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Grandpapa Chandore, excellent M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, and even M. Magloire, were literally drinking in the words of the Paris lawyer. "Is that all, gentlemen?" he continued. "By no means! Thanks to his great experience, Dr. Seignebos had, on the very first day, instinctively guessed who was the most important personage of this mysterious drama." "Cocoleu!" "Exactly, Cocoleu.
But if they had ever been formidable, they had long since ceased to be so. Of the whole great family, one of the most numerous and most powerful of the province, only one member survived, the Baron de Chandore, and a girl, his granddaughter, betrothed to Jacques de Boiscoran. Dionysia was an orphan.
For the present you must be content to answer the questions which I shall ask you. A. I submit. P. Were you not soon to be married? At this question all eyes are turned towards Miss Chandore, who blushes till she is as red as a poppy, but does not cast down her eyes. P. Did you not write to your betrothed a few hours before the crime was committed?
When the letter had been read, M. Folgat and M. de Chandore sadly turned their heads aside, fearing lest Dionysia should read in their eyes the secret of their thoughts. But she felt only too well what it meant. "You cannot doubt Jacques, grandpapa!" she cried. "No," murmured the old gentleman feebly, "no." "And you, M. Folgat are you so much hurt by Jacques's desire to consult another lawyer?"
Still no reply. "Ah!" said Michael, "it is of no use to question him. You might beat him till to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word." "I am I am hungry," stammered Cocoleu. M. Folgat looked indignant. "And to think," he said, "that, upon the testimony of such a thing, a capital charge has been made!" Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed. He said,
And yet, if they had been less eager to spread it, they might have witnessed, perhaps not entirely unmoved, this first interview between M. de Chandore and the Marquis de Boiscoran. By a natural impulse they had both hastened forward, and shook hands in the most energetic manner. Tears stood in their eyes. They opened their lips to speak; but they said nothing.
But people are accustomed to such delays at Sauveterre; they are prepared for being kept waiting: and the doctor and M. de Chandore were walking up and down the platform, being neither astonished nor impatient at the irregularity. Nor would they have been much surprised if they had been told that they were closely watched all the time: they knew their good town. Still it was so.
"I understand now why Miss Chandore promised us that we should know the truth. M. de Boiscoran and she have formerly corresponded with each other in cipher." Grandpapa Chandore raised his hands to heaven. "Just think of these little girls! Here we are utterly helpless without her, as she alone can translate those hieroglyphics for you."
For he was by no means a philosopher; and, if he had been his own master, he would have taken the first train, and gone off a hundred miles, so as not to see the grief of the Misses Lavarande and Grandpapa Chandore. He was exceedingly fond of Dionysia: he had been hard at work for years to settle and to add to her fortune, as if she had been his own daughter, and now to witness her grief!
The station-master opened his door, the porters stretched themselves and rubbed their eyes, oaths were heard, doors slammed, and the large hand-barrows came in sight. Then a low thunder-like noise came nearer and nearer; and almost instantly a fierce red light at the far end of the track shone out in the dark night like a ball of fire. M. de Chandore and the doctor hastened to the waiting-room.
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