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

M. de Chandore. You know him, Magloire. The old gentleman is the purest and brightest type of honor itself. I could intrust my secrets to him with as perfect safety as I formerly intrusted Genevieve’s name to the night winds.

“Alas! why did I hesitate? why did I delay?

“One word might have saved me; and I should not be here, charged with an atrocious crime, innocent, and yet condemned to see how you doubt the truth of my words.

“But fate was against me.

“After having for a week postponed my confession every day to the next, one evening, after Dionysia and I had been talking of presentiments, I said to myself, ‘To-morrow it shall be done.’

“The next morning, I went to Boiscoran much earlier than usual, and on foot, because I wanted to give some orders to a dozen workmen whom I employed in my vineyards. I took a short cut through the fields. Alas! not a single detail has escaped from my memory. When I had given my orders, I returned to the high road, and there met the priest from Brechy, who is a friend of mine.

“‘You must,’ he said, ‘keep me company for a little distance. As you are on your way to Sauveterre, it will not delay you much to take the cross-road which passes by Valpinson and the forest of Rochepommier.’

“On what trifles our fate depends!

“I accompanied the priest, and only left him at the point where the high-road and the cross-road intersect. As soon as I was alone, I hastened on; and I was almost through the wood, when, all of a sudden, some twenty yards before me, I saw the Countess Claudieuse coming towards me. In spite of my emotion, I kept on my way, determined to bow to her, but to pass her without speaking. I did so, and had gone on a little distance, when I heard her call me,—

“‘Jacques!’

“I stopped; or, rather, I was nailed to the spot by that voice which for a long time had held such entire control over my heart. She came up to me, looking even more excited than I was. Her lips trembled, and her eyes wandered to and fro.

“‘Well,’ she said, ‘it is no longer a fancy: this time you marry Miss Chandore.’

“The time for half-measures had passed.

“‘Yes,’ I replied.

“‘Then it is really true,’ she said again. ‘It is all over now. I suppose it would be in vain to remind you of those vows of eternal love which you used to repeat over and over again. Look down there under that old oak. They are the same trees, this is the same landscape, and I am still the same woman; but your heart has changed.’

“I made no reply.

“‘You love her very much, do you?’ she asked me.

“I kept obstinately silent.

“‘I understand,’ she said, ‘I understand you but too well. And Dionysia? She loves you so much she cannot keep it to herself. She stops her friends to tell them all about her marriage, and to assure them of her happiness. Oh, yes, indeed, very happy! That love which was my disgrace is her honor. I was forced to conceal it like a crime: she can display it as a virtue. Social forms are, after all, very absurd and unjust; but a fool is he who tries to defy them.’

“Tears, the very first tears I had ever seen her shed, glittered in her long silky eyelashes.

“‘And to be nothing more to you,—nothing at all! Ah, I was too cautious! Do you recollect the morning after your uncle’s death, when you, now a rich man, proposed that we should flee? I refused; I clung to my reputation. I wanted to be respected. I thought it possible to divide life into two parts,—one to be devoted to pleasure; the other, to the hypocrisy of duty. Poor fool that I was! And still I discovered long ago that you were weary of me. I knew you so well! Your heart was like an open book to me, in which I read your most secret thoughts. Then I might have retained you. I ought to have been humble, obliging, submissive. Instead of that, I tried to command.

“‘And you,’ she said after a short pause,—‘are you happy?’

“‘I cannot be completely happy as long as I know that you are unhappy. But there is no sorrow which time does not heal. You will forget’—

“‘Never!’ she cried.

“And, lowering her voice, she added,—

“‘Can I forget you? Alas! my crime is fearful; but the punishment is still more so.’

“People were coming down the road.

“‘Compose yourself,’ I said.

“She made an effort to control her emotion. The people passed us, saluting politely. And after a moment she said again,—

“‘Well, and when is the wedding?’

“I trembled. She herself insisted upon an explanation.

“‘No day has as yet been fixed,’ I replied. ‘Had I not to see you first? You uttered once grave threats.’

“‘And you were afraid?’

“‘No: I was sure I knew you too well to fear that you would punish me for having loved you, as if that had been a crime. So many things have happened since the day when you made those threats!’

“‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘many things indeed! My poor father is incorrigible. Once more he has committed himself fearfully; and once more my husband has been compelled to sacrifice a large sum to save him. Ah, Count Claudieuse has a noble heart; and it is a great pity I should be the only one towards whom he has failed to show generosity. Every kindness which he shows me is a new grievance for me; but, having accepted them all, I have forfeited the right to strike him, as I had intended to do. You may marry Dionysia, Jacques; you have nothing to fear from me.’

“Ah! I had not hoped for so much, Magloire. Overcome with joy, I seized her hand, and raising it to my lips, I said,—

“‘You are the kindest of friends.’

“But promptly, as if my lips had burnt her hand, she drew it back, and said, turning very pale,—

“‘No, don’t do that!’

“Then, overcoming her emotion to a certain degree, she added,—

“‘But we must meet once more. You have my letters, I dare say.’

“‘I have them all.’

“‘Well, you must bring them to me. But where? And how? I can hardly absent myself at this time. My youngest daughter—our daughter, Jacques—is very ill. Still, an end must be made. Let us see, on Thursday—are you free then? Yes. Very well, then come on Thursday evening, towards nine o’clock, to Valpinson. You will find me at the edge of the wood, near the