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

“That is none of your business! That is nobody’s business!” and he had remained alone, quite overcome by his adventure, and dreaming of the means to make good his promise without ruining himself. That was no easy matter.

When the decisive moment arrived, he discovered that he would never be able to get the note into M. de Boiscoran’s hands, without being caught by that lynx-eyed M. Galpin: as the letter was burning in his pocket, he saw himself compelled, after long hesitation, to appeal for help to the man who waited on Jacques,—to Trumence, in fine. The latter was, after all, a good enough fellow; his only besetting sin being unconquerable laziness, and his only crime in the eyes of the law perpetual vagrancy. He was attached to Mechinet, who upon former occasions, when he was in jail, had given him some tobacco, or a little money to buy a glass of wine. He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to give a letter to M. de Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer. He acquitted himself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission. But, because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinet felt quite at peace. Besides being tormented by the thought that he had betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of an accomplice. How easily might he not be betrayed! A slight indiscretion, an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it. What would become of him then?

He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one. He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitious dreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage. And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he had done, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state of mind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia’s letter.

“What, again?” he exclaimed.

And when he had read the few lines, he replied,—

“Tell your mistress I will be there!” But in his heart he thought some untoward event must have happened.

The little garden-gate was half-open: he had only to push it to enter. There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance from him, under the trees, he recognized Dionysia, and went towards her.

“Pardon me, sir,” she said, “for having dared to send for you.”

Mechinet’s anxiety vanished instantly. He thought no longer of his strange position. His vanity was flattered by the confidence which this young lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the most beautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country.

“You were quite right to send for me, madam,” he replied, “if I can be of any service to you.”

In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, he replied,—

“I am entirely of M. Folgat’s opinion, and think that grief and isolation begin to have their effect upon M. de Boiscoran’s mind.”

“Oh, that thought is maddening!” murmured the poor girl.

“I think, as M. Magloire does, that M. de Boiscoran, by his silence, only makes his situation much worse. I have a proof of that. M. Galpin, who, at first, was all doubt and anxiety, is now quite reassured. The attorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments his energy.”

“And then.”

“Then we must induce M. de Boiscoran to speak. I know very well that he is firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, since you can write to him”—

“A letter would be useless.”

“But”—

“Useless, I tell you. But I know a means.”

“You must use it promptly, madam: don’t lose a moment. There is no time.”

The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how very pale Dionysia was.

“Well, then, I must see M. de Boiscoran: I must speak to him.”

She expected the clerk to start, to cry out, to protest. Far from it: he said in the quietest tone,—

“To be sure; but how?”

“Blangin the keeper, and his wife, keep their places only because they give them a support. Why might I not offer them, in return for an interview with M. de Boiscoran, the means to go and live in the country?”

“Why not?” said the clerk.

And in a lower voice, replying to the voice of his conscience, he went on,—

“The jail in Sauveterre is not at all like the police-stations and prisons of larger towns. The prisoners are few in number; they are hardly guarded. When the doors are shut, Blangin is master within.”

“I will go and see him to-morrow,” declared Dionysia.

There are certain slopes on which you must glide down. Having once yielded to Dionysia’s suggestions, Mechinet had, unconsciously, bound himself to her forever.

“No: do not go there, madam,” he said. “You could not make Blangin believe that he runs no danger; nor could you sufficiently arouse his cupidity. I will speak to him myself.”

“O sir!” exclaimed Dionysia, “how can I ever?”—

“How much may I offer him?” asked the clerk.

“Whatever you think proper—any thing.”

“Then, madam, I will bring you an answer to-morrow, here, and at the same hour.”

And he went away, leaving Dionysia so buoyed up by hope, that all the evening, and the next day, the two aunts and the marchioness, neither of whom was in the secret, asked each other incessantly,—

“What is the matter with the child?”

She was thinking, that, if the answer was favorable, ere twenty-four hours had gone by, she would see Jacques; and she kept saying to herself,—

“If only Mechinet is punctual!”

He was so. At ten o’clock precisely, he pushed open the little gate, just as the night before, and said at once,—

“It is all right!”

Dionysia was so terribly excited, that she had to lean against a tree.

“Blangin agrees,” the clerk went on. “I promised him sixteen thousand francs. Perhaps that is rather much?”

“It is very little.”

“He insists upon having them in gold.”

“He shall have it.”

“Finally, he makes certain conditions with regard to the interview, which will appear rather hard to you.”

The young girl had quite recovered by this time.

“What are they?”