"Are the children also to perish? No. Providence watches. A flash of intelligence pierces the night of an insane man, who rushes through the flames, and s.n.a.t.c.hes the children from the fire that was already threatening their couch.

"Their lives are saved; but the fire continues its destructive march.

"At the sound of the terrible fire-bell, all the inhabitants of the neighboring villages hurry to the spot. But there is no one to direct their efforts; there are no engines; and they can do nothing.

"But all of a sudden a distant rumbling sound revives hope in their hearts. They know the fire-engines are coming. They come; they reach the spot; and whatever men can do is done at once.

"But great G.o.d! What mean those cries of horror which suddenly rise on all sides? The roof of the house is falling, and buries under its ruins two men, the most zealous and most courageous of all the zealous and courageous men,--Bolton the drummer, who had just now summoned his neighbors to come to the rescue, and Guillebault, a father with five children.

"High above the crash and the hissing of flames rise their heart-rending cries. They call for help. Will they be allowed to perish? A gendarme rushes forward, and with him a farmer from Brechy. But their heroism is useless: the monster keeps its prey. The two men also are apparently doomed; and only by unheard-of efforts, and at great peril of life, can they be rescued from the furnace. But they are so grievously wounded, that they will remain infirm for the rest of their lives, compelled to appeal to public charity for their subsistence."

Then the prosecuting attorney proceeds to paint the whole of the disaster at Valpinson in the sombrest colors, and with all the resources of his well-known eloquence. He describes the Countess Claudieuse as she kneels by the side of her dying husband, while the crowd is eagerly pressing around the wounded man and struggling with the flames for the charred remains of the unfortunate firemen. With increasing vehemence, he says next,--

"And during all this time what becomes of the author of these fearful misdeeds? When his hatred is gratified, he flees through the wood, and returns to his home. Remorse, there is none. As soon as he reaches the house, he eats, drinks, smokes his cigar. His position in the country is such, and the precautionary measures he had taken appear to him so well chosen, that he thinks he is above suspicion. He is calm. He feels so perfectly safe, that he neglects the commonest precautions, and does not even take the trouble of pouring out the water in which he has washed his hands, blackened as they are by the fire he has just kindled.

"He forgets that Providence whose torch on great occasions illumines and guides human justice.

"And how, indeed, could the law ever have expected to find the guilty man in one of the most magnificent chateaux of the country but for a direct intervention of Providence?

"For the incendiary, the a.s.sa.s.sin, was actually there, at the Chateau Boiscoran.

"And let no one come and tell us that the past life of Jacques de Boiscoran is such as to protect him against the formidable charges that are brought against him. We know his past life.

"A perfect model of those idle young men who spend in riotous living a fortune painfully ama.s.sed by their fathers, Jacques de Boiscoran had not even a profession. Useless to society, a burden to himself, he pa.s.sed through life like a ship without rudder and without compa.s.s, indulging in all kinds of unhealthy fashions in order to spend the hours that were weighing heavily upon him.

"And yet he was ambitious; but his ambition lay in the direction of those dangerous and wicked intrigues which inevitably lead men to crime.

"Hence we see him mixed up with all those sterile and wanton party movements which discredit our days, uttering over and over again hollow phrases in condemnation of all that is n.o.ble and sacred, appealing to the most execrable pa.s.sions of the mult.i.tude"--

M. MAGLOIRE.--If this is a political affair, we ought to be informed beforehand.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--There is no question of politics here. We speak of the life of a man who has been an apostle of strife.

M. MAGLOIRE.--Does the attorney-general fancy he is preaching peace?

PRESIDENT.--I request counsel for the defence not to interrupt.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--And it is in this ambition of the accused that we must look for a key to that terrible hatred which has led him to commit such crimes. That lawsuit about a stream of water is a matter of comparatively little importance. But Jacques de Boiscoran was preparing to become a candidate for election.

A.--I never dreamed of it.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Not noticing the interruption.) He did not say so; but his friends said it for him, and went about everywhere, repeating that by his position, his wealth, and his opinions, he was the man best worthy of the votes of Republicans. And he would have had an excellent chance, if there had not stood between him and the object of his desires Count Claudieuse, who had already more than once succeeded in defeating similar plots.

M. MAGLOIRE.--(Warmly.) Do you refer to me?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--I allude to no one.

M. MAGLOIRE.--You might just as well say at once, that my friends as well as myself are all M. de Boiscoran's accomplices; and that we have employed him to rid us of a formidable adversary.

ATTORNEY-GENERAL.--(Continues.) Gentlemen, this is the real motive of the crime. Hence that hatred which the accused soon is unable to conceal any longer, which overflows in invectives, which breaks forth in threats of death, and which actually carries him so far that he points his gun at Count Claudieuse.

The attorney-general next pa.s.ses on to examine the charges, which, he declares, are overwhelming and irrefutable. Then he goes on,--

"But what need is there of such questions after the crushing evidence of Count Claudieuse? You have heard it,--on the point of appearing before G.o.d!

"His first impulse was to follow the generous nature of his heart, and to pardon the man who had attempted his life. He desired to save him; but, as he felt death come nearer, he saw that he had no right to shield a criminal from the sword of justice: he remembered that there were other victims beside himself.

"And then, rising from his bed of agony, he dragged himself here into court, in order to tell you. 'That is the man! By the light of the fire which he had kindled, I saw him and recognized him. He is the man!'

"And could you hesitate after such evidence? No! I can not and will not believe it. After such crimes, society expects that justice should be done,--justice in the name of Count Claudieuse on his deathbed,--justice in the name of the dead,--justice in the name of Bolton's mother, and of Guillebault's widow and her five children."

A murmur of approbation accompanied the last words of M. Gransiere, and continued for some time after he had concluded. There is not a woman in the whole a.s.sembly who does not shed tears.

P.--The counsel for the defence.

[Pleading.]

As M. Magloire had so far alone taken an active part in the defence, it was generally believed that he would speak. But it was not so. M. Folgat rises.

Our court-house here in Sauveterre has at various times reechoed the words of almost all our great masters of forensic eloquence. We have heard Berryer, Dufaure, Jules Favre, and others; but, even after these ill.u.s.trious orators, M. Folgat still succeeds in astonishing and moving us deeply.

We can, of course, report here only a few of his phrases; and we must utterly abandon all hope of giving an idea of his proud and disdainful att.i.tude, his admirable manner, full of authority, and especially of his full, rich voice, which found its way into every heart.

"To defend certain men against certain charges," he began, "would be to insult them. They cannot be touched. To the portrait drawn by the prosecuting attorney, I shall simply oppose the answer given by the venerable priest of Brechy. What did he tell you? M. de Boiscoran is the best and most honorable of men. There is the truth; they wish to make him out a political intriguant. He had, it is true, a desire to be useful to his country. But, while others debated, he acted. The Sauveterre Volunteers will tell you to what pa.s.sions he appealed before the enemy, and by what intrigues he won the cross which Chausy himself fastened to his breast. He wanted power, you say. No: he wished for happiness. You speak of a letter written by him, the evening of the crime, to his betrothed. I challenge you to read it. It covers four pages: before you have read two, you will be forced to abandon the case."

Then the young advocate repeats the evidence given by the accused; and really, under the influence of his eloquence, the charges seem to fall to the ground, and to be utterly annihilated.

"And now," he went on, "what other evidence remains there? The evidence given by Count Claudieuse. It is crushing, you say. I say it is singular. What! here is a witness who sees his last hour drawing nigh, and who yet waits for the last minute of his life before he speaks. And you think that is natural! You pretend that it was generosity which made him keep silent. I, I ask you how the most cruel enemy could have acted more atrociously?

"'Never was a case clearer,' says the prosecution. On the contrary, I maintain that never was a case more obscure; and that, so far from fathoming the secret of the whole affair, the prosecution has not found out the first word of it."

M. Folgat takes his seat, and the sheriff's officers have to interfere to prevent applause from breaking out. If the vote had been taken at that moment, M. de Boiscoran would have been acquitted.

But the proceedings are suspended for fifteen minutes; and in the meantime the lamps are lit, for night begins to fall.

When the president resumes his chair, the attorney-general claims his right to speak.

"I shall not reply as I had at first proposed. Count Claudieuse is about to pay with his life for the effort which he has made to place his evidence before you. He could not even be carried home. He is perhaps at this very moment drawing his last breath upon earth in the adjoining room."

The counsel for the defence do not desire to address the jury; and, as the accused also declares that he has nothing more to say, the president sums up, and the jurymen withdrew to their room to deliberate.

The heat is overwhelming, the restraint almost unbearable; and all faces bear the marks of oppressive fatigue; but n.o.body thinks of leaving the house. A thousand contradictory reports circulate through the excited crowd. Some say that Count Claudieuse has died; others, on the contrary, report him better, and add that he has sent for the priest from Brechy.

At last, a few minutes after nine o'clock, the jury reappears.

Jacques de Boiscoran is declared guilty, and, on the score of extenuating circ.u.mstances, sentenced to twenty years' penal labor.