The Lerouge Case, Émile Gaboriau [old books to read TXT] 📗

guilty? But the magistrate replied that it was not possible; that he was not the master; that Albert’s fate depended on many others. It was then that I resolved to come to you for aid.”

“Can I then do something?”

“I at least hope so. I am only a poor girl, very ignorant; and I know no one in the world. I do not know what can be done to get him released from prison. There ought, however, to be some means for obtaining justice. Will you not try all that can be done, sir, you, who are his father?”

“Yes,” replied M. de Commarin quickly, “yes, and without losing a minute.”

Since Albert’s arrest, the count had been plunged in a dull stupor. In his profound grief, seeing only ruin and disaster about him, he had done nothing to shake off this mental paralysis. Ordinarily very active, he now sat all day long without moving. He seemed to enjoy a condition which prevented his feeling the immensity of his misfortune. Claire’s voice sounded in his ear like the resurrection trumpet. The frightful darkness was dispelled; he saw a glimmering in the horizon; he recovered the energy of his youth.

“Let us go,” he said.

Suddenly the radiance in his face changed to sadness, mixed with anger.

“But where,” he asked. “At what door shall we knock with any hope of success? In the olden times, I would have sought the king. But today! Even the emperor himself cannot interfere with the law. He will tell me to await the decision of the tribunals, that he can do nothing. Wait! And Albert is counting the minutes in mortal agony! We shall certainly have justice; but to obtain it promptly is an art taught in schools that I have not frequented.”

“Let us try, at least, sir,” persisted Claire. “Let us seek out judges, generals, ministers, anyone. Only lead me to them. I will speak; and you shall see if we do not succeed.”

The count took Claire’s little hands between his own, and held them a moment pressing them with paternal tenderness.

“Brave girl!” he cried, “you are a noble, courageous woman, Claire! Good blood never fails. I did not know you. Yes, you shall be my daughter; and you shall be happy together, Albert and you. But we must not rush about everywhere, like wild geese. We need someone to tell us whom we should address⁠—some guide, lawyer, barrister. Ah!” he cried, “I have it⁠—Noel!”

Claire raised her eyes to the count’s in surprise.

“He is my son,” replied M. de Commarin, evidently embarrassed, “my other son, Albert’s brother. The best and worthiest of men,” he added, repeating quite appropriately a phrase already uttered by M. Daburon. “He is a barrister; he knows all about the Palais; he will tell us what to do.”

Noel’s name, thus thrown into the midst of this conversation so full of hope, oppressed Claire’s heart. The count perceived her affright.

“Do not feel anxious, dear child,” he said. “Noel is good; and I will tell you more, he loves Albert. Do not shake your head so; Noel told me himself, on this very spot, that he did not believe Albert guilty. He declared that he intended doing everything to dispel the fatal mistake, and that he would be his barrister.”

These assertions did not seem to reassure the young girl. She thought to herself, “What then has this Noel done for Albert?” But she made no remark.

“I will send for him,” continued M. de Commarin; “he is now with Albert’s mother, who brought him up, and who is now on her deathbed.”

“Albert’s mother!”

“Yes, my child. Albert will explain to you what may perhaps seem to you an enigma. Now time presses. But I think⁠—”

He stopped suddenly. He thought, that, instead of sending for Noel at Madame Gerdy’s, he might go there himself. He would thus see Valerie! and he had longed to see her again so much! It was one of those actions which the heart urges, but which one does not dare risk, because a thousand subtle reasons and interests are against it. One wishes, desires, and even longs for it; and yet one struggles, combats, and resists. But, if an opportunity occurs, one is only too happy to seize it; then one has an excuse with which to silence one’s conscience.

In thus yielding to the impulse of one’s feelings, one can say: “It was not I who willed it, it was fate.”

“It will be quicker, perhaps,” observed the count, “to go to Noel.”

“Let us start then, sir.”

“I hardly know though, my child,” said the old gentleman, hesitating, “whether I may, whether I ought to take you with me. Propriety⁠—”

“Ah, sir, propriety has nothing to do with it!” replied Claire impetuously. “With you, and for his sake, I can go anywhere. Is it not indispensable that I should give some explanations? Only send word to my grandmother by Schmidt, who will come back here and await my return. I am ready, sir.”

“Very well, then,” said the count.

Then, ringing the bell violently, he called to the servant, “My carriage.”

In descending the steps, he insisted upon Claire’s taking his arm. The gallant and elegant politeness of the friend of the Count d’Artois reappeared.

“You have taken twenty years from my age,” he said; “it is but right that I should devote to you the youth you have restored to me.”

As soon as Claire had entered the carriage, he said to the footman: “Rue St. Lazare, quick!”

Whenever the count said “quick,” on entering his carriage, the pedestrians had to get out of the way. But the coachman was a skillful driver, and arrived without accident. Aided by the concierge’s directions, the count and the young girl went towards Madame Gerdy’s apartments. The count mounted slowly, holding tightly to the balustrade, stopping at every landing to recover his breath. He was, then, about to see her again! His emotion pressed his heart like a vice.

“M. Noel Gerdy?” he asked of the servant.

The barrister had just that moment gone out. She did not know where he had gone; but