no other strength than what his meal would give him, he won’t go far. He had not swallowed four mouthfuls, when he was almost smothered; and Trumence and I at one time thought he would die on our hands: I almost thought it might be fortunate. However, about nine o’clock he was a little better; and he remained all night long at his window.”

M. Magloire could stand it no longer.

“Let us go up,” he said to his colleague.

They went up. But, as they entered the passage, they noticed Trumence, who was making signs to them to step lightly.

“What is the matter?” they asked in an undertone.

“I believe he is asleep,” replied the prisoner. “Poor man! Who knows but he dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?”

M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. He had heard steps and voices, and he had just risen. Blangin, therefore, opened the door; and at once M. Magloire said the prisoner,—

“I bring you reenforcements,—M. Folgat, my colleague, who has come down from Paris, with your mother.”

Coolly, and without saying a word, M. de Boiscoran bowed.

“I see you are angry with me,” continued M. Magloire. “I was too quick yesterday, much too quick.”

Jacques shook his head, and said in an icy tone,—

“I was angry; but I have reflected since, and now I thank you for your candor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go into court, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shall prefer not going into court at all.”

“Poor man! But all hope is not lost.”

“Yes. Who would believe me, if you, my friend, cannot believe me?”

“I would,” said M. Folgat promptly, “I, who, without knowing you, from the beginning believed in your innocence,—I who, now that I have seen you, adhere to my conviction.”

Quicker than thought, M. de Boiscoran had seized the young advocate’s hand, and, pressing it convulsively, said,—

“Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faith you have in me!”

This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felt a ray of hope. Alas! it passed in a second. His eye became dim again; his brow clouded over; and he said in a hoarse voice,—

“Unfortunately, nothing can be done for me now. No doubt M. Magloire has told you my sad history and my statement. I have no proof; or at least, to furnish proof, I would have to enter into details which the court would refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, I should be ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spoken of, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted. It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous and dishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended.”

What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such a decision?

His counsel trembled as they thought they guessed it.

“You have no right,” said M. Folgat, “to give yourself up thus.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you have relations, friends, and”—

A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as he broke in,—

“What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first expression of sympathy.”

“Ah, that is not so,” exclaimed M. Magloire, “you know very well.”

Jacques did not seem to hear him. He went on,—

“Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M. Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become my judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavored to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied.”

Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it was in vain.

“Relations!” continued Jacques with a voice trembling with indignation—“oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother. Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?

“My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usual pleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; and she has been told that I am at liberty to receive visitors: but in vain. I was hoping for her yesterday; but the wretch who is accused of a crime is no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I stand alone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose of myself.”

M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It would have been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said,—

“You forget Miss Chandore, sir.”

Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all his limbs,—

“Dionysia!”

“Yes, Dionysia,” said the young advocate. “You forget her courage, her devotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandons and denies you,—she who set aside all her reserve and her timidity for your sake, and came and spent a whole night in this prison? She was