"And now," said M. Magloire to his young colleague, "now we can be content. I know Sauveterre by heart. I tell you public opinion is henceforth on our side."By dint of perseverance they made their way, at last, out through the narrow door of the court-room, when one of the ushers stopped them.
"They wish to see you," said the man.
"Who?"
"The family of the prisoner. Poor people! They are all in there, in M.
Mechinet's office. M. Daubigeon told me to keep it for them. The Marchioness de Boiscoran also was carried there when she was taken ill in the court-room."He accompanied the two gentlemen, while telling them this, to the end of the hall; then he opened a door, and said,--"They are in there," and withdrew discreetly.
There, in an easy-chair, with closed eyes, and half-open lips, lay Jacques's mother. Her livid pallor and her stiff limbs made her look like a dead person; but, from time to time, spasms shook her whole body, from head to foot. M. de Chandore stood on one side, and the marquis, her husband, on the other, watching her with mournful eyes and in perfect silence. They had been thunderstruck; and, from the moment when the fatal sentence fell upon their ears, neither of them had uttered a word.
Dionysia alone seemed to have preserved the faculty of reasoning and moving. But her face was deep purple; her dry eyes shone with a painful light; and her body shook as with fever. As soon as the two advocates appeared, she cried,--"And you call this human justice?"
And, as they were silent, she added,---
"Here is Jacques condemned to penal labor; that is to say, he is judicially dishonored, lost, disgraced, forever cut off from human society. He is innocent; but that does not matter. His best friends will know him no longer: no hand will touch his hand hereafter; and even those who were most proud of his affection will pretend to have forgotten his name.""I understand your grief but too well, madam," said M. Magloire.
"My grief is not as great as my indignation," she broke in. "Jacques must be avenged, and he shall be avenged! I am only twenty, and he is not thirty yet: there is a whole life before us which we can devote to the work of his rehabilitation; for I do not mean to abandon him. I!
His undeserved misfortunes make him a thousand times dearer to me, and almost sacred. I was his betrothed this morning: this evening I am his wife. His condemnation was our nuptial benediction. And if it is true, as grandpapa says, that the law prohibits a prisoner to marry the woman he loves, well, I will be his without marriage."Dionysia spoke all this aloud, so loud that it seemed she wanted all the earth to hear what she was saying.
"Ah! let me reassure you by a single word, madam," said M. Folgat. "We have not yet come to that. The sentence is not final."The Marquis de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore started.
"What do you mean?"
"An oversight which M. Galpin has committed makes the whole proceeding null and void. You will ask how a man of his character, so painstaking and so formal, should have made such a blunder. Probably because he was blinded by passion. Why had nobody noticed this oversight? Because fate owed us this compensation. There can be no question about the matter. The defect is a defect of form; and the law provides expressly for the case. The sentence must be declared void, and we shall have another trial.""And you never told us anything of that?" asked Dionysia.
"We hardly dared to think of it," replied M. Magloire. "It was one of those secrets which we dare not confide to our own pillow. Remember, that, in the course of the proceedings, the error might have been corrected at any time. Now it is too late. We have time before us; and the conduct of Count Claudieuse relieves us from all restraint of delicacy. The veil shall be torn now."The door opened violently, interrupting his words. Dr. Seignebos entered, red with anger, and darting fiery glances from under his gold spectacles.
"Count Claudieuse?" M. Folgat asked eagerly.
"Is next door," replied the doctor. "They have had him down on a mattress, and his wife is by his side. What a profession ours is! Here is a man, a wretch, whom I should be most happy to strangle with my own hands; and I am compelled to do all I can to recall him to life: Imust lavish my attentions upon him, and seek every means to relieve his sufferings.""Is he any better?"
"Not at all! Unless a special miracle should be performed in his behalf, he will leave the court-house only feet forward, and that in twenty-four hours. I have not concealed it from the countess; and Ihave told her, that, if she wishes her husband to die in peace with Heaven, she has but just time to send for a priest.""And has she sent for one?"
"Not at all! She told me her husband would be terrified by the appearance of a priest, and that would hasten his end. Even when the good priest from Brechy came of his own accord, she sent him off unceremoniously.""Ah the miserable woman!" cried Dionysia.
And, after a moment's reflection, she added,--"And yet that may be our salvation. Yes, certainly. Why should Ihesitate? Wait for me here: I am coming back."She hurried out. Her grandpapa was about to follow her; but M. Folgat stopped him.
"Let her do it," he said,--"let her do it!"It had just struck ten o'clock. The court-house, just now as full and as noisy as a bee-hive, was silent and deserted. In the immense hall, badly lighted by a smoking lamp, there were only two men to be seen.
One was the priest from Brechy, who was praying on his knees close to a door; and the other was the watchman, who was slowly walking up and down, and whose steps resounded there as in a church.
Dionysia went straight up to the latter.
"Where is Count Claudieuse?" she asked.
"There, madam," replied the man, pointing at the door before which the priest was praying,--"there, in the private office of the commonwealth attorney.""Who is with him?"
"His wife, madam, and a servant."