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

had once owned some of them themselves. Their burning desire to know was thus combined with vague terror; and, when they got back to their room, the younger asked,—

“Did you see?”

“Yes, those bonds,” replied the other.

“There must have been five or six hundred.”

“Even more, perhaps.”

“That is to say, a very big sum of money.”

“An enormous one.”

“What can that mean, Holy Virgin! And what have we to expect?”

“And brother asking us to keep his secret!”

“He looked as pale as his shirt, and terribly distressed.”

“Miss Dionysia was crying like a Magdalen.”

It was so. Dionysia, as long as she had been uncertain of the result, had felt in her heart that Jacques’s safety depended on her courage and her presence of mind. But now, assured of success, she could no longer control her excitement; and, overcome by the effort, she had sunk down on a chair and burst out into tears.

The clerk shut the door, and looked at her for some time; then, having overcome his own emotions, he said to her,—

“Madame.”

But, as she heard his voice, she jumped up, and taking his hands into hers, she broke out,—

“O sir! How can I thank you! How can I ever make you aware of the depth of my gratitude!”

“Don’t speak of that,” he said almost rudely, trying to conceal his deep feeling.

“I will say nothing more,” she replied very gently; “but I must tell you that none of us will ever forget the debt of gratitude which we owe you from this day. You say the great service which you are about to render us is not free from danger. Whatever may happen, you must remember, that, from this moment, you have in us devoted friends.”

The interruption caused by his sisters had had the good effect of restoring to Mechinet a good portion of his habitual self-possession. He said,—

“I hope no harm will come of it; and yet I cannot conceal from you, madam, that the service which I am going to try to render you presents more difficulties than I thought.”

“Great God!” murmured Dionysia.

“M. Galpin,” the clerk went on saying, “is, perhaps, not exactly a superior man; but he understands his profession; he is cunning, and exceedingly suspicious. Only yesterday he told me that he knew the Boiscoran family would try every thing in the world to save M. de Boiscoran from justice. Hence he is all the time on the watch, and takes all kinds of precautions. If he dared to it, he would have his bed put across his cell in the prison.”

“That man hates me, M. Mechinet!”

“Oh, no, madam! But he is ambitious: he thinks his success in his profession depends upon his success in this case; and he is afraid the accused might escape or be carried off.”

Mechinet was evidently in great perplexity, and scratched his ear. Then he added,—

“How am I to go about to let M. de Boiscoran have your note? If he knew beforehand, it would be easy. But he is unprepared. And then he is just as suspicious as M. Galpin. He is always afraid lest they prepare him a trap; and he is on the lookout. If I make him a sign, I fear he will not understand me; and, if I make him a sign, will not M. Galpin see it? That man is lynx-eyed.”

“Are you never alone with M. de Boiscoran?”

“Never for an instant, madam. I only go in with the magistrate, and I come out with him. You will say, perhaps, that in leaving, as I am behind, I might drop the note cleverly. But, when we leave, the jailer is there, and he has good eyes. I should have to dread, besides, M. de Boiscoran’s own suspicions. If he saw a letter coming to him in that way, from me, he is quite capable of handing it at once to M. Galpin.”

He paused, and after a moment’s meditation he went on,—

“The safest way would probably be to win the confidence of M. Blangin, the keeper of the jail, or of some prisoner, whose duty it is to wait on M. de Boiscoran, and to watch him.”

“Trumence!” exclaimed Dionysia.

The clerk’s face expressed the most startled surprise. He said,—

“What! You know his name?”

“Yes, I do; for Blangin mentioned him to me; and the name struck me the day when M. de Boiscoran’s mother and I went to the jail, not knowing what was meant by ‘close confinement.’”

The clerk was disappointed.

“Ah!” he said, “now I understand M. Galpin’s great trouble. He has, no doubt, heard of your visit, and imagined that you wanted to rob him of his prisoner.”

He murmured some words, which Dionysia could not hear; and then, coming to some decision, apparently, he said,—

“Well, never mind! I’ll see what can be done. Write your letter, madam: here are pens and ink.”

The young girl made no reply, but sat down at Mechinet’s table; but, at the moment when she was putting pen to paper she asked,—

“Has M. de Boiscoran any books in his prison?”

“Yes, madam. At his request M. Galpin himself went and selected, in M. Daubigeon’s library, some books of travels and some of Cooper’s novels for him.”

Dionysia uttered a cry of delight.

“O Jacques!” she said, “how glad I am you counted upon me!” and, without noticing how utterly Mechinet seemed to be surprised, she wrote,—

“We are sure of your innocence, Jacques, and still we are in despair. Your mother is here, with a Paris lawyer, a M. Folgat, who is devoted to your interests. What must we do? Give us your instructions. You can reply without fear, as you have our book.

“DIONYSIA.”

“Read this,” she said to the clerk, when she had finished. But he did not avail himself of the permission. He folded the paper, and slipped it into an envelope, which he sealed.

“Oh, you are very kind!” said the young girl, touched by his delicacy.

“Not at all, madam. I only try to do a dishonest thing in the most honest way. To-morrow, madam, you shall have your answer.”

“I will call for it.”

Mechinet trembled.