M. Folgat had just risen. Standing before his mirror, hung up to one of
the windows in his room, he had just finished shaving himself, when the
door was thrown open violently, and old Anthony appeared quite beside
himself.
“Ah, sir, what a terrible thing!”
“What?”
“Run away, disappeared!”
“Who?”
“Master Jacques!”
The surprise was so great, that M. Folgat nearly let his razor drop: he
said, however, peremptorily,--
“That is false!”
“Alas, sir,” replied the old servant, “everybody is full of it in town.
All the details are known. I have just seen a man who says he met master
last night, about eleven o’clock, running like a madman down National
Street.”
“That is absurd.”
“I have only told Miss Dionysia so far, and she sent me to you. You
ought to go and make inquiry.”
The advice was not needed. Wiping his face hastily, the young advocate
went to dress at once. He was ready in a moment; and, having run down
the stairs, he was crossing the passage when he heard somebody call his
name. He turned round, and saw Dionysia making him a sign to come into
the boudoir in which she was usually sitting. He did so.
Dionysia and the young advocate alone knew what a desperate venture
Jacques had undertaken the night before. They had not said a word about
it to each other; but each had noticed the preoccupation of the other.
All the evening M. Folgat had not spoken ten words, and Dionysia had,
immediately after dinner, gone up to her own room.
“Well?” she asked.
“The report, madam, must be false,” replied the advocate.
“Who knows?”
“His evasion would be a confession of his crime. It is only the guilty
who try to escape; and M. de Boiscoran is innocent. You can rest quite
assured, madam, it is not so. I pray you be quiet.”
Who would not have pitied the poor girl at that moment? She was as white
as her collar, and trembled violently. Big tears ran over her eyes; and
at each word a violent sob rose in her throat.
“You know where Jacques went last night?” she asked again.
“Yes.”
She turned her head a little aside, and went on, in a hardly audible
voice,--
“He went to see once more a person whose influence over him is,
probably, all powerful. It may be that she has upset him, stunned him.
Might she not have prevailed upon him to escape from the disgrace of
appearing in court, charged with such a crime?”
“No, madam, no!”
“This person has always been Jacques’s evil genius. She loves him, I
am sure. She must have been incensed at the idea of his becoming my
husband. Perhaps, in order to induce him to flee, she has fled with
him.”
“Ah! do not be afraid, madam: the Countess Claudieuse is incapable of
such devotion.”
Dionysia threw herself back in utter amazement; and, raising her
wide-open eyes to the young advocate, she said with an air of
stupefaction,--
“The Countess Claudieuse?”
M. Folgat saw his indiscretion. He had been under the impression that
Jacques had told his betrothed every thing; and her very manner of
speaking had confirmed him in his conviction.
“Ah, it is the Countess Claudieuse,” she went on,--“that lady whom all
revere as if she were a saint. And I, who only the other day marvelled
at her fervor in praying,--I who pitied her with all my heart,--I--Ah! I
now see what they were hiding from me.”
Distressed by the blunder which he had committed, the young advocate
said,--
“I shall never forgive myself, madam, for having mentioned that name in
your presence.”
She smiled sadly.
“Perhaps you have rendered me a great service, sir. But, I pray, go and
see what the truth is about this report.”
M. Folgat had not walked down half the street, when he became aware that
something extraordinary must really have happened. The whole town was in
uproar. People stood at their doors, talking. Groups here and there were
engaged in lively discussions.
Hastening his steps, he was just turning into National Street, when he
was stopped by three or four gentlemen, whose acquaintance he had, in
some way or other, been forced to make since he was at Sauveterre.
“Well, sir?” said one of these amiable friends, “your client, it seems,
is running about nicely.”
“I do not understand,” replied M. Folgat in a tone of ice.
“Why? Don’t you know your client has run off?”
“Are you quite sure of that?”
“Certainly. The wife of a workman whom I employ was the person through
whom the escape became known. She had gone on the old ramparts to cut
grass there for her goat; and, when she came to the prison wall, she saw
a big hole had been made there. She gave at once the alarm; the guard
came up; and they reported the matter immediately to the commonwealth
attorney.”