Arsonists -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Fires -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
“When she wanted still greater freedom, she went to see her friend in
Fontainebleau; and every time she did this she secured twenty-four or
forty-eight hours over and above the time for the journey. I, for my
part, was as perfectly free from all control. Ostensibly, I had gone to
Ireland; in reality, I lived in Vine Street.
“These five weeks passed like a dream; and yet I must confess, the
parting was not as painful as might have been supposed. Not that the
bright prism was broken; but I always felt humiliated by the necessity
of being concealed. I began to be tired of these incessant precautions;
and I was quite ready to give up being Sir Francis Burnett, and to
resume my identity.
“We had, besides, promised each other never to remain a month without
seeing each other, at least for a few hours; and she had invented a
number of expedients by which we could meet without danger.
“A family misfortune came just then to our assistance. My father’s
eldest brother, that kind uncle who had furnished me the means to
purchase my house in Passy, died, and left me his entire fortune. As
owner of Boiscoran, I could, henceforth, live as much as I chose in
the province; and at all events come there whenever I liked, without
anybody’s inquiring for my reasons.”
XIV.
Jacques de Boiscoran was evidently anxious to have done with his
recital, to come to that night of the fire at Valpinson, and to learn at
last from the eminent advocate of Sauveterre what he had to fear or to
hope. After a moment’s silence, for his breath was giving out, and after
a few steps across his cell, he went on in a bitter tone of voice,--
“But why trouble you with all these details, Magloire? Would you believe
me any more than you do now, if I were to enumerate to you all my
meetings with the Countess Claudieuse, or if I were to repeat all her
most trifling words?
“We had gradually learnt to calculate all our movements, and made
our preparations so accurately, that we met constantly, and feared no
danger. We said to each other at parting, or she wrote to me, ‘On such a
day, at such an hour, at such a place;’ and however distant the day, or
the hour, or the place, we were sure to meet. I had soon learned to know
the country as well as the cleverest of poachers; and nothing was so
useful to us as this familiarity with all the unknown hiding-places.
The countess, on her side, never let three months pass by without
discovering some urgent motive which carried her to Rochelle, to
Angouleme, or to Paris; and I was there to meet her. Nothing kept her
from these excursions; even when indisposed, she braved the fatigues of
the journey. It is true, my life was well-nigh spent in travelling; and
at any moment, when least expected, I disappeared for whole weeks. This
will explain to you that restlessness at which my father sneered, and
for which you, yourself, Magloire, used to blame me.”
“That is true,” replied the latter. “I remember.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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