“The worst thing about it is, that M. de Boiscoran thinks I am his
enemy. I should not wonder if he went and imagined that these charges
and vile suspicions have been suggested by my wife or by myself. If I
could only get up! At least, let M. de Boiscoran know distinctly that I
am ready to answer for him, as I would answer for myself. Cocoleu, the
wretched idiot! Ah, Genevieve, my darling wife! Why did you induce him
to talk? If you had not insisted, he would have kept silent forever.”
The countess succumbed at last to the anxieties of this terrible night.
At first she had been supported by that exaltation which is apt to
accompany a great crisis; but latterly she had felt exhausted. She had
sunk upon a stool, near the bed on which her two daughters were lying;
and, her head hid in the pillow, she seemed to sleep. But she was not
asleep. When her husband reproached her thus, she rose, pale, with
swollen eyes and distorted features, and said in a piercing voice,--
“What? They have tried to kill my Trivulce; our children have been near
unto death in the flames; and I should have allowed any means to be
unused by which the guilty one may be found out? No! I have only done
what it was my duty to do. Whatever may come of it, I regret nothing.”
“But, Genevieve, M. de Boiscoran is not guilty: he cannot possibly be
guilty. How could a man who has the happiness of being loved by Dionysia
de Chandore, and who counts the days to his wedding,--how could he
devise such a hideous crime?”
“Let him prove his innocence,” replied the countess mercilessly.
The doctor smacked his lips in the most impertinent manner.
“There is a woman’s logic for you,” he murmured.
“Certainly,” said M. Seneschal, “M. de Boiscoran’s innocence will be
promptly established. Nevertheless, the suspicion will remain. And our
people are so constituted, that this suspicion will overshadow his whole
life. Twenty years hence, they will meet him, and they will say, ‘Oh,
yes! the man who set Valpinson on fire!’”
It was not M. Galpin this time who replied, but the commonwealth
attorney. He said sadly,--
“I cannot share your views; but that does not matter. After what has
passed, our friend, M. Galpin cannot retrace his steps: his duty makes
that impossible, and, even more so, what is due to the accused. What
would all these people say, who have heard Cocoleu’s deposition, and the
evidence given by the witnesses, if the inquiry were stopped? They
would certainly say M. de Boiscoran was guilty, but that he was not held
responsible because he was rich and noble. Upon my honor I believe him
to be innocent. But precisely because this is my conviction, I maintain
that his innocence must be clearly established. No doubt he has the
means of doing so. When he met Ribot, he told him he was on his way to
see somebody at Brechy.”
“But suppose he never went there?” objected M. Seneschal. “Suppose he
did not see anybody there? Suppose it was only a pretext to satisfy
Ribot’s impertinent curiosity?”
“Well, then, he would only have to tell the truth in court. And
look! Here’s an important proof which almost by itself relieves M. de
Boiscoran. Would he not have loaded his gun with a ball, if he should
ever have really thought of murdering the count? But it was loaded with
nothing but small-shot.”
“And he would never have missed me at ten yards’ distance,” said the
count.
Suddenly somebody was heard knocking furiously at the door.
“Come in!” cried M. Seneschal.
The door opened and three peasants appeared, looking bewildered, but
evidently well pleased.
“We have just,” said one of them, “found something curious.”
“What?” asked M. Galpin.
“It looks very much like a case; but Pitard says it is the paper of a
cartridge.”