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

I love upon earth is at the galleys, mixed up with the lowest of criminals, disgraced for life, dishonored.’ Ah! death is a thousand times preferable.”

“Jacques, M. de Boiscoran, do you forget that you have given me your word of honor?”

“The proof that I have not forgotten it is that you see me here. But, never mind, the day is not very far off when you will see me so wretched that you yourself will be the first to put a weapon into my hands.”

But the young advocate was one of those men whom difficulties only excite and stimulate, instead of discouraging. He had already recovered somewhat from the first great shock, and he said,—

“Before you throw down your hand, wait, at least, till the game is lost. You are not sentenced yet. Far from it! You are innocent, and there is divine justice. Who tells us that Count Claudieuse will really give evidence? We do not even know whether he has not, at this moment, drawn his last breath upon earth!”

Jacques leaped up as if in a spasm, and turning deadly pale, exclaimed,—

“Ah, don’t say that! That fatal thought has already occurred to me, that perhaps he did not rise again last night. Would to God that that be not so! for then I should but too surely be an assassin. He was my first thought when I awoke. I thought of sending out to make inquiries. But I did not dare do it.”

M. Folgat felt his heart oppressed with most painful anxiety, like the prisoner himself. Hence he said at once,—

“We cannot remain in this uncertainty. We can do nothing as long as the count’s fate is unknown to us; for on his fate depends ours. Allow me to leave you now. I will let you know as soon as I hear any thing positive. And, above all, keep up your courage, whatever may happen.”

The young advocate was sure of finding reliable information at Dr. Seignebos’s house. He hastened there; and, as soon as he entered, the physician cried,—

“Ah, there you are coming at last! I give up twenty of my worst patients to see you, and you keep me waiting forever. I was sure you would come. What happened last night at Count Claudieuse’s house?”

“Then you know”—

“I know nothing. I have seen the results; but I do not know the cause. The result was this: last night, about eleven o’clock, I had just gone to bed, tired to death, when, all of a sudden, somebody rings my bell as if he were determined to break it. I do not like people to perform so violently at my door; and I was getting up to let the man know my mind, when Count Claudieuse’s servant rushed in, pushing my own servant unceremoniously aside, and cried out to me to come instantly, as his master had just died.”

“Great God!”

“That is what I said, because, although I knew the count was very ill, I did not think he was so near death.”

“Then, he is really dead?”

“Not at all. But, if you interrupt me continually, I shall never be able to tell you.”

And taking off his spectacles, wiping them, and putting them on again, he went on,—

“I was dressed in an instant, and in a few minutes I was at the house. They asked me to go into the sitting-room down stairs. There I found, to my great amazement, Count Claudieuse, lying on a sofa. He was pale and stiff, his features fearfully distorted, and on his forehead a slight wound, from which a slender thread of blood was trickling down. Upon my word I thought it was all over.”

“And the countess?”

“The countess was kneeling by her husband; and, with the help of her women, she was trying to resuscitate him by rubbing him, and putting hot napkins on his chest. But for these wise precautions she would be a widow at this moment; whilst, as it is, he may live a long time yet. This precious count has a wonderful tenacity of life. We, four of us, then took him and carried him up stairs, and put him to bed, after having carefully warmed it first. He soon began to move; he opened his eyes; and a quarter of an hour later he had recovered his consciousness, and spoke readily, though with a somewhat feeble voice. Then, of course, I asked what had happened, and for the first time in my life I saw the marvellous self-possession of the countess forsake her. She stammered pitifully, looking at her husband with a most frightened air, as if she wished to read in his eyes what she should say. He undertook to answer me; but he, also was evidently very much embarrassed. He said, that being left alone, and feeling better than usual, he had taken it into his head to try his strength. He had risen, put on his dressing-gown, and gone down stairs; but, in the act of entering the room, he had become dizzy, and had fallen so unfortunately as to hurt his forehead against the sharp corner of a table. I affected to believe it, and said, ‘You have done a very imprudent thing, and you must not do it again.’ Then he looked at his wife in a very singular way, and replied, ‘Oh! you can be sure I shall not commit another imprudence. I want too much to get well. I have never wished it so much as now.’”

M. Folgat was on the point of replying; but the doctor closed his lips with his hand, and said,—

“Wait, I have not done yet.”

And, manipulating his spectacles most assiduously, he added,—

“I was just going home, when suddenly a chambermaid came in with a frightened air to tell the countess that her older daughter, little Martha, whom you know, had just been seized with terrible convulsions. Of course I went to see her, and found her suffering from a truly fearful nervous attack. It was only with great difficulty I could quiet her; and when I thought she had recovered, suspecting that there might be some connection between her attack and the accident that had befallen her father, I said in the most paternal tone I could assume, ‘Now my child, you must tell me what was the matter.’ She hesitated a while, and then she said, ‘I was frightened.’—‘Frightened at what, my darling?’ She raised herself on her bed, trying to consult her mother’s eyes; but I had placed myself between them, so that she could not see them. When I repeated my question, she said, ‘Well, you see, I had just gone to bed, when I heard the bell ring. I got up, and went to the window to see who could be coming so late. I saw the servant go and open the door, a candlestick in her hand, and come back to the house, followed by a gentleman, whom I did not know.’ The countess interrupted her here, saying, ‘It was a messenger from the court, who had been sent to me with an urgent letter.’ But I pretended not to hear her; and, turning still to Martha, I asked again, ‘And it was this gentleman who frightened you so?’—‘Oh, no!’—‘What then?’ Out of the corner of my eye I was watching the countess. She seemed to be terribly embarrassed. Still she did not dare to stop her