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

seizing Jacques’s hands, and pressing them with a force of which he would never have suspected her, she added,—

“You have no right to run that one chance.”

Jacques trembled in all his limbs. Was it possible? Did he understand her? Did Dionysia herself come and suggest to him that act of supreme despair, from which his counsel had so strongly dissuaded him?

“What do you mean?” he said with trembling voice.

“You must escape.”

“Escape?”

“Nothing so easy. I have considered the whole matter thoroughly. The jailers are in our pay. I have just come to an understanding with Blangin’s wife. One evening, as soon as night falls, they will open the doors to you. A horse will be ready for you outside of town, and relays have been prepared. In four hours you can reach Rochelle. There, one of those pilot-boats which can stand any storm takes you on board, and carries you to England.”

Jacques shook his head.

“That cannot be,” he replied. “I am innocent. I cannot abandon all I hold dear,—you, Dionysia.”

A deep flush covered the young girl’s cheeks. She stammered,—

“I have expressed myself badly. You shall not go alone.”

He raised his hands to heaven, as if in utter despair.

“Great God! Thou grantest me this consolation!”

But Dionysia went on speaking in a firmer voice.

“Did you think I would be mean enough to forsake the friend who is betrayed by everybody else? No, no! Grandpapa and my aunts will accompany me, and we will meet you in England. You will change your name, and go across to America; and we will look out, far in the West, for some new country where we can establish ourselves. It won’t be France, to be sure. But our country, Jacques, is the country where we are free, where we are beloved, where we are happy.”

Jacques de Boiscoran was moved to the last fibre of his innermost heart, and in a kind of ecstasy which did not allow him to keep up any longer his mask of impassive indifference. Was there a man upon earth who could receive a more glorious proof of love and devotion? And from what a woman! From a young girl, who united in herself all the qualities of which a single one makes others proud,—intelligence and grace, high rank and fortune, beauty and angelic purity.

Ah! she did not hesitate like that other one; she did not think of asking for securities before she granted the first favor; she did not make a science of duplicity, nor hypocrisy her only virtue. She gave herself up entirely, and without the slightest reserve.

And all this at the moment when Jacques saw every thing else around him crumbled to pieces, when he was on the very brink of utter despair, just then this happiness came to him, this great and unexpected happiness, which well-nigh broke his heart.

For a moment he could not move, he could not think.

Then all of a sudden, drawing his betrothed to him, pressing her convulsively to his bosom, and covering her hair with a thousand kisses, he cried,—

“I bless you, oh, my darling! I bless you, my well beloved! I shall mourn no longer. Whatever may happen, I have had my share of heavenly bliss.”

She thought he consented. Palpitating like the bird in the hand of a child, she drew back, and looking at Jacques with ineffable love and tenderness, she said,—

“Let us fix the day!”

“What day?”

“The day for your flight.”

This word alone recalled Jacques to a sense of his fearful position. He was soaring in the supreme heights of the ether, and he was plunged down into the vile mud of reality. His face, radiant with celestial joy, grew dark in an instant, and he said hoarsely,—

“That dream is too beautiful to be realized.”

“What do you say?” she stammered.

“I can not, I must not, escape!”

“You refuse me, Jacques?”

He made no reply.

“You refuse me, when I swear to you that I will join you, and share your exile? Do you doubt my word? Do you fear that my grandfather or my aunts might keep me here in spite of myself?”

As this suppliant voice fell upon his ears, Jacques felt as if all his energy abandoned him, and his will was shaken.

“I beseech you, Dionysia,” he said, “do not insist, do not deprive me of my courage.”

She was evidently suffering agonies. Her eyes shone with unbearable fire. Her dry lips were trembling.

“You will submit to being brought up in court?” she asked.

“Yes!”

“And if you are condemned?”

“I may be, I know.”

“This is madness!” cried the young girl.

In her despair she was wringing her hands; and then the words escaped from her lips, almost unconsciously,—

“Great God,” she said, “inspire me! How can I bend him? What must I say? Jacques, do you love me no longer? For my sake, if not for your own, I beseech you, let us flee! You escape disgrace; you secure liberty. Can nothing touch you? What do you want? Must I throw myself at your feet?”

And she really let herself fall at his feet.

“Flee!” she repeated again and again. “Oh, flee!”

Like all truly energetic men, Jacques recovered in the very excess of his emotion all his self-possession. Gathering his bewildered thoughts by a great effort of mind, he raised Dionysia, and carried her, almost fainting, to the rough prison bench; then, kneeling down by her side, and taking her hands he said,—

“Dionysia, for pity’s sake, come to yourself and listen to me. I am innocent; and to flee would be to confess that I am guilty.”

“Ah! what does that matter?”

“Do you think that my escape would stop the trial? No. Although absent, I should still be tried, and found guilty without any opposition: I should be condemned, disgraced, irrevocably dishonored.”

“What does it matter?”

Then he felt that such arguments would never bring her back to reason. He rose, therefore, and said in a firm voice,—

“Let me tell you what you do not know. To flee would be easy, I agree. I think, as you do, we could reach England readily enough,