III
The judge of instruction of the tribunal at Corbeil, was M. AntoineDomini, a remarkable man, since called to higher functions. He was fortyyears of age, of a prepossessing person, and endowed with a veryexpressive, but too grave physiognomy. In him seemed typified thesomewhat stiff solemnity of the magistracy. Penetrated with the dignityof his office, he sacrificed his life to it, rejecting the most simpledistractions, and the most innocent pleasures.
He lived alone, seldom showing himself abroad; rarely received hisfriends, not wishing, as he said, that the weaknesses of the man shouldderogate from the sacred character of the judge. This latter reason haddeterred him from marrying, though he felt the need of a domesticsphere.
Always and everywhere he was the magistrate--that is, therepresentative, even to fanaticism, of what he thought the most augustinstitution on the earth. Naturally gay, he would double-lock himself inwhen he wished to laugh. He was witty; but if a bright sally escapedhim, you may be sure he repented of it. Body and soul he gave to hisvocation; and no one could bring more conscientiousness to the dischargeof what he thought to be his duty. He was also inflexible. It wasmonstrous, in his eyes, to discuss an article of the code. The lawspoke; it was enough; he shut his eyes, covered his ears, and obeyed.
From the day when a legal investigation commenced, he did not sleep, andhe employed every means to discover the truth. Yet he was not regardedas a good judge of instruction; to contend by tricks with a prisoner wasrepugnant to him; to lay a snare for a rogue he thought debasing; inshort, he was obstinate--obstinate to foolishness, sometimes toabsurdity; even to denying the existence of the sun at mid-day.
The mayor and Papa Plantat hastened to meet M. Domini. He bowed to themgravely, as if he had not known them, and presenting to them a man ofsome sixty years who accompanied him:
"Messieurs," said he, "this is Doctor Gendron."
Papa Plantat shook hands with the doctor; the mayor smiled graciously athim, for Dr. Gendron was well-known in those parts; he was evencelebrated, despite the nearness of Paris. Loving his art and exercisingit with a passionate energy, he yet owed his renown less to his sciencethan his manners. People said: "He is an original;" they admired hisaffectation of independence, of scepticism, and rudeness. He made hisvisits from five to nine in the morning--all the worse for those forwhom these hours were inconvenient. After nine o'clock the doctor wasnot to be had. The doctor was working for himself, the doctor was in hislaboratory, the doctor was inspecting his cellar. It was rumored that hesought for secrets of practical chemistry, to augment still more histwenty thousand livres of income. And he did not deny it; for in truthhe was engaged on poisons, and was perfecting an invention by whichcould be discovered traces of all the alkaloids which up to that timehad escaped analysis. If his friends reproached him, even jokingly, onsending away sick people in the afternoon, he grew red with rage.
"Parbleu!" he answered, "I find you superb! I am a doctor four hours inthe day. I am paid by hardly a quarter of my patients--that's threehours I give daily to humanity, which I despise. Let each of you do asmuch, and we shall see."
The mayor conducted the new-comers into the drawing-room, where heinstalled himself to write down the results of his examination.
"What a misfortune for my town, this crime!" said he to M. Domini. "Whatshame! Orcival has lost its reputation."
"I know nothing of the affair," returned the judge. "The gendarme whowent for me knew little about it."
M. Courtois recounted at length what his investigation had discovered,not forgetting the minutest detail, dwelling especially on the excellentprecautions which he had had the sagacity to take. He told how theconduct of the Bertauds had at first awakened his suspicions; how he haddetected them, at least in a pointblank lie; how, finally, he haddetermined to arrest them. He spoke standing, his head thrown back, withwordy emphasis. The pleasure of speaking partially rewarded him for hisrecent distress.
"And now," he concluded, "I have just ordered the most exact search, sothat doubtless we shall find the count's body. Five men, detailed by me,and all the people of the house, are searching the park. If theirefforts are not crowned with success, I have here some fishermen whowill drag the river."
M. Domini held his tongue, only nodding his head from time to time, as asign of approbation. He was studying, weighing the details told him,building up in his mind a plan of proceeding.
"You have acted wisely," said he, at last. "The misfortune is a greatone, but I agree with you that we are on the track of the criminals.These poachers, or the gardener who has disappeared, have something,perhaps, to do with this abominable crime."
Already, for some minutes, M. Plantat had rather awkwardly concealedsome signs of impatience.
"The misfortune is," said he, "that if Guespin is guilty, he will not besuch a fool as to show himself here."
"Oh, we'll find him," returned M. Domini. "Before leaving Corbeil, Isent a despatch to the prefecture of police at Paris, to ask for apolice agent, who will doubtless be here shortly."
"While waiting," proposed the mayor, "perhaps you would like to see thescene of the crime?"
M. Domini made a motion as if to rise; then sat down again.
"In fact, no," said he; "we will see nothing till the agent arrives. ButI must have some information concerning the Count and Countess deTremorel."
The worthy mayor again triumphed.
"Oh, I can give it to you," answered he quickly, "better than anybody.Ever since their advent here, I may say, I have been one of their bestfriends. Ah, sir, what charming people! excellent, and affable, anddevoted--"
And at the remembrance of all his friends' good qualities, M. Courtoischoked in his utterance.
"The Count de Tremorel," he resumed, "was a man of thirty-four years,handsome, witty to the tips of his nails. He had sometimes, however,periods of melancholy, during which he did not wish to see anybody; buthe was ordinarily so affable, so polite, so obliging; he knew so wellhow to be noble without haughtiness, that everybody here esteemed andloved him."
"And the countess?" asked the judge of instruction.
"An angel, Monsieur, an angel on earth! Poor lady! You will soon see herremains, and surely you would not guess that she has been the queen ofthe country, by reason of her beauty."
"Were they rich?"
"Yes; they must have had, together, more than a hundred thousand francsincome--oh, yes, much more; for within five or six months the count, whohad not the bucolic tastes of poor Sauvresy, sold some lands to buyconsols."
"Have they been married long?"
M. Courtois scratched his head; it was his appeal to memory.
"Faith," he answered, "it was in September of last year; just six monthsago. I married them myself. Poor Sauvresy had been dead a year."
The judge of instruction looked up from his notes with a surprised air.
"Who is this Sauvresy," he inquired, "of whom you speak?"
Papa Plantat, who was furiously biting his nails in a corner, apparentlya stranger to what was passing, rose abruptly.
"Monsieur Sauvresy," said he, "was the first husband of Madame deTremorel. My friend Courtois has omitted this fact."
"Oh!" said the mayor, in a wounded tone, "it seems to me that underpresent circumstances--"
"Pardon me," interrupted the judge. "It is a detail such as may wellbecome valuable, though apparently foreign to the case, and at the firstview, insignificant."
"Hum!" grunted Papa Plantat. "Insignificant--foreign to it!"
His tone was so singular, his air so strange, that M. Domini was struckby it.
"Do you share," he asked, "the opinion of the mayor regarding theTremorels?"
Plantat shrugged his shoulders.
"I haven't any opinions," he answered: "I live alone--see nobody; don'tdisturb myself about anything. But--"
"It seems to me," said M. Courtois, "that nobody should be betteracquainted with people who were my friends than I myself."
"Then, you are tellin
g the story clumsily," said M. Plantat, dryly.
The judge of instruction pressed him to explain himself. So M. Plantat,without more ado, to the great scandal of the mayor, who was thus putinto the background, proceeded to dilate upon the main features of thecount's and countess's biography.
"The Countess de Tremorel, nee Bertha Lechaillu, was the daughter of apoor village school-master. At eighteen, her beauty was famous for threeleagues around, but as she only had for dowry her great blue eyes andblond ringlets, but few serious lovers presented themselves. AlreadyBertha, by advice of her family, had resigned herself to take a place asa governess--a sad position for so beautiful a maid--when the heir ofone of the richest domains in the neighborhood happened to see her, andfell in love with her.
"Clement Sauvresy was just thirty; he had no longer any family, andpossessed nearly a hundred thousand livres income from lands absolutelyfree of incumbrance. Clearly, he had the best right in the world tochoose a wife to his taste. He did not hesitate. He asked for Bertha'shand, won it, and, a month after, wedded her at mid-day, to the greatscandal of the neighboring aristocracy, who went about saying: 'Whatfolly! what good is there in being rich, if it is not to double one'sfortune by a good marriage!'
"Nearly a month before the marriage, Sauvresy set the laborers to workat Valfeuillu, and in no long time had spent, in repairs and furniture,a trifle of thirty thousand crowns. The newly married pair chose thisbeautiful spot in which to spend their honeymoon. They were sowell-contented there that they established themselves permanently atValfeuillu, to the great satisfaction of the neighborhood.
"Bertha was one of those persons, it seemed, who are born especially tomarry millionnaires. Without awkwardness or embarrassment, she passedeasily from the humble school-room, where she had assisted her father,to the splendid drawing-room of Valfeuillu. And when she did the honorsof her chateau to all the neighboring aristocracy, it seemed as thoughshe had never done anything else. She knew how to remain simple,approachable, modest, all the while that she took the tone of thehighest society. She was beloved."
"But it appears to me," interrupted the mayor, "that I said the samething, and it was really not worth while--"
A gesture from M. Domini closed his mouth, and M. Plantat continued:
"Sauvresy was also liked, for he was one of those golden hearts whichknow not how to suspect evil. He was one of those men with a robustfaith, with obstinate illusions, whom doubts never disturb. He was oneof those who thoroughly confide in the sincerity of their friends, inthe love of their mistresses. This new domestic household ought to behappy; it was so. Bertha adored her husband--that frank man, who, beforespeaking to her a word of love, offered her his hand. Sauvresy professedfor his wife a worship which few thought foolish. They lived in greatstyle at Valfeuillu. They received a great deal. When autumn came allthe numerous spare chambers were filled. The turnouts were magnificent.
"Sauvresy had been married two years, when one evening he brought fromParis one of his old and intimate friends, a college comrade of whom hehad often spoken, Count Hector de Tremorel. The count intended to remainbut a short time at Valfeuillu; but weeks passed and then months, and hestill remained. It was not surprising. Hector had passed a very stormyyouth, full of debauchery, of clubs, of gambling, and of amours. He hadthrown to the winds of his caprices an immense fortune; the relativelycalm life of Valfeuillu was a relief. At first people said to him, 'Youwill soon have enough of the country.' He smiled, but said nothing. Itwas then thought, and rightly, perhaps, that having become poor, hecared little to display his ruin before those who had obscured hissplendor. He absented himself rarely, and then only to go to Corbeil,almost always on foot. There he frequented the Belle Image hotel, thebest in the town, and met, as if by chance, a young lady from Paris.They spent the afternoon together, and separated when the last trainleft."
"Peste!" growled the mayor, "for a man who lives alone, who sees nobody,who would not for the world have anything to do with other people'sbusiness, it seems to me our dear Monsieur Plantat is pretty wellinformed."
Evidently M. Courtois was jealous. How was it that he, the firstpersonage in the place, had been absolutely ignorant of these meetings?His ill-humor was increasing, when Dr. Gendron answered:
"Pah! all Corbeil prated about that at the time."
M. Plantat made a movement with his lips as if to say, "I know otherthings besides." He went on, however, with his story.
"The visit of Count Hector made no change in the habits at the chateau.Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy had a brother; that was all. Sauvresy atthis time made several journeys to Paris, where, as everybody knew, hewas engaged in arranging his friend's affairs.
"This charming existence lasted a year. Happiness seemed to be fixedforever beneath the delightful shades of Valfeuillu. But alas! oneevening on returning from the hunt, Sauvresy became so ill that he wasforced to take to his bed. A doctor was called; inflammation of thechest had set in. Sauvresy was young, vigorous as an oak; his state didnot at first cause anxiety. A fortnight afterward, in fact, he was upand about. But he was imprudent and had a relapse. He again nearlyrecovered; a week afterward there was another relapse, and this time soserious, that a fatal end of his illness was foreseen. During this longsickness, the love of Bertha and the affection of Tremorel for Sauvresywere tenderly shown. Never was an invalid tended with suchsolicitude--surrounded with so many proofs of the purest devotion. Hiswife and his friend were always at his couch, night and day. He hadhours of suffering, but never a second of weariness. He repeated to allwho went to see him, that he had come to bless his illness. He said tohimself, 'If I had not fallen ill, I should never have known how much Iwas beloved.'"
"He said the same thing to me," interrupted the mayor, "more than ahundred times. He also said so to Madame Courtois, to Laurence, myeldest daughter--"
"Naturally," continued M. Plantat. "But Sauvresy's distemper was oneagainst which the science of the most skilful physicians and the mostconstant care contend in vain.
"He said that he did not suffer much, but he faded perceptibly, and wasno more than the shadow of his former self. At last, one night, towardtwo or three o'clock, he died in the arms of his wife and his friend. Upto the last moment, he had preserved the full force of his faculties.Less than an hour before expiring, he wished everyone to be awakened,and that all the servants of the castle should be summoned. When theywere all gathered about the bedside, he took his wife's hand, placed itin that of the Count de Tremorel, and made them swear to marry eachother when he was no more. Bertha and Hector began to protest, but heinsisted in such a manner as to compel assent, praying and adjuringthem, and declaring that their refusal would embitter his last moments.This idea of the marriage between his widow and his friend seems,besides, to have singularly possessed his thoughts toward the close ofhis life. In the preamble of his will, dictated the night before hisdeath, to M. Bury, notary of Orcival, he says formally that their unionis his dearest wish, certain as he is of their happiness, and knowingwell that his memory will be piously kept."
"Had Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy no children?" asked the judge ofinstruction.
"No," answered the mayor.
M. Plantat continued:
"The grief of the count and the young widow was intense. M. de Tremorel,especially, seemed absolutely desperate, and acted like a madman. Thecountess shut herself up, forbidding even those whom she loved best fromentering her chamber--even Madame Courtois. When the count and MadameBertha reappeared, they were scarcely to be recognized, so much had bothchanged. Monsieur Hector seemed to have grown twenty years older. Wouldthey keep the oath made at the death-bed of Sauvresy, of which everyonewas apprised? This was asked with all the more curiosity, because theirprofound sorrow for a man who well merited it, was admired."
The judge of instruction stopped M. Plantat with a motion of his hand.
"Do you know," asked he, "whether the rendezvous at the Hotel BelleImage had ceased?"
"I suppose so, sir; I think so."
"I am almost sure of it," said Dr. Gendron. "I have often heard itsaid--they know everything at Corbeil--that there was a heatedexplanation between M. de Tremorel and the pretty Parisian lady. Afterthis quarrel, they were no longer seen at the Belle Image."
The old justice of the peace smiled.
"Melun is not at the end of the world," said he, "and there are hotelsat Melun. With a good horse, one is soon at Fontainebleau, atVersailles, even at Paris. Madame de Tremorel might have been jealous;her husband had some first-rate trotters in his stables."
Did M. Plantat give an absolutely disinterested opinion, or did he makean insinuation? The judge of instruction looked at him attentively, toreassure himself, but his visage expressed nothing but a profoundserenity. He told the story as he would any other, no matter what.
"Please go on, Monsieur," resumed M. Domini.
"Alas!" said M. Plantat, "nothing here below is eternal, not even grief.I know it better than anybody. Soon, to the tears of the first days, toviolent despair, there succeeded, in the count and Madame Bertha, areasonable sadness, then a soft melancholy. And in one year afterSauvresy's death Monsieur de Tremorel espoused his widow."
During this long narrative the mayor had several times exhibited marksof impatience. At the end, being able to hold in no longer, heexclaimed:
"There, those are surely exact details; but I question whether they haveadvanced us a step in this grave matter which occupies us all--to findthe murderers of the count and countess."
M. Plantat, at these words, bent on the judge of instruction his clearand deep look, as if to search his conscience to the bottom.
"These details were indispensable," returned M. Domini, "and they arevery clear. Those rendezvous at the hotel struck me; one knows not towhat extremities jealousy might lead a woman--"
He stopped abruptly, seeking, no doubt, some connection between thepretty Parisian and the murderers; then resumed:
"Now that I know the Tremorels as if I had lived with them intimately,let us proceed to the actual facts."
The brilliant eye of M. Plantat immediately grew dim; he opened his lipsas if to speak; but kept his peace. The doctor alone, who had not ceasedto study the old justice of the peace, remarked the sudden change of hisfeatures.
"It only remains," said M. Domini, "to know how the new couple lived."
M. Courtois thought it due to his dignity to anticipate M. Plantat.
"You ask how the new couple lived," said he hastily; "they lived inperfect concord; nobody knows better about it than I, who was mostintimate with them. The memory of poor Sauvresy was a bond of happinessbetween them; if they liked me so well, it was because I often talked ofhim. Never a cloud, never a cross word. Hector--I called him so,familiarly, this poor, dear count--gave his wife the tender attentionsof a lover; those delicate cares, which I fear most married people soondispense with."
"And the countess?" asked M. Plantat, in a tone too marked not to beironical.
"Bertha?" replied the worthy mayor--"she permitted me to call her thus,paternally--I have cited her many and many a time as an example andmodel, to Madame Courtois. She was worthy of Hector and of Sauvresy, thetwo most worthy men I have ever met!"
Then, perceiving that his enthusiasm somewhat surprised his hearers, headded, more softly:
"I have my reasons for expressing myself thus; and I do not hesitate todo so before men whose profession and character will justify mydiscretion. Sauvresy, when living, did me a great service--when I wasforced to take the mayoralty. As for Hector, I knew well that he haddeparted--from the dissipations of his youth, and thought I discernedthat he was not indifferent to my eldest daughter, Laurence; and Idreamed of a marriage all the more proper, as, if the Count Hector had agreat name, I would give to my daughter a dowry large enough to gild anyescutcheon. Only events modified my projects."
The mayor would have gone on singing the praises of the Tremorels, andhis own family, if the judge of instruction had not interposed.
"Here I am fixed," he commenced, "now, it seems to me--"
He was interrupted by a loud noise in the vestibule. It seemed like astruggle, and cries and shouts reached the drawing-room. Everybody rose.
"I know what it is," said the mayor, "only too well. They have justfound the body of the Count de Tremorel."
Le crime d'Orcival. English Page 3
