File No. 113 by Emile Gaboriau (ebook reader browser TXT) 📖

Then the marquis took from his neck a black ribbon, to which was suspended the key of the casket.

His sons observed with what deep emotion he unlocked it, and slowly took out a necklace, a large cross, several rings, and other pieces of jewelry.

His countenance assumed a solemn expression.

“Gaston, my dear son,” he said, “at a time like this your life may depend upon bought assistance; money is power.”

“I am young, father, and have courage.”

“Listen to me. The jewels belonged to the marquise, your sainted mother, a noble, holy woman, who is now in heaven watching over us. These jewels have never left me. During my days of misery and want, when I was compelled to earn a livelihood by teaching music in London, I piously treasured them. I never thought of selling them; and to mortgage them, in the hour of direst need, would have seemed to be a sacrilege. But now you must take them, my son, and sell them for twenty thousand livres.”

“No, father no; I cannot take them!”

“You must, Gaston. If your mother were on earth, she would tell you to take them, as I do now. I command you to take and use them. The salvation, the honor, of the heir of the house of Clameran, must not be imperilled for want of a little gold.”

With tearful eyes, Gaston sank on his knees, and, carrying his father’s hand to his lips, said:

“Thanks, father, thanks! In my heedless, ungrateful presumption I have hitherto misjudged you. I did not know your noble character. Forgive me. I accept; yes, I accept these jewels worn by my dear mother; but I take them as a sacred deposit, confided to my honor, and for which I will some day account to you.”

In their emotion, the marquis and Gaston forgot the threatened danger. But Louis was not touched by the affecting scene.

“Time presses,” he said: “you had better hasten.”

“He is right,” cried the marquis: “go, Gaston, go, my son; and God protect the heir of the Clamerans!”

Gaston slowly got up and said, with an embarrassed air:

“Before leaving you, my father, I must fulfil a sacred duty. I have not told you everything. I love Valentine, the young girl whose honor I defended this evening.”

“Oh!” cried the marquis, thunderstruck, “oh, oh!”

“And I entreat you, father, to ask Mme. de la Verberie for the hand of her daughter. Valentine will gladly join me abroad, and share my exile.”

Gaston stopped, frightened at the effect of his words. The old marquis had become crimson, or rather purple, as if struck by apoplexy.

“Preposterous!” he gasped. “Impossible! Perfect folly!”

“I love her, father, and have promised her never to marry another.”

“Then always remain a bachelor.”

“I shall marry her!” cried Gaston, excitedly. “I shall marry her because I have sworn I would, and I will not be so base as to desert her.”

“Nonsense!”

“I tell you, Mlle. de la Verberie must and shall be my wife. It is too late for me to draw back. Even if I no longer loved her, I would still marry her, because she has given herself to me; because, can’t you understand—what was said at the cafe to-night was true: I have but one way of repairing the wrong I have done Valentine—by marrying her.”

Gaston’s confession, forced from him by circumstances, produced a very different impression from that which he had expected. The enraged marquis instantly became cool, and his mind seemed relieved of an immense weight. A wicked joy sparkled in his eyes, as he replied:

“Ah, ha! she yielded to your entreaties, did she? Jarnibleu! I am delighted. I congratulate you, Gaston: they say she is a pretty little fool.”

“Monsieur,” interrupted Gaston, indignantly; “I have told you that I love her, and have promised to marry her. You seem to forget.”

“Ta, ta ta!” cried the marquis, “your scruples are absurd. You know full well that her great-grandfather led our great-grandmother astray. Now we are quits! I am delighted at the retaliation, for the old witch’s sake.”

“I swear by the memory of my mother, that Valentine shall be my wife!”

“Do you dare assume that tone toward me?” cried the exasperated marquis. “Never, understand me clearly; never will I give my consent. You know how dear to me is the honor of our house. Well, I would rather see you tried for murder, and even chained to the galleys, than married to this worthless jade!”

This last word was too much for Gaston.

“Then your wish shall be gratified, monsieur. I will remain here, and be arrested. I care not what becomes of me! What is life to me without the hope of Valentine? Take back these jewels: they are useless now.”

A terrible scene would have taken place between the father and son, had they not been interrupted by a domestic who rushed into the room, and excitedly cried:

“The gendarmes! here are the gendarmes!”

At this news the old marquis started up, and seemed to forget his gout, which had yielded to more violent emotions.

“Gendarmes!” he cried, “in my house at Clameran! They shall pay dear for their insolence! You will help me, will you not, my men?”

“Yes, yes,” answered the servants. “Down with the gendarmes! down with them!”

Fortunately Louis, during all this excitement, preserved his presence of mind.

“To resist would be folly,” he said. “Even if we repulsed the gendarmes to-night, they would return to-morrow with reinforcements.”

“Louis is right,” said the marquis, bitterly. “Might is right, as they said in ‘93. The gendarmes are all powerful. Do they not even have the impertinence to come up to me while I am hunting, and ask to see my shooting-license?—I, a Clameran, show a license!”

“Where are they?” asked Louis of the servants.

“At the outer gate,” answered La Verdure, one of the grooms. “Does not monsieur hear the noise they are making with their sabres?”

“Then Gaston must escape over the garden wall.”

“It is guarded, monsieur,” said La Verdure, “and the little gate in the park besides. There seems to be a regiment of them. They are even stationed along the park walls.”

This was only too true. The rumor of Lazet’s death had spread like wildfire throughout the town of Tarascon, and everybody was in a state of excitement. Not only mounted gendarmes, but a platoon of hussars from the garrison, had been sent in pursuit of the murderer.