XXIII.
The Marquis de Boiscoran had not been mistaken about M. Magloire. Muchshaken by Dionysia's statement, he had been completely overcome by M.Folgat's explanations; and, when he now came to the jail, it was with adetermination to prove Jacques's innocence.
"But I doubt very much whether he will ever forgive me for myincredulity," he said to M. Folgat while they were waiting for theprisoner in his cell.
Jacques came in, still deeply moved by the scene with his father. M.Magloire went up to him, and said,--
"I have never been able to conceal my thoughts, Jacques. When I thoughtyou guilty, and felt sure that you accused the Countess Claudieusefalsely, I told you so with almost brutal candor. I have since found outmy error, and am now convinced of the truth of your statement: so I comeand tell you as frankly, Jacques, I was wrong to have had more faith inthe reputation of a woman than in the words of a friend. Will you giveme your hand?"
The prisoner grasped his hand with a profusion of joy, and cried,--
"Since you believe in my innocence, others may believe in me too, and mysalvation is drawing near."
The melancholy faces of the two advocates told him that he was rejoicingtoo soon. His features expressed his grief; but he said with a firmvoice,--
"Well, I see that the struggle will be a hard one, and that the resultis still uncertain. Never mind. You may be sure I will not give way."
In the meantime M. Folgat had spread out on the table all the papershe had brought with him,--copies furnished by Mechinet, and notes takenduring his rapid journey.
"First of all, my dear client," he said, "I must inform you of what hasbeen done."
And when he had stated every thing, down to the minutest details of whatGoudar and he had done, he said,--
"Let us sum up. We are able to prove three things: 1. That the house inVine Street belongs to you, and that Sir Francis Burnett, who is knownthere, and you are one; 2. That you were visited in this house by alady, who, from all the precautions she took, had powerful reasons toremain unknown; 3. That the visits of this lady took place at certainepochs every year, which coincided precisely with the journeys which theCountess Claudieuse yearly made to Paris."
The great advocate of Sauveterre expressed his assent.
"Yes," he said, "all this is fully established."
"For ourselves, we have another certainty,--that Suky Wood, the servantof the false Sir Francis Burnett, has watched the mysterious lady; thatshe has seen her, and consequently would know her again."
"True, that appears from the deposition of the girl's friend."
"Consequently, if we discover Suky Wood, the Countess Claudieuse isunmasked."
"If we discover her," said M. Magloire. "And here, unfortunately, weenter into the region of suppositions."
"Suppositions!" said M. Folgat. "Well, call them so; but they are basedupon positive facts, and supported by a hundred precedents. Why shouldwe not find this Suky Wood, whose birthplace and family we know, and whohas no reason for concealment? Goudar has found very different people;and Goudar is on our side. And you may be sure he will not be asleep.I have held out to him a certain hope which will make him domiracles,--the hope of receiving as a reward, if he succeeds, thehouse in Vine Street. The stakes are too magnificent: he must win thegame,--he who has won so many already. Who knows what he may not havediscovered since we left him? Has he not done wonders already?"
"It is marvellous!" cried Jacques, amazed at these results.
Older than M. Folgat and Jacques, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre wasless ready to feel such enthusiasm.
"Yes," he said, "it is marvellous; and, if we had time, I would sayas you do, 'We shall carry the day!' But there is no time for Goudar'sinvestigations: the sessions are on hand, and it seems to me it would bevery difficult to obtain a postponement."
"Besides, I do not wish it to be postponed," said Jacques.
"But"--
"On no account, Magloire, never! What? I should endure three months moreof this anguish which tortures me? I could not do it: my strength isexhausted. This uncertainty has been too much for me. I could bear nomore suspense."
M. Folgat interrupted him, saying,--
"Do not trouble yourself about that: a postponement is out of thequestion. On what pretext could we ask for it? The only way would be tointroduce an entirely new element in the case. We should have to summonthe Countess Claudieuse."
The greatest surprise appeared on Jacques's face.
"Will we not summon her anyhow?" he asked.
"That depends."
"I do not understand you."
"It is very simple, however. If Goudar should succeed, before the trial,in collecting sufficient evidence against her, I should summon hercertainly; and then the case would naturally change entirely; the wholeproceeding would begin anew; and you would probably appear only as awitness. If, on the contrary, we obtain, before the trial begins, noother proof but what we have now, I shall not mention her name even; forthat would, in my opinion, and in M. Magloire's opinion, ruin your causeirrevocably."
"Yes," said the great advocate, "that is my opinion."
Jacques's amazement was boundless.
"Still," he said, "in self-defence, I must, if I am brought up in court,speak of my relations to the Countess Claudieuse."
"No."
"But that is my only explanation."
"If it were credited."
"And you think you can defend me, you think you can save me, withouttelling the truth?"
M. Folgat shook his head, and said,--
"In court the truth is the last thing to be thought of."
"Oh!"
"Do you think the jury would credit allegations which M. Magloire didnot credit? No. Well, then, we had better not speak of them any more,and try to find some explanation which will meet the charges broughtagainst you. Do you think we should be the first to act thus? By nomeans. There are very few cases in which the prosecution says all itknows, and still fewer in which the defence calls for every thing itmight call for. Out of ten criminal trials, there are at least three inwhich side-issues are raised. What will be the charge in court againstyou? The substance of the romance which the magistrate has invented inorder to prove your guilt. You must meet him with another romance whichproves your innocence."
"But the truth."
"Is dependent on probability, my dear client. Ask M. Magloire. Theprosecution only asks for probability: hence probability is all thedefence has to care for. Human justice is feeble, and limited in itsmeans; it cannot go down to the very bottom of things; it cannot judgeof motives, and fathom consciences. It can only judge from appearances,and decide by plausibility; there is hardly a case which has not someunexplored mystery, some undiscovered secret. The truth! Ah! do youthink M. Galpin has looked for it? If he did, why did he not summonCocoleu? But no, as long as he can produce a criminal, who may beresponsible for the crime, he is quite content. The truth! Which of usknows the real truth? Your case, M. de Boiscoran, is one of those inwhich neither the prosecution, nor the defence, nor the accused himself,knows the truth of the matter."
There followed a long silence, so deep a silence, that the step ofthe sentinel could be heard, who was walking up and down under theprison-windows. M. Folgat had said all he thought proper to say: hefeared, in saying more, to assume too great a responsibility. It was,after all, Jacques's life and Jacques's honor which were at stake. Healone, therefore, ought to decide the nature of his defence. If hisjudgment was too forcibly controlled by his counsel, he would have hada right hereafter to say, "Why did you not leave me free to choose? Ishould not have been condemned."
To show this very clearly, M. Folgat went on,--
"The advice I give you, my dear client, is, in my eyes, the best; it isthe advice I would give my own brother. But, unfortunately, I cannot sayit is infallible. You must decide yourself. Whatever you may resolve, Iam still at your service."
Jacques made no reply. His elbows resting on the table, his
face in hishands, he remained motionless, like a statue, absorbed in his thoughts.What should he do? Should he follow his first impulse, tear the veilaside, and proclaim the truth? That was a doubtful policy, but also,what a triumph if he succeeded!
Should he adopt the views of his counsel, employ subterfuges andfalsehoods? That was more certain of success; but to be successful inthis way--was that a real victory?
Jacques was in a terrible perplexity. He felt it but too clearly. Thedecision he must form now would decide his fate. Suddenly he raised hishead, and said,--
"What is your advice, M. Magloire?"
The great advocate of Sauveterre frowned angrily; and said, in asomewhat rough tone of voice,--
"I have had the honor to place before your mother all that my youngcolleague has just told you. M. Folgat has but one fault,--he is toocautious. The physician must not ask what his patient thinks of hisremedies: he must prescribe them. It may be that our prescriptions donot meet with success; but, if you do not follow them, you are mostassuredly lost."
Jacques hesitated for some minutes longer. These prescriptions, as M.Magloire called them, were painfully repugnant to his chivalrous andopen character.
"Would it be worth while," he murmured, "to be acquitted on such terms?Would I really be exculpated by such proceedings? Would not my wholelife thereafter be disgraced by suspicions? I should not come outfrom the trial with a clear acquittal: I should have escaped by a merechance."
"That would still better than to go, by a clear judgment, to thegalleys," said M. Magloire brutally.
This word, "the galleys," made Jacques bound. He rose, walked up anddown a few times in his room, and then, placing himself in front of hiscounsel, said,--
"I put myself in your hands, gentlemen. Tell me what I must do."
Jacques had at least this merit, if he once formed a resolution, he wassure to adhere to it. Calm now, and self-possessed, he sat down, andsaid, with a melancholy smile,--
"Let us hear the plan of battle."
This plan had been for a month now the one great thought of M. Folgat.All his intelligence, all his sagacity and knowledge of the world, hadbeen brought to bear upon this case, which he had made his own, soto say, by his almost passionate interest. He knew the tactics of theprosecution as well as M. Galpin himself, and he knew its weak and itsstrong side even better than M. Galpin.
"We shall go on, therefore," he began, "as if there was no such personas the Countess Claudieuse. We know nothing of her. We shall say nothingof the meeting at Valpinson, nor of the burned letters."
"That is settled."
"That being so, we must next look, not for the manner in which we spentour time, but for our purpose in going out the evening of the crime.Ah! If we could suggest a plausible, a very probable purpose, I shouldalmost guarantee our success; for we need not hesitate to say there isthe turning-point of the whole case, on which all the discussions willturn."
Jacques did not seem to be fully convinced of this view. He said,--
"You think that possible?"
"Unfortunately, it is but too certain; and, if I say unfortunately, itis because here we have to meet a terrible charge, the most decisive, byall means, that has been raised, one on which M. Galpin has not insisted(he is much too clever for that), but one which, in the hands of theprosecution, may become a terrible weapon."
"I must confess," said Jacques, "I do not very well see"--
"Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening ofthe crime?" broke in M. Magloire.
Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel.
"What," he said, "that letter?"
"Overwhelms us, my dear client," said M. Folgat. "Don't you remember it?You told your betrothed in that note, that you would be preventedfrom enjoying the evening with her by some business of the greatestimportance, and which could not be delayed? Thus, you see, you haddetermined beforehand, and after mature consideration, to spend thatevening in doing a certain thing. What was it? 'The murder of CountClaudieuse,' says the prosecution. What can we say?"
"But, I beg your pardon--that letter. Miss Dionysia surely has nothanded it over to them?"
"No; but the prosecution is aware of its existence. M. de Chandore andM. Seneschal have spoken of it in the hope of exculpating you, and haveeven mentioned the contents. And M. Galpin knows it so well, that he hadrepeatedly mentioned it to you, and you have confessed all that he coulddesire."
The young advocate looked among his papers; and soon he had found whathe wanted.
"Look here," he said, "in your third examination, I find this,--"
"'QUESTION.--You were shortly to marry Miss Chandore?
ANSWER.--Yes.
Q--For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?
A.--Yes, all.
Q.--Except the one of the crime?
A.--Unfortunately.
Q.--Then your betrothed must have wondered at your absence?
A.--No: I had written to her.'"
"Do you hear, Jacques?" cried M. Magloire. "Notice that M. Galpin takescare not to insist. He does not wish to rouse your suspicions. He hasgot you to confess, and that is enough for him."
But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper.
"In your sixth examination," he went on, "I have noticed this,--
"'Q.--You left your house with your gun on your shoulder, without anydefinite aim?
A.--I shall explain that when I have consulted with counsel.
Q.--You need no consultation to tell the truth.
A.--I shall not change my resolution.
Q.--Then you will not tell me where you were between eight and midnight?
A.--I shall answer that question at the same time with the other.
Q.--You must have had very strong reasons to keep you out, as you wereexpected by your betrothed, Miss Chandore?
A.--I had written to her not to expect me.'"
"Ah! M. Galpin is a clever fellow," growled M. Magloire.
"Finally," said M. Folgat, "here is a passage from your last but oneexamination,--
"'Q.--When you wanted to send anybody to Sauveterre, whom did youusually employ?
A.--The son of one of my tenants, Michael.
Q.--It was he, I suppose, who, on the evening of the crime, carried theletter to Miss Chandore, in which you told her not to expect you?
A.--Yes.
Q.--You pretended you would be kept by some important business?
A.--That is the usual pretext.
Q.--But in your case it was no pretext. Where had you to go? and wheredid you go?
A.--As long as I have not seen counsel I shall say nothing.
Q.--Have a care: the system of negation and concealment is dangerous.
A.--I know it, and I accept the consequences.'"
Jacques was dumfounded. And necessarily every accused person is equallysurprised when he hears what he has stated in the examination. There isnot one who does not exclaim,--
"What, I said that? Never!"
He has said it, and there is no denying it; for there it is written, andsigned by himself. How could he ever say so?
Ah! that is the point. However clever a man may be, he cannot for manymonths keep all his faculties on the stretch, and all his energy up toits full power. He has his hours of prostration and his hours of hope,his attacks of despair and his moments of courage; and the impassivemagistrate takes advantage of them all. Innocent or guilty, no prisonercan cope with him. However powerful his memory may be, how can herecall an answer which he may have given weeks and weeks before? Themagistrate, however, remembers it; and twenty times, if need be,he brings it up again. And as the small snowflake may become anirresistible avalanche, so an insignificant word, uttered at haphazard,forgotten, then recalled, commented upon, and enlarged may becomecrushing evidence.
Jacques now experienced this. These questions had been put to him soskilfully, and at such long intervals of time, that he had totallyforgotten the
m; and yet now, when he recalled his answers, he had toacknowledge that he had confessed his purpose to devote that evening tosome business of great importance.
"That is fearful!" he cried.
And, overcome by the terrible reality of M. Folgat's apprehension, headded,--
"How can we get out of that?"
"I told you," replied M. Folgat, "we must find some plausibleexplanation."
"I am sure I am incapable of that."
The young lawyer seemed to reflect a moment, and then he said,--
"You have been a prisoner while I have been free. For a month now I havethought this matter over."
"Ah!"
"Where was your wedding to be?"
"At my house at Boiscoran."
"Where was the religious ceremony to take place?"
"At the church at Brechy."
"Have you ever spoken of that to the priest?"
"Several times. One day especially, when we discussed it in a pleasantway, he said jestingly to me, 'I shall have you, after all in myconfessional.'"
M. Folgat almost trembled with satisfaction, and Jacques saw it.
"Then the priest at Brechy was your friend?"
"An intimate friend. He sometimes came to dine with me quiteunceremoniously, and I never passed him without shaking hands with him."
The young lawyer's joy was growing perceptibly.
"Well," he said, "my explanation is becoming quite plausible. Just hearwhat I have positively ascertained to be the fact. In the time from nineto eleven o'clock, on the night of the crime, there was not a soul atthe parsonage in Brechy. The priest was dining with M. Besson, at hishouse; and his servant had gone out to meet him with a lantern."
"I understand," said M. Magloire.
"Why should you not have gone to see the priest at Brechy, my dearclient? In the first place, you had to arrange the details of theceremony with him; then, as he is your friend, and a man of experience,and a priest, you wanted to ask him for his advice before taking sograve a step, and, finally, you intended to fulfil that religious dutyof which he spoke, and which you were rather reluctant to comply with."
"Well said!" approved the eminent lawyer of Sauveterre,--"very wellsaid!"
"So, you see, my dear client, it was for the purpose of consulting thepriest at Brechy that you deprived yourself of the pleasure of spendingthe evening with your betrothed. Now let us see how that answersthe allegations of the prosecution. They ask you why you took to themarshes. Why? Because it was the shortest way, and you were afraid offinding the priest in bed. Nothing more natural; for it is well knownthat the excellent man is in the habit of going to bed at nine o'clock.Still you had put yourself out in vain; for, when you knocked at thedoor of the parsonage, nobody came to open."
Here M. Magloire interrupted his colleague, saying,--
"So far, all is very well. But now there comes a very greatimprobability. No one would think of going through the forest ofRochepommier in order to return from Brechy to Boiscoran. If you knewthe country"--
"I know it; for I have carefully explored it. And the proof of it is,that, having foreseen the objection, I have found an answer. While M. deBoiscoran knocked at the door, a little peasant-girl passed by, and toldhim that she had just met the priest at a place called the Marshalls'Cross-roads. As the parsonage stands quite isolated, at the end of thevillage, such an incident is very probable. As for the priest, chanceled me to learn this: precisely at the hour at which M. de Boiscoranwould have been at Brechy, a priest passed the Marshalls' Cross-roads;and this priest, whom I have seen, belongs to the next parish. He alsodined at M. Besson's, and had just been sent for to attend a dyingwoman. The little girl, therefore, did not tell a story; she only made amistake."
"Excellent!" said M. Magloire.
"Still," continued M. Folgat, "after this information, what did M. deBoiscoran do? He went on; and, hoping every moment to meet the priest,he walked as far as the forest of Rochepommier. Finding, at last, thatthe peasant-girl had--purposely or not--led him astray, he determined toreturn to Boiscoran through the woods. But he was in very bad humorat having thus lost an evening which he might have spent with hisbetrothed; and this made him swear and curse, as the witness Gaudry hastestified."
The famous lawyer of Sauveterre shook his head.
"That is ingenious, I admit; and I confess, in all humility, thatI could not have suggested any thing as good. But--for there is abut--your story sins by its very simplicity. The prosecution will say,'If that is the truth, why did not M. de Boiscoran say so at once? Andwhat need was there to consult his counsel?'"
M. Folgat showed in his face that he was making a great effort to meetthe objection. After a while, he replied,--
"I know but too well that that is the weak spot in our armor,--a veryweak spot, too; for it is quite clear, that, if M. de Boiscoran hadgiven this explanation on the day of his arrest, he would have beenreleased instantly. But what better can be found? What else can befound? However, this is only a rough sketch of my plan, and I have neverput it into words yet till now. With your assistance, M. Magloire, withthe aid of Mechinet, to whom I am already indebted for very valuableinformation, with the aid of all our friends, in fine, I cannot helphoping that I may be able to improve my plan by adding some mysterioussecret which may help to explain M. de Boiscoran's reticence. I thought,at one time, of calling in politics, and to pretend, that, on account ofthe peculiar views of which he is suspected, M. de Boiscoran preferredkeeping his relations with the priest at Brechy a secret."
"Oh, that would have been most unfortunate!" broke in M. Magloire."We are not only religious at Sauveterre, we are devout, my goodcolleague,--excessively devout."
"And I have given up that idea."
Jacques, who had till now kept silent and motionless, now raised himselfsuddenly to his full height, and cried, in a voice of concentratedrage,--
"Is it not too bad, is it not atrocious, that we should be compelledto concoct a falsehood? And I am innocent! What more could be done if Iwere a murderer?"
Jacques was perfectly right: it was monstrous that he should beabsolutely forced to conceal the truth. But his counsel took no noticeof his indignation: they were too deeply absorbed in examining minutelytheir system of defence.
"Let us go on to the other points of the accusation," said M. Magloire.
"If my version is accepted," replied M. Folgat, "the rest follows as amatter of course. But will they accept it? On the day on which he wasarrested, M. de Boiscoran, trying to find an excuse for having beenout that night, has said that he had gone to see his wood-merchant atBrechy. That was a disastrous imprudence. And here is the real danger.As to the rest, that amounts to nothing. There is the water in which M.de Boiscoran washed his hands when he came home, and in which theyhave found traces of burnt paper. We have only to modify the facts veryslightly to explain that. We have only to state that M. de Boiscoran isa passionate smoker: that is well known. He had taken with him a goodlysupply of cigarettes when he set out for Brechy; but he had takenno matches. And that is a fact. We can furnish proof, we can producewitnesses, we had no matches; for we had forgotten our match-box, theday before, at M. de Chandore's,--the box which we always carry abouton our person, which everybody knows, and which is still lying on themantelpiece in Miss Dionysia's little boudoir. Well, having no matches,we found that we could go no farther without a smoke. We had gone quitefar already; and the question was, Shall we go on without smoking, orreturn? No need of either! There was our gun; and we knew very well whatsportsmen do under such circumstances. We took the shot out of one ofour cartridges, and, in setting the powder on fire, we lighted a pieceof paper. This is an operation in which you cannot help blackening yourfingers. As we had to repeat it several times, our hands were very muchsoiled and very black, and the nails full of little fragments of burntpaper."
"Ah! now you are right," exclaimed M. Magloire. "Well done!"
His young colleague became more and more animated; and always employingthe profession
"we," which his brethren affect, he went on,--
"This water, which you dwell upon so much, is the clearest evidence ofour innocence. If we had been an incendiary, we should certainlyhave poured it out as hurriedly as the murderer tries to wash out theblood-stains on his clothes, which betray him."
"Very well," said M. Magloire again approvingly.
"And your other charges," continued M. Folgat, as if he were standing incourt, and addressing the jury,--"your other charges have all the sameweight. Our letter to Miss Dionysia--why do you refer to that? Because,you say, it proves our premeditation. Ah! there I hold you. Are wereally so stupid and bereft of common sense? That is not our reputation.What! we premeditate a crime, and we do not say to ourselves that weshall certainly be convicted unless we prepare an _alibi_! What! weleave home with the fixed purpose of killing a man, and we load our gunwith small-shot! Really, you make the defence too easy; for your chargesdo not stand being examined."
It was Jacques's turn, this time, to testify his approbation.
"That is," he said, "what I have told Galpin over and over again; and henever had anything to say in reply. We must insist on that point."
M. Folgat was consulting his notes.
"I now come to a very important circumstance, and one which I should,at the trial, make a decisive question, if it should be favorable to ourside. Your valet, my dear client,--your old Anthony,--told me that hehad cleaned and washed your breech-loader the night before the crime."
"Great God!" exclaimed Jacques.
"Well, I see you appreciate the importance of the fact. Between thatcleaning and the time when you set a cartridge on fire, in order to burnthe letters of the Countess Claudieuse, did you fire your gun? If youdid, we must say nothing more about it. If you did not, one of thebarrels of the breech-loader must be clean, and then you are safe."
For more than a minute, Jacques remained silent, trying to recall thefacts; at last he replied,--
"It seems to me, I am sure, I fired at a rabbit on the morning of thefatal day."
M. Magloire looked disappointed.
"Fate again!" he said.
"Oh, wait!" cried Jacques. "I am quite sure, at all events, that Ikilled that rabbit at the first shot. Consequently, I can have fouledonly one barrel of the gun. If I have used the same barrel at Valpinson,to get a light, I am safe. With a double gun, one almost instinctivelyfirst uses the right-hand barrel."
M. Magloire's face grew darker.
"Never mind," he said, "we cannot possibly make an argument upon suchan uncertain chance,--a chance which, in case of error, would almostfatally turn against us. But at the trial, when they show you the gun,examine it, so that you can tell me how that matter stands."
Thus they had sketched the outlines of their plan of defence. Thereremained nothing now but to perfect the details; and to this task thetwo lawyers were devoting themselves still, when Blangin, the jailer,called to them through the wicket, that the doors of the prison wereabout to be closed.
"Five minutes more, my good Blangin!" cried Jacques.
And drawing his two friends aside, as far from the wicket as he could,he said to them in a low and distressed voice,--
"A thought has occurred to me, gentlemen, which I think I ought tomention to you. It cannot be but that the Countess Claudieuse must besuffering terribly since I am in prison. However, sure she may be ofhaving left no trace behind her that could betray her, she must trembleat the idea that I may, after all, tell the truth in self-defence. Shewould deny, I know, and she is so sure of her prestige, that she knowsmy accusation would not injure her marvellous reputation. Nevertheless,she cannot but shrink from the scandal. Who knows if she might not giveus the means to escape from the trial, to avoid such exposure? Why mightnot one of you gentleman make the attempt?"
M. Folgat was a man of quick resolution.
"I will try, if you will give me a line of introduction."
Jacque immediately sat down, and wrote,--
"I have told my counsel, M. Folgat, every thing. Save me, and I swear toyou eternal silence. Will you let me perish, Genevieve, when you know Iam innocent?
"JACQUES." "Is that enough?" he asked, handing the lawyer the note.
"Yes; and I promise you I will see the Countess Claudieuse within thenext forty-eight hours."
Blangin was becoming impatient; and the two advocates had to leave theprison. As they crossed the New-Market Square, they noticed, not farfrom them, a wandering musician, who was followed by a number of boysand girls.
It was a kind of minstrel, dressed in a sort of garment which was nolonger an overcoat and had not yet assumed the shape of a shortcoat.He was strumming on a wretched fiddle; but his voice was good, and theballad he sang had the full flavor of the local accent:--
"In the spring, mother Redbreast Made her nest in the bushes, The good lady! Made her nest in the bushes, The good lady!"
Instinctively M. Folgat was fumbling in his pocket for a few cents, whenthe musician came up to him, held out his hat as if to ask alms, andsaid,--
"You do not recognize me?"
The advocate started.
"You here!" he said.
"Yes, I myself. I came this morning. I was watching for you; for Imust see you this evening at nine o'clock. Come and open the littlegarden-gate at M. de Chandore's for me."
And, taking up his fiddle again, he wandered off listlessly, singingwith his clear voice,--
"And a few, a few weeks later, She had a wee, a wee bit birdy."
Within an Inch of His Life Page 32
