“And the children! Does Mr. Mayor think it natural that the Countess
Claudieuse, this incomparable mother in his estimation, should forget
her children in the height of the fire?”
“What! The poor woman is called out by the discharge of fire-arms;
she sees her house on fire; she stumbles over the lifeless body of her
husband: and you blame her for not having preserved all her presence of
mind.”
“That is one view of it; but it is not the one I take. I rather think
that the countess, having been delayed out of doors, was prevented by
the fire from getting in again. I think, also, that Cocoleu came very
opportunely; and that it was very lucky Providence should inspire his
mind with that sublime idea of saving the children at the risk of his
life.”
This time M. Seneschal made no reply.
“Supported by all these facts,” continued the doctor, “my suspicions
became so strong that I determined to ascertain the truth, if I could.
The next day I questioned the countess, and, I must confess, rather
treacherously. Her replies and her looks were not such as to modify
my views. When I asked her, looking straight into her eyes, what she
thought of Cocoleu’s mental condition, she nearly fainted; and she
could hardly make me hear her when she said that she occasionally caught
glimpses of intelligence in him. When I asked her if Cocoleu was fond of
her, she said, in a most embarrassed manner, that his devotion was that
of an animal which is grateful for the care taken of him. What do you
think of that, gentlemen? To me it appeared that Cocoleu was at the
bottom of the whole affair; that he knew the truth; and that I should
be able to save Jacques, if I could prove Cocoleu’s imbecility to be
assumed, and his speechlessness to be an imposture. And I would have
proved it, if they had associated with me any one else but this ass and
this jackanapes from Paris.”
He paused for a few seconds; but, without giving anybody time to reply,
he went on,--
“Now, let us go back to our point of departure, and draw our
conclusions. Why do you think it so improbable and impossible that the
countess Claudieuse should have betrayed her duties? Because she has a
world-wide reputation for purity and prudence. Well. But was not Jacques
de Boiscoran’s reputation as a man of honor also above all doubt?
According to your views, it is absurd to suspect the countess of having
had a lover. According to my notions, it is absurd that Jacques should,
overnight, have become a scoundrel.”
“Oh! that is not the same thing,” said M. Seneschal.
“Certainly not!” replied the doctor; “and there you are right, for once.
If M. de Boiscoran had committed this crime, it would be one of those
absurd crimes which are revolting to us; but, if committed by the
countess, it is only the catastrophe prepared by Count Claudieuse on the
day when he married a woman thirty years younger than he was.”
The great wrath of Dr. Seignebos was not always as formidable as it
looked. Even when he appeared to be almost beside himself, he never
said more than he intended to say, possessed as he was of that admirable
southern quality, which enabled him to pour forth fire and flames, and
to remain as cold as ice within, But in this case he showed what he
thought fully. He had said quite enough, too, and had presented the
whole affair under such a new aspect, that his friends became very
thoughtful.
“You would have converted me, doctor,” said M. Folgat, “if I had not
been of your opinion before.”
“I am sure,” added M. de Chandore, after hearing the doctor, “the thing
no longer looks impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” said M. Seneschal, like a philosopher.
The eminent advocate of Sauveterre alone remained unmoved.
“Well,” said he, “I had rather admit one hour of utter insanity even
than five years of such monstrous hypocrisy. Jacques may have committed
the crime, and be nothing but a madman; but, if the countess is guilty,
one might despair of mankind, and renounce all faith in this world. I
have seen her, gentlemen, with her husband and her children. No one can
feign such looks of tenderness and affection.”
“He will never give her up!” growled Dr. Seignebos,--
And touching his friend on the shoulder,--for M. Magloire had been his
friend for many years, and they were quite intimate,--he said,--
“Ah! There I recognize my friend, the strange lawyer, who judges others
by himself, and refuses to believe any thing bad. Oh, do not protest!
For we love and honor you for that very faith, and are proud to see you
among us Republicans. But I must confess you are not the man to bring
light into such a dark intrigue. At twenty-eight you married a girl
whom you loved dearly: you lost her, and ever since you have remained
faithful to her memory, and lived so far from all passions that you no
longer believe in their existence. Happy man! Your heart is still at
twenty; and with your grey hair you still believe in the smiles and
looks of woman.”
There was much truth in this; but there are certain truths which we are
not overfond of hearing.
“My simplicity has nothing to do with the matter,” said M. Magloire. “I
affirm and maintain that a man who has been for five years the lover of
a woman must have some proof of it.”
“Well, there you are mistaken, master,” said the physician, arranging
his spectacles with an air of self-conceit, which, under other
circumstances, would have been irresistibly ludicrous.
“When women determine to be prudent and suspicious,” remarked M. de
Chandore, “they never are so by halves.”
“It is evident, besides,” added M. Folgat, “that the Countess Claudieuse
would never have determined upon so bold a crime, if she had not been
quite sure, that after the burning of her letters, no proof could be
brought against her.”
“That is it!” cried the doctor.