Chapter 30
He went first to the commonwealth attorney. The truth is, he was still smarting under the severe reproaches of M. Daubigeon, and he thought he would enjoy his revenge now. He found the old book-worm, as usual, among his beloved books, and in worse humor than ever. He ignored it, handed him a number of papers to sign; and when his business was over, and while he was carefully replacing the documents in his bag with his monogram on the outside, he added with an air of indifference,--
"Well, my dear sir, you have heard the decision of the court? Which of us was right?"
M. Daubigeon shrugged his shoulders, and said angrily,--
"Of course I am nothing but an old fool, a maniac: I give it up; and I say, like Horace's man,--
'Stultum me fateor, liceat concedere vires Atque etiam insanum.'"
"You are joking. But what would have happened if I had listened to you?"
"I don't care to know."
"M. de Boiscoran would none the less have been sent to a jury."
"May be."
"Anybody else would have collected the proofs of his guilt just as well as I."
"That is a question."
"And I should have injured my reputation very seriously; for they would have called me one of those timid magistrates who are frightened at a nothing."
"That is as good a reputation as some others," broke in the commonwealth attorney.
He had vowed he would answer only in monosyllables; but his anger made him forget his oath. He added in a very severe tone,--
"Another man would not have been bent exclusively upon proving that M. de Boiscoran was guilty."
"I certainly have proved it."
"Another man would have tried to solve the mystery."
"But I have solved it, I should think."
M. Daubigeon bowed ironically, and said,--
"I congratulate you. It must be delightful to know the secret of all things, only you may be mistaken. You are an excellent hand at such investigations; but I am an older man than you in the profession. The more I think in this case, the less I understand it. If you know every thing so perfectly well, I wish you would tell me what could have been the motive for the crime, for, after all, we do not run the risk of losing our head without some very powerful and tangible purpose. Where was Jacques's interest? You will tell me he hated Count Claudieuse. But is that an answer. Come, go for a moment to your own conscience. But stop! No one likes to do that."
M. Galpin was beginning to regret that he had ever come. He had hoped to find M. Daubigeon quite penitent, and here he was worse than ever.
"The Court of Inquiry has felt no such scruples," he said dryly.
"No; but the jury may feel some. They are, occasionally, men of sense."
"The jury will condemn M. de Boiscoran without hesitation."
"I would not swear to that."
"You would if you knew who will plead."
"Oh!"
"The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!"
"Oh, oh!"
"You will not deny that he is a first-class man?"
The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; and in the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness.
"God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere's eloquence. He is a powerful speaker, and rarely misses his man. But then, you know, cases are like books: they have their luck or ill luck. Jacques will be well defended."
"I am not afraid of M. Magloire."
"But Mr. Folgat?"
"A young man with no weight. I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant."
"Do you know the plan of the defence?"
This was evidently the place where the shoe pinched; but M. Galpin took care not to let it be seen, and replied,--
"I do not. But that does not matter. M. de Boiscoran's friends at first thought of making capital out of Cocoleu; but they have given that up. I am sure of that! The police-agent whom I have charged to keep his eyes on the idiot tells me that Dr. Seignebos does not trouble himself about the man any more."
M. Daubigeon smiled sarcastically, and said, much more for the purpose of teasing his visitor than because he believed it himself,--
"Take care! do not trust appearances. You have to do with very clever people. I always told you Cocoleu is probably the mainspring of the whole case. The very fact that M. Gransiere will speak ought to make you tremble. If he should not succeed, he would, of course, blame you, and never forgive you in all his life. Now, you know he may fail. 'There is many a slip between the cup and the lip.'
"And I am disposed to think with Villon,--
'Nothing is so certain as uncertain things.'"
M. Galpin could tell very well that he should gain nothing by prolonging the discussion, and so he said,--
"Happen what may, I shall always know that my conscience supports me."
Then he made great haste to take leave, lest an answer should come from M. Daubigeon. He went out; and as he descended the stairs, he said to himself,--
"It is losing time to reason with that old fogy who sees in the events of the day only so many opportunities for quotations."
But he struggled in vain against his own feelings; he had lost his self-confidence. M. Daubigeon had revealed to him a new danger which he had not foreseen. And what a danger!--the resentment of one of the most eminent men of the French bar, one of those bitter, bilious men who never forgive. M. Galpin had, no doubt, thought of the possibility of failure, that is to say, of an acquittal; but he had never considered the consequences of such a check.
Who would have to pay for it? The prosecuting attorney first and foremost, because, in France, the prosecuting attorney makes the accusation a personal matter, and considers himself insulted and humiliated, if he misses his man.
Now, what would happen in such a case?
M. Gransiere, no doubt, would hold him responsible. He would say,--
"I had to draw my arguments from your part of the work. I did not obtain a condemnation, because your work was imperfect. A man like myself ought not to be exposed to such an humiliation, and, least of all, in a case which is sure to create an immense sensation. You do not understand your business."
Such words were a public disgrace. Instead of the hoped-for promotion, they would bring him an order to go into exile, to Corsica, or to Algiers.
M. Galpin shuddered at the idea. He saw himself buried under the ruins of his castles in Spain. And, unluckily, he went once more over all the papers of the investigation, analyzing the evidence he had, like a soldier, who, on the eve of a battle, furbishes up his arms. However, he only found one objection, the same which M. Daubigeon had made,--what interest could Jacques have had in committing so great a crime?
"There," he said, "is evidently the weak part of the armor; and I would do well to point it out to M. Gransiere. Jacques's counsel are capable of making that the turning-point of their plea."
And, in spite of all he had said to M. Daubigeon, he was very much afraid of the counsel for the defence. He knew perfectly well the prestige which M. Magloire derived from his integrity and disinterestedness. It was no secret to him, that a cause which M. Magloire espoused was at once considered a good cause. They said of him,--
"He may be mistaken; but whatever he says he believes." He could not but have a powerful influence, therefore, not on judges who came into court with well-established opinions, but with jurymen who are under the influence of the moment, and may be carried off by the eloquence of a speech. It is true, M. Magloire did not possess that burning eloquence which thrills a crowd, but M. Folgat had it, and in an uncommon degree. M. Galpin had made inquiries; and one of his Paris friends had written to him,--
"Mistrust Folgat. He is a far more dangerous logician than Lachant, and possesses the same skill in troubling the consciences of jurymen, in moving them, drawing tears from them, and forcing them into an acquittal. Mind, especially, any incidents that may happen during the trial; for he has always some kind of surprise in reserve."
"These are my adversaries," thought M. Galpin. "What surprise, I wonder, is there in store for me? Have they really given up all idea of using Cocoleu?"
He had no reason for mistrusting his agent; and yet his apprehensions became so serious, that he went out of his way to look in at the hospital. The lady superior received him, as a matter of course, with all the signs of profound respect; and, when he inquired about Cocoleu, she added,--
"Would you like to see him?"
"I confess I should be very glad to do so."
"Come with me, then."
She took him into the garden, and there asked a gardener,--
"Where is the idiot?"
The man put his spade into the ground; and, with that affected reverence which characterizes all persons employed in a convent, he answered,--
"The idiot is down there in the middle avenue, mother, in his usual place, you know, which nothing will induce him to leave."
M. Galpin and the lady superior found him there. They had taken off the rags which he wore when he was admitted, and put him into the hospital-dress, which was a large gray coat and a cotton cap. He did not look any more intelligent for that; but he was less repulsive. He was seated on the ground, playing with the gravel.
"Well, my boy," asked M. Galpin, "how do you like this?"
He raised his inane face, and fixed his dull eye on the lady superior; but he made no reply.
"Would you like to go back to Valpinson?" asked the lawyer again. He shuddered, but did not open his lips.
"Look here," said M. Galpin, "answer me, and I'll give you a ten-cent piece."
No: Cocoleu was at his play again.
"That is the way he is always," declared the lady superior. "Since he is here, no one has ever gotten a word out of him. Promises, threats, nothing has any effect. One day I thought I would try an experiment; and, instead of letting him have his breakfast, I said to him, 'You shall have nothing to eat till you say, "I am hungry."' At the end of twenty-four hours I had to let him have his pittance; for he would have starved himself sooner than utter a word."
"What does Dr. Seignebos think of him?"
"The doctor does not want to hear his name mentioned," replied the lady superior.
And, raising her eyes to heaven, she added,--
"And that is a clear proof, that, but for the direct intervention of Providence, the poor creature would never have denounced the crime which he had witnessed."
Immediately, however, she returned to earthly things, and asked,--
"But will you not relieve us soon of this poor idiot, who is a heavy charge on our hospital? Why not send him back to his village, where he found his support before? We have quite a number of sick and poor, and very little room."
"We must wait, sister, till M. de Boiscoran's trial is finished," replied the magistrate.
The lady superior looked resigned, and said,--
"That is what the mayor told me, and it is very provoking, I must say: however, they have allowed me to turn him out of the room which they had given him at first. I have sent him to the Insane Ward. That is the name we give to a few little rooms, enclosed by a wall, where we keep the poor insane, who are sent to us provisionally."
Here she was interrupted by the janitor of the hospital, who came up, bowing.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Vaudevin, the janitor, handed her a note.
"A man brought by a gendarme," he replied. "Immediately to be admitted."
The lady superior read the note, signed by Dr. Seignebos.
"Epileptic," she said, "and somewhat idiotic: as if we wanted any more! And a stranger into the bargain! Really Dr. Seignebos is too yielding. Why does he not send all these people to their own parish to be taken care of?"
And, with a very elastic step for her age, she went to the parlor, followed by M. Galpin and the janitor. They had put the new patient in there, and, sunk upon a bench, he looked the picture of utter idiocy. After having looked at him for a minute, she said,--
"Put him in the Insane Ward: he can keep Cocoleu company. And let the sister know at the drug-room. But no, I will go myself. You will excuse me, sir."
And then she left the room. M. Galpin was much comforted.
"There is no danger here," he said to himself. "And if M. Folgat counts upon any incident during the trial, Cocoleu, at all events, will not furnish it to him."
XXVII.
At the same hour when the magistrate left the hospital, Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat parted, after a frugal breakfast,--the one to visit his patients, the other to go to the prison. The young advocate was very much troubled. He hung his head as he went down the street; and the diplomatic citizens who compared his dejected appearance with the victorious air of M. Galpin came to the conclusion that Jacques de Boiscoran was irrevocably lost.
At that moment M. Folgat was almost of their opinion. He had to pass through one of those attacks of discouragement, to which the most energetic men succumb at times, when they are bent upon pursuing an uncertain end which they ardently desire.
The declarations made by little Martha and the governess had literally overwhelmed him. Just when he thought he had the end of the thread in his hand, the tangle had become worse than ever. And so it had been from the commencement. At every step he took, the problem had become more complicated than ever. At every effort he made, the darkness, instead of being dispelled, had become deeper. Not that he as yet doubted Jacques's innocence. No! The suspicion which for a moment had flashed through his mind had passed away instantly. He admitted, with Dr. Seignebos, the possibility that there was an accomplice, and that it was Cocoleu, in all probability, who had been charged with the execution of the crime. But how could that fact be made useful to the defence? He saw no way.
Goudar was an able man; and the manner in which he had introduced himself into the hospital and Cocoleu's company indicated a master. But however cunning he was, however experienced in all the tricks of his profession, how could he ever hope to make a man confess who intrenched himself behind the rampart of feigned imbecility? If he had only had an abundance of time before him! But the days were counted, and he would have to hurry his measures.
"I feel like giving it up," thought the young lawyer.
In the meantime he had reached the prison. He felt the necessity of concealing his anxiety. While Blangin went before him through the long passages, rattling his keys, he endeavored to give to his features an expression of hopeful confidence.
"At last you come!" cried Jacques.
He had evidently suffered terribly since the day before. A feverish restlessness had disordered his features, and reddened his eyes. He was shaking with nervous tremor. Still he waited till the jailer had shut the door; and then he asked hoarsely,--
"What did she say?"
M. Folgat gave him a minute account of his mission, quoting the words of the countess almost literally.
"That is just like her!" exclaimed the prisoner. "I think I can hear her! What a woman! To defy me in this way!"
And in his anger he wrung his hands till they nearly bled.
"You see," said the young advocate, "there is no use in trying to get outside of our circle of defence. Any new effort would be useless."
"No!" replied Jacques. "No, I shall not stop there!"
And after a few moments' reflection,--if he can be said to have been able to reflect,--he said,--
"I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for having exposed you to such insults. I ought to have foreseen it, or, rather, I did foresee it. I knew that was not the way to begin the battle. But I was a coward, I was afraid, I drew back, fool that I was! As if I had not known that we shall at any rate have to come to the last extremity! Well, I am ready now, and I shall do it!"
"What do you mean to do?"
"I shall go and see the Countess Claudieuse. I shall tell her"--
"Oh!"
"You do not think she will deny it to my face? When I once have her under my eye, I shall make her confess the crime of which I am accused."
M. Folgat had promised Dr. Seignebos not to mention what Martha and her governess had said; but he felt no longer bound to conceal it.
"And if the countess should not be guilty?" he asked.
"Who, then, could be guilty?"
"If she had an accomplice?"
"Well, she will tell me who it is. I will insist upon it, I will make her tell. I will not be disgraced. I am innocent, I will not go to the galleys!"
To try and make Jacques listen to reason would have been madness just now.
"Have a care," said the young lawyer. "Our defence is difficult enough already; do not make it still more so."
"I shall be careful."
"A scene might ruin us irrevocably."
"Be not afraid!"
M. Folgat said nothing more. He thought he could guess by what means Jacques would try to get out of prison. But he did not ask him about the details, because his position as his counsel made it his duty not to know, or, at least, to seem not to know, certain things.
"Now, my dear sir," said the prisoner, "you will render me a service, will you not?"
"What is it?"
"I want to know as accurately as possible how the house in which the countess lives is arranged."
Without saying a word, M. Folgat took out a sheet of paper, and drew on it a plan of the house, as far as he knew,--of the garden, the entrance-hall, and the sitting-room.
"And the count's room," asked Jacques, "where is that?"
"In the upper story."
"You are sure he cannot get up?"
"Dr. Seignebos told me so."
The prisoner seemed to be delighted.
"Then all is right," he said, "and I have only to ask you, my dear counsel, to tell Miss Dionysia that I must see her to-day, as soon as possible. I wish her to come accompanied by one of her aunts only. And, I beseech you, make haste."
M. Folgat did hasten; so that, twenty minutes later, he was at the young lady's house. She was in her chamber. He sent word to her that he wished to see her; and, as soon as she heard that Jacques wanted her, she said simply,--
"I am ready to go."
And, calling one of the Misses Lavarande, she told her,--
"Come, Aunt Elizabeth, be quick. Take your hat and your shawl. I am going out, and you are going with me."
The prisoner counted so fully upon the promptness of his betrothed, that he had already gone down into the parlor when she arrived at the prison, quite out of breath from having walked so fast. He took her hands, and, pressing them to his lips, he said,--
"Oh, my darling! how shall I ever thank you for your sublime fidelity in my misfortune? If I escape, my whole life will not suffice to prove my gratitude."
But he tried to master his emotion, and turning to Aunt Elizabeth, he said,--
"Will you pardon me if I beg you to render me once more the service you have done me before? It is all important that no one should hear what I am going to say to Dionysia. I know I am watched."
Accustomed to passive obedience, the good lady left the room without daring to make the slightest remark, and went to keep watch in the passage. Dionysia was very much surprised; but Jacques did not give her time to utter a word. He said at once,--
"You told me in this very place, that, if I wished to escape, Blangin would furnish me the means, did you not?"
The young girl drew back, and stammered with an air of utter bewilderment,--
"You do not want to flee?"
"Never! Under no circumstances! But you ought to remember, that, while resisting all your arguments, I told you, that perhaps, some day or other, I might require a few hours of liberty."
"I remember."
"I begged you to sound the jailer on that point."
"I did so. For money he will always be ready to do your bidding."
Jacques seemed to breathe more freely.
"Well, then," he said again, "the time has come. To-morrow I shall have to be away all the evening. I shall like to leave about nine; and I shall be back at midnight."
Dionysia stopped him.
"Wait," she said; "I want to call Blangin's wife."
The household of the jailer of Sauveterre was like many others. The husband was brutal, imperious, and tyrannical: he talked loud and positively, and thus made it appear that he was the master. The wife was humble, submissive, apparently resigned, and always ready to obey; but in reality she ruled by intelligence, as he ruled by main force. When the husband had promised any thing, the consent of the wife had still to be obtained; but, when the wife undertook to do any thing, the husband was bound through her. Dionysia, therefore, knew very well that she would have first to win over the wife. Mrs. Blangin came up in haste, her mouth full of hypocritical assurances of good will, vowing that she was heart and soul at her dear mistress's command, recalling with delight the happy days when she was in M. de Chandore's service, and regretting forevermore.
"I know," the young girl cut her short, "you are attached to me. But listen!"
And then she promptly explained to her what she wanted; while Jacques, standing a little aside in the shade, watched the impression on the woman's face. Gradually she raised her head; and, when Dionysia had finished, she said in a very different tone,--
"I understand perfectly, and, if I were the master, I should say, 'All right!' But Blangin is master of the jail. Well, he is not bad; but he insists upon doing his duty. We have nothing but our place to live upon."
"Have I not paid you as much as your place is worth?"
"Oh, I know you do not mind paying."
"You had promised me to speak to your husband about this matter."
"I have done so; but"--
"I would give as much as I did before."
"In gold?"
"Well, be it so, in gold."
A flash of covetousness broke forth from under the thick brows of the jailer's wife; but, quite self-possessed, she went on,--
"In that case, my man will probably consent. I will go and put him right, and then you can talk to him."
She went out hastily, and, as soon as she had disappeared, Jacques asked Dionysia,--
"How much have you paid Blangin so far?"
"Seventeen thousand francs."
"These people are robbing you outrageously."
"Ah, what does the money matter? I wish we were both of us ruined, if you were but free."
But it had not taken the wife long to persuade the husband. Blangin's heavy steps were heard in the passage; and almost immediately, he entered, cap in hand, looking obsequious and restless.
"My wife has told me every thing," he said, "and I consent. Only we must understand each other. This is no trifle you are asking for."
Jacques interrupted him, and said,--
"Let us not exaggerate the matter. I do not mean to escape: I only want to leave for a time. I shall come back, I give you my word of honor."
"Upon my life, that is not what troubles me. If the question was only to let you run off altogether, I should open the doors wide, and say, 'Good-by!' A prisoner who runs away--that happens every day; but a prisoner who leaves for a few hours, and comes back again--Suppose anybody were to see you in town? Or if any one came and wanted to see you while you are gone? Or if they saw you come back again? What should I say? I am quite ready to be turned off for negligence. I have been paid for that. But to be tried as an accomplice, and to be put into jail myself. Stop! That is not what I mean to do."
This was evidently but a preface.
"Oh! why lose so many words?" asked Dionysia. "Explain yourself clearly."
"Well, M. de Boiscoran cannot leave by the gate. At tattoo, at eight o'clock, the soldiers on guard at this season of the year go inside the prison, and until _reveille_ in the morning, or, in others words, till five o'clock, I can neither open nor shut the gates without calling the sergeant in command of the post."
"Did he want to extort more money? Did he make the difficulties out greater than they really were?"
"After all," said Jacques, "if you consent, there must be a way."
The jailer could dissemble no longer: he came out with it bluntly.