LITMIR.BIZ

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an undertone to the magistrate, “you will find all the letters in this portfolio. I must ask permission to leave you at once, as Madame Gerdy’s condition grows hourly more alarming.”

      Noel had raised his voice a little, in pronouncing these last words; and the count heard them. He started, and made a great effort to restrain the question which leaped from his heart to his lips.

      “You must however give me a moment, my dear sir,” replied the magistrate.

      M. Daburon then quitted his chair, and, taking the advocate by the hand, led him to the count.

      “M. de Commarin,” said he, “I have the honour of presenting to you M. Noel Gerdy.”

      M. de Commarin was probably expecting some scene of this kind: for not a muscle of his face moved: he remained perfectly calm. Noel, on his side, was like a man who had received a blow on the head; he staggered, and was obliged to seek support from the back of a chair.

      Then these two, father and son, stood face to face, apparently deep in thought, but in reality examining one another with mutual distrust, each striving to gather something of the other’s thoughts.

      M. Daburon had augured better results from this meeting, which he had been awaiting ever since the count’s arrival. He had expected that this abrupt presentation would bring about an intensely pathetic scene, which would not give his two witnesses time for reflection. The count would open his arms: Noel would throw himself into them; and this reconciliation would only await the sanction of the tribunals, to be complete.

      The coldness of the one, the embarrassment of the other, disconcerted his plans. He therefore thought it necessary to intervene.

      “Count,” said he reproachfully, “remember that it was only a few minutes ago that you admitted that M. Gerdy was your legitimate son.”

      M. de Commarin made no reply; to judge from his lack of emotion, he could not have heard.

      So Noel, summoning all his courage, ventured to speak first — “Sir,” he stammered, “I entertain no —”

      “You may call me father,” interrupted the haughty old man, in a tone which was by no means affectionate. Then addressing the magistrate he said: “Can I be of any further use to you, sir?”

      “Only to hear your evidence read over,” replied M. Daburon, “and to sign it if you find everything correct. You can proceed, Constant,” he added.

      The tall clerk turned half round on his chair and commenced. He had a peculiar way of jabbering over what he had scrawled. He read very quickly, all at a stretch, without paying the least attention to either full stops or commas, questions or replies; but went on reading as long as his breath lasted. When he could go on no longer, he took a breath, and then continued as before. Unconsciously, he reminded one of a diver, who every now and then raises his head above water, obtains a supply of air, and disappears again. Noel was the only one to listen attentively to the reading, which to unpractised ears was unintelligible. It apprised him of many things which it was important for him to know. At last Constant pronounced the words, “In testimony whereof,” etc., which end all official reports in France.

      He handed the pen to the count, who signed without hesitation. The old nobleman then turned towards Noel.

      “I am not very strong,” he said; “you must therefore, my son,” emphasizing the word, “help your father to his carriage.”

      The young advocate advanced eagerly. His face brightened, as he passed the count’s arm through his own. When they were gone, M. Daburon could not resist a impulse of curiosity. He hastened to the door, which he opened slightly; and, keeping his body in the background that he might not himself be seen, he looked out into the passage. The count and Noel had not yet reached the end. They were going slowly. The count seemed to drag heavily and painfully along; the advocate took short steps, bending slightly towards his father; and all his movements were marked with the greatest solicitude. The magistrate remained watching them until they passed out of sight at the end of the gallery. Then he returned to his seat, heaving a deep sigh.

      “At least,” thought he, “I have helped to make one person happy. The day will not be entirely a bad one.”

      But he had no time to give way to his thoughts, the hours flew by so quickly. He wished to interrogate Albert as soon as possible; and he had still to receive the evidence of several of the count’s servants, and the report of the commissary of police charged with the arrest. The servants who had been waiting their turn a long while were now brought in without delay, and examined separately. They had but little information to give; but the testimony of each was so to say a fresh accusation. It was easy to see that all believed their master guilty.

      Albert’s conduct since the beginning of the fatal week, his least words, his most insignificant movements, were reported, commented upon, and explained.

      The man who lives in the midst of thirty servants is like an insect in a glass box under the magnifying glass of a naturalist. Not one of his acts escapes their notice: he can scarcely have a secret of his own; and, if they cannot divine what it is, they at least know that he has one. From morn till night he is the point of observation for thirty pairs of eyes, interested in studying the slightest changes in his countenance.

      The magistrate obtained, therefore, an abundance of those frivolous details which seem nothing at first; but the slightest of which may, at the trial, become a question of life or death.

      By combining these depositions, reconciling them and putting them in order, M. Daburon was able to follow his prisoner hour by hour from the Sunday morning.

      Directly Noel left, the viscount gave orders that all visitors should be informed that he had gone into the country. From that moment, the whole household perceived that something had gone wrong with him, that he was very much annoyed, or very unwell.

      He did not leave his study on that day, but had his dinner brought up to him. He ate very little — only some soup, and a very thin fillet of sole with white wine. While eating, he said to M. Contois, the butler: “Remind the cook to spice the sauce a little more, in future,” and then added in a low tone, “Ah! to what purpose?” In the evening he dismissed his servants from all duties, saying, “Go, and amuse yourselves.” He expressly warned them not to disturb him unless he rang.

      On the Monday, he did not get up until noon, although usually an early riser. He complained of a violent headache, and of feeling sick. He took, however a cup of tea. He ordered his brougham, but almost immediately countermanded the order. Lubin, his valet, heard him say: “I am hesitating too much;” and a few moments later, “I must make up my mind.” Shortly afterwards he began writing.

      He then gave Lubin a letter to carry to Mademoiselle Claire d’Arlange, with orders to deliver it only to herself or to Mademoiselle Schmidt, the governess. A second letter, containing two thousand franc notes, was intrusted to Joseph, to be taken to the viscount’s club. Joseph no longer remembered the name of the person to whom the letter was addressed; but it was not a person of title. That evening, Albert only took a little soup, and remained shut up in his room.

      He rose early on the Tuesday. He wandered about the house, as though he were in great trouble, or impatiently awaiting something which did not arrive. On his going into the garden, the gardener asked his advice concerning a lawn. He replied, “You had better consult the count upon his return.”

      He did not breakfast any more than the day before. About one o’clock, he went down to stables, and caressed, with an air of sadness, his favorite mare, Norma. Stroking her neck, he said, “Poor creature! poor old girl!”

      At three o’clock, a messenger arrived with a letter. The viscount took it, and opened it hastily. He was then near the flower-garden. Two footmen distinctly heard him say, “She cannot resist.” He returned to the house, and burnt the letter in the large stove in the hall.

      As he was sitting down to dinner, at six o’clock, two of his friends, M. de Courtivois and the Marquis de Chouze, insisted upon seeing him, in spite of all orders. They would not be refused. These gentlemen were anxious

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