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

“Take care not to do so,” he said. “The good people of Sauveterre are too cunning not to know that just now you are not thinking much of dress; and your calls here would look suspicious. Leave it to me to see to it that you get M. de Boiscoran’s answer.”

While Dionysia was writing, the clerk had made a parcel of the bonds which she had brought. He handed it to her, and said,—

“Take it, madam. If I want money for Blangin, or for Trumence, I will ask you for it. And now you must go: you need not go in to my sisters. I will explain your visit to them.”

VIII.

“What can have happened to Dionysia, that she does not come back?” murmured Grandpapa Chandore, as he walked up and down the Square, and looked, for the twentieth time, at his watch. For some time the fear of displeasing his grandchild, and of receiving a scolding, kept him at the place where she had told him to wait for her; but at last it was too much for him, and he said,—

“Upon my word, this is too much! I’ll risk it.”

And, crossing the road which separates the Square from the houses, he entered the long, narrow passage in the house of the sisters Mechinet. He was just putting his foot on the first step of the stairs, when he saw a light above. He distinguished the voice of his granddaughter, and then her light step.

“At last!” he thought.

And swiftly, like a schoolboy who hears his teacher coming, and fears to be caught in the act, he slipped back into the Square. Dionysia was there almost at the same moment, and fell on his neck, saying,—

“Dear grandpapa, I bring you back your bonds,” and then she rained a shower of kisses upon the old gentleman’s furrowed cheeks.

If any thing could astonish M. de Chandore, it was the idea that there should exist in this world a man with a heart hard, cruel, and barbarous enough, to resist his Dionysia’s prayers and tears, especially if they were backed by twenty thousand francs. Nevertheless, he said mournfully,—

“Ah! I told you, my dear child, you would not succeed.”

“And you were mistaken, dear grandpapa, and you are still mistaken; for I have succeeded!”

“But—you bring back the money?”

“Because I have found an honest man, dearest grandpapa,—a most honorable man. Poor fellow, how I must have tempted his honesty! For he is very much embarrassed, I know it from good authority, ever since he and his sisters bought that house. It was more than comfort, it was a real fortune, I offered him. Ah! you ought to have seen how his eyes brightened up, and how his hands trembled, when he took up the bonds! Well, he refused to take them, after all; and the only reward he asks for the very good service which he is going to render us”—

M. de Chandore expressed his assent by a gesture, and then said,—

“You are right, darling: that clerk is a good man, and he has won our eternal gratitude.”

“I ought to add,” continued Dionysia, “that I was ever so brave. I should never have thought that I could be so bold. I wish you had been hid in some corner, grandpapa, to see me and hear me. You would not have recognized your grandchild. I cried a little, it is true, when I had carried my point.”

“Oh, dear, dear child!” murmured the old gentleman, deeply moved.

“You see, grandpapa, I thought of nothing but of Jacques’s danger, and of the glory of proving myself worthy of him, who is so brave himself. I hope he will be satisfied with me.”

“He would be hard to please, indeed, if he were not!” exclaimed M. de Chandore.

The grandfather and his child were standing all the while under the trees in the great Square while they were thus talking to each other; and already a number of people had taken the opportunity of passing close by them, with ears wide open, and all eagerness, to find out what was going on: it is a way people have in small towns. Dionysia remembered the clerk’s kindly warnings; and, as soon as she became aware of it, she said to her grandfather,—

“Come, grandpapa. People are listening. I will tell you the rest as we are going home.”

And so, on their way, she told him all the little details of her interview; and the old gentleman declared, in all earnest, that he did not know which to admire most,—her presence of mind, or Mechinet’s disinterestedness.

“All the more reason,” said the young girl, “why we should not add to the dangers which the good man is going to run for us. I promised him to tell nobody, and I mean to keep my promise. If you believe me, dear grandpapa, we had better not speak of it to anybody, not even to my aunts.”

“You might just as well declare at once, little scamp, that you want to save Jacques quite alone, without anybody’s help.”

“Ah, if I could do that! Unfortunately, we must take M. Folgat into our confidence; for we cannot do without his advice.”

Thus it was done. The poor aunts, and even the marchioness, had to be content with Dionysia’s not very plausible explanation of her visit. And a few hours afterwards M. de Chandore, the young girl, and M. Folgat held a council in the baron’s study. The young lawyer was even more surprised by Dionysia’s idea, and her bold proceedings, then her grandfather; he would never have imagined that she was capable of such a step, she looked so timid and innocent, like a mere child. He was about to compliment her; but she interrupted him eagerly, saying,—

“There is nothing to boast of. I ran no risk.”

“A very substantial risk, madam, I assure you.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed M. de Chandore.

“To bribe an official,” continued M. Folgat, “is a very grave offence. The Criminal Code has a certain paragraph, No. 179, which does not trifle, and punishes the man who bribes, as well as the man who is bribed.”

“Well, so much the better!” cried Dionysia. “If poor M. Mechinet has to go to prison, I’ll go with him!”

And, without noticing the dissatisfaction expressed in her grandfather’s features, she added, turning to M. Folgat,—

“After all, sir, you see that your wishes have been fulfilled. We shall be able to communicate with M. de Boiscoran: he will give us his instructions.”

“Perhaps so, madam.”

“How? Perhaps? You said yourself”—

“I told you, madam, it would be useless, perhaps even imprudent, to take any steps before we know the truth. But will we know it? Do you think that M. de Boiscoran, who has good reasons for being