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

Ashamed at their lack of courage, M. de Chandore and the marchioness made an effort to recover from the doubts which, for a moment, had well-nigh overcome them.

“But what is to be done?” asked the old lady.

“Your son tells us, madam, we have only to wait for the end of the preliminary examination.”

“I beg your pardon,” said M. de Chandore, “we have to try to get the case handed over to another magistrate.”

M. Folgat shook his head.

“Unfortunately, that is not to be dreamt of. A magistrate acting in his official capacity cannot be rejected like a simple juryman.”

“However”—

“Article 542 of the Criminal Code is positive on the subject.”

“Ah! What does it say?” asked Dionysia.

“It says, in substance, madam, that a demand for a change of magistrate, on the score of well-founded suspicion, can only be entertained by a court of appeals, because the magistrate, within his legitimate sphere, is a court in himself. I do not know if I express myself clearly?”

“Oh, very clearly!” said M. de Chandore. “Only, since Jacques wishes it”—

“To be sure; but M. de Boiscoran does not know”—

“I beg your pardon. He knows that the magistrate is his mortal enemy.”

“Be it so. But how would that help us? Do you think that a demand for a change of venue would prevent M. Galpin from carrying on the proceedings? Not at all. He would go on until the decision comes from the Court of Appeals. He could, it is true, issue no final order; but that is the very thing M. de Boiscoran ought to desire, since such an order would make an end to his close confinement, and enable him to see an advocate.”

“That is atrocious!” murmured M. de Chandore.

“It is atrocious, indeed; but such are the laws of France.”

In the meantime Dionysia had been meditating; and now she said to the young advocate,—

“I have understood you perfectly, and to-morrow your objections shall be known to M. de Boiscoran.”

“Above all,” said the lawyer, “explain to him clearly that any such steps as he proposes to take will turn to his disadvantage. M. Galpin is our enemy; but we can make no specific charge against him. They would always reply, ‘If M. de Boiscoran is innocent, why does he not speak?’”

This is what Grandpapa Chandore would not admit.

“Still,” he said, “if we could bring influential men to help us?”

“Can you?”

“Certainly. Boiscoran has old friends, who, no doubt, are all-powerful still under the present government. He was, in former years, very intimate with M. de Margeril.”

M. Folgat’s expression was very encouraging.

“Ah!” he said, “if M. de Margeril could give us a lift! But he is not easily approached.”

“We might send Boiscoran to see him, at least. Since he remained in Paris for the purpose of assisting us there, now he will have an opportunity. I will write to him to-night.”

Since the name of Margeril had been mentioned, the marchioness had become, if possible, paler than ever. At the old gentleman’s last words she rose, and said anxiously,—

“Do not write, sir: it would be useless. I do not wish it.”

Her embarrassment was so evident, that the others were quite surprised.

“Have Boiscoran and M. de Margeril had any difficulty?” asked M. de Chandore.

“Yes.”

“But,” cried Dionysia, “it is a matter of life and death for Jacques.”

Alas! The poor woman could not speak of the suspicions which had darkened the whole life of the Marquis de Boiscoran, nor of the cruel penalty which the wife was now called upon to pay for a slight imprudence.

“If it is absolutely necessary,” she said with a half-stifled voice, “if that is our very last hope, then I will go and see M. de Margeril myself.”

M. Folgat was the only one who suspected what painful antecedents there might be in the life of the marchioness, and how she was harassed by their memory now. He interposed, therefore, saying,—

“At all events, my advice is to await the end of the preliminary investigation. I may be mistaken, however, and, before any answer is sent to M. Jacques, I desire that the lawyer to whom he alludes should be consulted.”

“That is certainly the wisest plan,” said M. de Chandore. And, ringing for a servant, he sent him at once to M. Magloire, to ask him to call after dinner. Jacques de Boiscoran had chosen wisely. M. Magloire was looked upon in Sauveterre as the most eloquent and most skilful lawyer, not only of the district, but of the whole province. And what is rarer still, and far more glorious, he had, besides, the reputation of being unsurpassed in integrity and a high sense of honor. It was well known that he would never have consented to plead a doubtful cause; and they told of him a number of heroic stories, in which he had thrown clients out of the window, who had been so ill-advised to come to him, money in hand, to ask him to undertake an unclean case. He was naturally not a rich man, and preserved, at fifty-four or five, all the habits of a frugal and thrifty young man.

After having married quite young, M. Magloire had lost his wife after a few months, and had never recovered from the loss. Although thirty years old, the wound had never healed; and regularly, on certain days, he was seen wending his way to the cemetery, to place flowers on a modest grave there. Any other man would have been laughed at for such a thing at Sauveterre; but with him they dared not do so, for they all respected him highly. Young and old knew and reverenced the tall man with the calm, serene face, the clear, bright eyes, and the eloquent lips, which, in their well-cut, delicate lines, by turns glowed with scorn, with tenderness, or with disdain.

Like Dr. Seignebos, M. Magloire also was a Republican; and, at the last Imperial elections, the Bonapartists had had the greatest trouble, aided though they were by the whole influence of the government, and shrinking from no unfair means, to keep him out of the Chamber. Nor would they have been successful after all, but for the influence of Count Claudieuse, who had prevailed upon a number of electors to abstain from voting.

This was the man, who, towards nine o’clock, presented himself, upon the invitation of M. de Chandore, at his house, where he was anxiously expected by all the inmates. His greeting was affectionate, but at the same time so sad, that it touched Dionysia’s heart most painfully. She thought she saw that M. Magloire was not far from believing Jacques guilty.

And she was not mistaken; for