“Well, we’ll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the day
before yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of our
cousin. And we’ll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give us
back Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take down
his pride.”
How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies,
when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to her
indignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?
“Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts,” she said. “Quick, don’t lose any
time; go at once!”
Unable to resist her entreaties, they started instantly, without
listening to the timid objections made by the marchioness. But the good
ladies were sadly mistaken as to the state of mind of M. Galpin. The
ex-lover of one of their cousins was not bedded on roses by any means.
At the beginning of this extraordinary affair he had taken hold of it
with eagerness, looking upon it as an admirable opportunity, long looked
for, and likely to open wide the doors to his burning ambition. Then
having once begun, and the investigation being under way, he had been
carried away by the current, without having time to reflect. He had even
felt a kind of unhealthy satisfaction at seeing the evidence increasing,
until he felt justified and compelled to order his former friend to
be sent to prison. At that time he was fairly dazzled by the most
magnificent expectations. This preliminary inquiry, which in a few hours
already had led to the discovery of a culprit the most unlikely of all
men in the province, could not fail to establish his superior ability
and matchless skill.
But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eye
upon these events. Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt his
ability, and to ask himself, if he had not, after all, acted rashly.
If Jacques was guilty, so much the better. He was sure, in that case,
immediately after the verdict, to obtain brilliant promotion. Yes, but
if Jacques should be innocent? When that thought occurred to M. Galpin
for the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones.
Jacques innocent!--that was his own condemnation, his career ended, his
hopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever. Jacques innocent!--that
was certain disgrace. He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where he
could not remain after such a scandal. He would be banished to some
out-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion.
In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty. People would
answer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrant
blunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; and
that for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it is
better, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than to
punish an innocent one.
With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart of
an ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns. He
had been up since six o’clock. At eleven, he had sent for his clerk,
Mechinet; and they had gone together to the jail to recommence the
examination. It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner’s
letter for Dionysia. It was a short note, such as a sensible man would
write who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecy
of his correspondence. It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blangin
had not noticed.
“Dionysia, my darling,” wrote the prisoner, “the thought of the terrible
grief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow. Need I
stoop to assure you that I am innocent? I am sure it is not needed. I am
the victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not but
mislead justice. But be reassured, be hopeful. When the time comes, I
shall be able to set matters right.
“JACQUES.”
“Well,” M. Galpin had really said after reading this letter.
Nevertheless it had stung him to the quick.
“What assurance!” he had said to himself.
Still he had regained courage while ascending the steps of the prison.
Jacques had evidently not thought it likely that his note would reach
its destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that he
had written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love. The
fact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to this
presumption.
“After all we shall see,” said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlocking
the door.
But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau at
Boiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thing
out of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or said
that he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home more
troubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, if
he could have retraced his steps!
But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himself
to go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it was
henceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;
that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It must
be. It was a question of life or death for him.
He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called at
his house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instant
his over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. What
could the two old ladies want of him?
“Show them in,” he said at last.
They came in, and haughtily declined the chairs that were offered.
“I hardly expected to have the honor of a visit from you, ladies,” he
commenced.