“We hear at the last moment that the Marchioness de B. and M. Folgat
have left for Paris. Our correspondent in P. writes us that the decree
of the court will not be delayed much longer.”
Never had “The Sauveterre Independent” been read with so much interest.
And, as everybody endeavored to be better informed than his neighbor,
quite a number of idle men had assumed the duty of watching Jacques’s
friends, and spent their days in trying to find out what was going on
at M. de Chandore’s house. Thus it came about, that, on the evening
of Dionysia’s visit to Jacques, the street was full of curious people.
Towards half-past ten, they saw M. de Chandore’s carriage come out of
the courtyard, and draw up at the door. At eleven o’clock M. de Chandore
and Dr. Seignebos got in, the coachman whipped the horse, and they drove
off.
“Where can they be going?” asked they.
They followed the carriage. The two gentlemen drove to the station.
They had received a telegram, and were expecting the return of the
marchioness and M. Folgat, accompanied, this time, by the old marquis.
They reached there much too soon. The local branch railway which goes to
Sauveterre is not famous for regularity, and still reminds its patrons
occasionally of the old habits of stage-coaches, when the driver or the
conductor had, at the last moment, to stop to pick up something they
had forgotten. At a quarter-past midnight the train, which ought to
have been there twenty minutes before, had not yet been signalled.
Every thing around was silent and deserted. Through the windows the
station-master might be seen fast asleep in his huge leather chair.
Clerks and porters all were asleep, stretched out on the benches of the
waiting-room. But people are accustomed to such delays at Sauveterre;
they are prepared for being kept waiting: and the doctor and M. de
Chandore were walking up and down the platform, being neither astonished
nor impatient at the irregularity. Nor would they have been much
surprised if they had been told that they were closely watched all the
time: they knew their good town. Still it was so. Two curious men,
more obstinate than the others, had jumped into the omnibus which runs
between the station and the town; and now, standing a little aside, they
said to each other,--
“I say, what can they be waiting for?”
At last towards one o’clock, a bell rang, and the station seemed
to start into life. The station-master opened his door, the porters
stretched themselves and rubbed their eyes, oaths were heard, doors
slammed, and the large hand-barrows came in sight.
Then a low thunder-like noise came nearer and nearer; and almost
instantly a fierce red light at the far end of the track shone out
in the dark night like a ball of fire. M. de Chandore and the doctor
hastened to the waiting-room.
The train stopped. A door opened, and the marchioness appeared, leaning
on M. Folgat’s arm. The marquis, a travelling-bag in hand, followed
next.
“That was it!” said the volunteer spies, who had flattened their noses
against the window-panes.
And, as the train brought no other passengers, they succeeded in making
the omnibus conductor start at once, eager as they were to proclaim the
arrival of the prisoner’s father.
The hour was unfavorable: everybody was asleep; but they did not give up
the hope of finding somebody yet at the club. People stay up very late
at the club, for there is play going on there, and at times pretty heavy
play: you can lose your five hundred francs quite readily there. Thus
the indefatigable news-hunters had a fair chance of finding open ears
for their great piece of news. And yet, if they had been less eager to
spread it, they might have witnessed, perhaps not entirely unmoved, this
first interview between M. de Chandore and the Marquis de Boiscoran.
By a natural impulse they had both hastened forward, and shook hands in
the most energetic manner. Tears stood in their eyes. They opened their
lips to speak; but they said nothing. Besides, there was no need of
words between them. That close embrace had told Jacques’s father clearly
enough what Dionysia’s grandfather must have suffered. They remained
thus standing motionless, looking at each other, when Dr. Seignebos, who
could not be still for any length of time, came up, and asked,--
“The trunks are on the carriage: shall we go?”
They left the station. The night was clear; and on the horizon, above
the dark mass of the sleeping town, there rose against the pale-blue
sky the two towers of the old castle, which now served as prison to
Sauveterre.
“That is the place where my Jacques is kept,” murmured the marquis.
“There my son is imprisoned, accused of horrible crimes.”
“We will get him out of it,” said the doctor cheerfully, as he helped
the old gentleman into the carriage.
But in vain did he try, during the drive, to rouse, as he called it, the
spirits of his companions. His hopes found no echo in their distressed
hearts.
M. Folgat inquired after Dionysia, whom he had been surprised not to see
at the station. M. de Chandore replied that she had staid at home with
the Misses Lavarande, to keep M. Magloire company; and that was all.
There are situations in which it is painful to talk. The marquis had
enough to do to suppress the spasmodic sobs which now and then
would rise in his throat. He was upset by the thought that he was at
Sauveterre. Whatever may be said to the contrary, distance does not
weaken our emotions. Shaking hands with M. de Chandore in person had
moved him more deeply than all the letters he had received for a month.
And when he saw Jacques’s prison from afar, he had the first clear
notion of the horrible tortures endured by his son. The marchioness was
utterly exhausted: she felt as if all the springs in her system were
broken.
M. de Chandore trembled when he looked at them, and saw how they all
were on the point of succumbing. If they despaired, what could he
hope for,--he, who knew how indissolubly Dionysia’s fate in life was
connected with Jacques?
At length the carriage stopped before his house. The door opened
instantly, and the marchioness found herself in Dionysia’s arms, and
soon after comfortably seated in an easy-chair. The others had followed
her. It was past two o’clock; but every minute now was valuable.
Arranging his spectacles, Dr. Seignebos said,--
“I propose that we exchange our information. I, for my part, I am still
at the same point. But you know my views. I do not give them up. Cocoleu
is an impostor, and it shall be proved. I appear to notice him no
longer; but, in reality, I watch him more closely than ever.”