Baron Trigault's Vengeance by Emile Gaboriau (you can read anyone txt) 📕

marquis’s work and which give the name of his accomplice, Coralth. And these letters are in the possession of a man of dubious integrity, who was once the marquis’s ally, but who has now become his enemy. He is known as Isidore Fortunat, and lives in the Place de la Bourse.”

Marguerite felt that Madame Ferailleur’s keen glance was riveted upon her. She intuitively divined what was passing in the mind of the puritanical old lady, and realized that her whole future, and the happiness of her entire wedded life, depended upon her conduct at that moment. So, desirous of making a full confession, she hastily exclaimed: “My conduct may have seemed strange in a young girl, Pascal. A timid, inexperienced girl, who had been carefully kept from all knowledge of life and evil, would have been crushed by such a burden of disgrace, and could only have wept and prayed. I did weep and pray; but I also struggled and fought. In the hour of peril I found myself endowed with some of the courage and energy which distinguished the poor women of the people among whom I formerly earned my bread. The teachings and miseries of the past were not lost to me!” And as simply as if she were telling the most natural thing in the world, she described the struggle she had undertaken against the world, strong in her faith in Pascal and in his love.

“Ah, you are a noble and courageous girl!” exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. “You are worthy of my son, and you will proudly guard our honest name!”

For some little time already the obstinate old lady had been struggling against the sympathetic emotion that filled her heart, and big tears were coursing down her wrinkled cheeks.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she now threw both arms around Marguerite’s neck, and drew her toward her in a long embrace, murmuring: “Marguerite, my daughter! Ah! how unjust my prejudices were!”

It might be thought that Pascal was transported with joy on hearing this, but no: the lines of care on his forehead deepened, as he said: “Happiness is so near! Why must a final test, another humiliation, separate us from it?”

But Marguerite now felt strong enough to meet even martyrdom with a smile. “Speak, Pascal!” said she, “don’t you see that it is almost ten o’clock?”

He hesitated; there was grief in his eyes and his breath came quick and hard, as he resumed: “For your sake and mine, we must conquer, at any price. This is the only reason that can justify the horrible expedient I have to suggest. M. de Valorsay, as you know, has boasted of his power to overcome your resistance, and he really believes that he possesses this power. Why I have not killed him again and again when he has been at my mercy, I can scarcely understand. The only thing that gave me power to restrain myself was my desire for as sure, as terrible, and as public a revenge as the humiliation he inflicted on me. His plan for your ruin is such as only a scoundrel like himself could conceive. With the assistance of his vile tool, Coralth, he has formed a league, offensive and defensive, with the son of the Count de Chalusse’s sister, who is the only acknowledged heir at this moment—a young man destitute of heart and intelligence, and inordinately vain, but neither better nor worse than many others who figure respectably in society. His name is Wilkie Gordon. The marquis has acquired great influence over him, and has persuaded him that it is his duty to denounce you to the authorities. He has, in short, accused you of defrauding the heirs of the Chalusse estate of two millions of francs and also of poisoning the count.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “As for the robbery, we have an answer to that,” she answered, “and as regards the poisoning—really the accusation is too absurd!”

But Pascal still looked gloomy. “The matter is more serious than you suppose,” he replied. “They have found a physician—a vile, cowardly scoundrel—who for a certain sum has consented to appear in support of the accusation.”

“Dr. Jodon, I presume!”

“Yes; and this is not all. The count’s escritoire contains the vial of medicine of which he drank a portion on the day of his death. Well, to-morrow night, Madame Leon will open the garden gate of the Hotel de Chalusse and admit a rascal who will abstract the vial.”

Marguerite shuddered. Now she understood the fiendish cunning of the plot. “It might ruin me!” she murmured.

Pascal nodded affirmatively. “M. de Valorsay wishes you to consider yourself as irretrievably lost, and then he intends to offer to save you on condition that you consent to marry him. I should say, however, that M. Wilkie is ignorant of the atrocious projects he is abetting. They are known only to the marquis and M. de Coralth; and it is I who, under the name of Maumejan, act as their adviser. It was to me that the marquis sent M. Wilkie for assistance in drawing up this accusation. I myself wrote out the denunciation, which was as terrible and as formidable as our bitterest enemy could possibly desire, combining, as it did, with perfidious art, the reports of the valets and the suspicions of the physician, and establishing the connection between the robbery and the murder. It finished by demanding a thorough investigation. And M. Wilkie copied and signed this document, and carried it to the prosecution office himself.”

Mademoiselle Marguerite sank half-fainting into an arm-chair. “You have done this!” she faltered.

“It was necessary, my daughter,” whispered Madame Ferailleur.

“Yes, it was necessary, absolutely necessary,” repeated Pascal, “as you will see. Justice, which is a human institution, and limited in its powers, cannot fathom motives, read thoughts, or interfere with plans, however abominable they may be, or however near realization. Before it can interfere, the law must have material, tangible proof, convincing to the senses. Until you are arrested, the crimes committed by M. de Valorsay, and those associated with him, do not come within the reach of human justice; but as soon as you are in prison, I can hasten to our friend the justice of the peace, and we shall go at once to the investigating magistrate and explain everything. Now, when your innocence and the guilt of your accusers have been established, what do you fancy the authorities will do? They will wait until your enemies declare themselves, in order to capture them all at once, and prevent the escape of a single one. To-morrow night some clever detectives will watch the Hotel de Chalusse, and just as Madame Leon and the wretch with her think themselves sure of success, they will be caught in the very act and arrested. When they are examined by a magistrate, who is conversant with the whole affair, can they deny their guilt? No; certainly not. Acting upon their confession, the authorities will force an entrance into Valorsay’s house, where they will find your father’s will and the receipt given by M. de Fondege—in a word, all the proofs of their guilt. And while this search is going on, all your enemies, reassured by your arrest, will be at a grand soiree given by Baron Trigault. I shall be there as well.”

Mademoiselle Marguerite had mastered her momentary weakness. She rose to her feet, and in a firm voice exclaimed: “You have acted rightly.”

“Ah! there was no other way. And yet I wished to see you, to learn if this course were too repugnant to you.”

She interrupted him with