“What am I to do next?” he asked.
“You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here,
walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet. I would
ask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you.
Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much as
long as it concerned only a little girl.”
The old gentleman’s last doubts began to vanish.
“You won’t succeed, my poor girl,” he said.
“O God!” she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, “why will you
discourage me?”
He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his
pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into
her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, she
said,--
“Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won’t be long.”
And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her
dressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their
supper, which consisted of a small piece of pork and a light salad, with
an abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore
they all started up.
“You, miss,” cried the elder of the two,--“you!”
Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple “you” meant. It
meant, with the help of the tone of voice, “What? your betrothed is
charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against
him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be
tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned--and you are here?”
But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.
“Yes,” she replied, “it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; and
I come to ask you to show me some samples.”
The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother’s advice, had made
an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received
samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they
sold.
“I will do so with pleasure,” said the older sister. “Just allow me to
light a lamp. It is almost dark.”
While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her
brother,--
“Are you not going to the Orpheon?”
“Not to-night,” he replied.
“Are you not expected to be there?”
“No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates
for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court.”
While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a
candle.
“Good-night!” he said to his sisters. “I won’t see you again to-night,”
and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his
hand.
“Where is your brother going?” Dionysia asked eagerly.
“To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of the
staircase.”
Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunity
slip,--an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering up
all her courage, she said,--
“But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, my
dear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment.” And
she rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her with
open mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft the
poor lady of reason.
The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the key
of his room.
“I want to speak to you instantly,” said Dionysia.
Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word. He made
a movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girl
said,--
“No, in your room. We must not be overheard. Open sir, please. Open,
somebody might come.”
The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half a
minute to find the keyhole, and put the key in. At last, when the door
was opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass: but she said, “No, go
in!”
He obeyed. She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, she
shut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed. Mechinet
the clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness. Dionysia was
timidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remaining
speechless for some time. At this moment, however, it was certainly not
the young girl who was embarrassed.
“Sit down, M. Mechinet,” she said, “and listen to me.”
He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down.
“You know me, don’t you?” asked Dionysia.
“Certainly I do, madam.”
“You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. de Boiscoran?”
The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat his
forehead furiously with his hand, and said,--
“Ah, what a fool I was! Now I see.”
“Yes, you are right,” replied the girl. “I come to talk to you about M.
de Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband.”
She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained there
face to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he asking
himself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far she
might venture.
“You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M.
de Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of all
crimes!”
“Oh, surely, I do!” replied Mechinet.