Within an Inch of His Life by Emile Gaboriau (good summer reads .TXT) 📖

been able to accomplish it alone. The thickness was even less than what Blangin had stated it to be; but the hardness was far beyond expectation. Our fathers built well. In course of time the cement had become one with the stone, and acquired the same hardness. It was as if they had attacked a block of granite. The vagrant had, fortunately, a strong arm; and, in spite of the precautions which they had to take to prevent being heard, he had, in less than an hour, made a hole through which a man could pass. He put his head in; and, after a moment’s examination, he said,—

“All right! The night is dark, and the place is deserted. Upon my word, I will risk it!”

He went through; Jacques followed; and instinctively they hastened towards a place where several trees made a dark shadow. Once there, Jacques handed Trumence a package of five-franc notes, and said,—

“Add this to the hundred Napoleons I have given you before. Thank you: you are a good fellow, and, if I get out of my trouble, I will not forget you. And now let us part. Make haste, be careful, and good luck!”

After these words he went off rapidly. But Trumence did not march off in the opposite direction, as had been agreed upon.

“Anyhow,” said the poor vagrant to himself, “this is a curious story about the poor gentleman. Where on earth can he be going?”

And, curiosity getting the better of prudence, he followed him.

XXVIII.

Jacques de Boiscoran went straight to Mautrec Street. But he knew with what horror he was looked upon by the population; and in order to avoid being recognized, and perhaps arrested, he did not take the most direct route, nor did he choose the more frequented streets. He went a long way around, and well-nigh lost himself in the winding, dark lanes of the old town. He walked along in Feverish haste, turning aside from the rare passers-by, pulling his felt hat down over his eyes, and, for still greater safety, holding his handkerchief over his face. It was nearly half-past nine when he at last reached the house inhabited by Count and Countess Claudieuse. The little gate had been taken out, and the great doors were closed.

Never mind! Jacques had his plan. He rang the bell.

A maid, who did not know him, came to the door.

“Is the Countess Claudieuse in?” he asked.

“The countess does not see anybody,” replied the girl. “She is sitting up with the count, who is very ill to-night.”

“But I must see her.”

“Impossible.”

“Tell her that a gentleman who has been sent by M. Galpin desires to see her for a moment. It is the Boiscoran affair.”

“Why did you not say so at once?” said the servant. “Come in.” And forgetting, in her hurry, to close the gates again, she went before Jacques through the garden, showed him into the vestibule, and then opened the parlor-door, saying,—

“Will you please go in here and sit down, while I go to tell the countess?”

After lighting one of the candles on the mantelpiece, she went out. So far, every thing had gone well for Jacques, and even better than he could have expected. Nothing remained now to be done, except to prevent the countess from going back and escaping, as soon as she should have recognized Jacques. Fortunately the parlor-door opened into the room. He went and put himself behind the open half, and waited there.

For twenty-four hours he had prepared himself for this interview, and arranged in his head the very words he would use. But now, at the last moment, all his ideas flew away, like dry leaves under the breath of a tempest. His heart was beating with such violence, that he thought it filled the whole room with the noise. He imagined he was cool, and, in fact, he possessed that lucidity which gives to certain acts of madmen an appearance of sense.

He was surprised at being kept waiting so long, when, at last, light steps, and the rustling of a dress, warned him that the countess was coming.

She came in, dressed in a long, dark, undress robe, and took a few steps into the room, astonished at not seeing the person who was waiting for her.

It was exactly as Jacques had foreseen.

He pushed to, violently, the open half of the door; and, placing himself before her, he said,—

“We are alone!”

She turned round at the noise, and cried,—

“Jacques!”

And terrified, as if she had seen a ghost, she looked all around, hoping to see a way out. One of the tall windows of the room, which went down to the ground, was half open, and she rushed towards it; but Jacques anticipated her, and said,—

“Do not attempt to escape; for I swear I should pursue you into your husband’s room, to the foot of his bed.”

She looked at him as if she did not comprehend.

“You,” she stammered,—“you here!”

“Yes,” he replied, “I am here. You are astonished, are you? You said to yourself, ‘He is in prison, well kept under lock and key: I can sleep in peace. No evidence can be found. He will not speak. I have committed the crime, and he will be punished for it. I am guilty; but I shall escape. He is innocent, and he is lost.’ You thought it was all settled? Well, no, it is not. I am here!”

An expression of unspeakable horror contracted the beautiful features of the countess. She said,—

“This is monstrous!”

“Monstrous indeed!”

“Murderer! Incendiary!”

He burst out laughing, a strident, convulsive, terrible laughter.

“And you,” he said, “you call me so?”

By one great effort the Countess Claudieuse recovered her energy.

“Yes,” she replied, “yes, I do! You cannot deny your crime to me. I know, I know the motives which the judges do not even guess. You thought I would carry out my threats, and you were frightened. When I left you in such haste, you said to yourself, ‘It is all over: she will tell her husband.’ And then you kindled that fire in order to draw my husband out of the house, you incendiary! And then you fired at my husband, you murderer!”

He was still laughing.

“And that is your plan?” he broke in. “Who do you think will believe such an absurd story? Our letters were burnt; and, if you deny having been my mistress, I can just as well deny having been your lover. And, besides, would the exposure do me any harm? You know very well it would not. You