The whole scene had taken less time than is needed to read this account of it.
“What discussion can have arisen between you and Madame de Serizy?” the husband asked of Camusot.
Before the lawyer could reply, the Countess held the fragments in the candle and threw them on the remains of her letters, which were not entirely consumed.
“I shall be compelled,” said Camusot, “to lay a complaint against Madame la Comtesse ——”
“Heh! What has she done?” asked the public prosecutor, looking alternately at the lady and the magistrate.
“I have burned the record of the examinations,” said the lady of fashion with a laugh, so pleased at her high-handed conduct that she did not yet feel the pain of the burns,
“If that is a crime — well, monsieur must get his odious scrawl written out again.”
“Very true,” said Camusot, trying to recover his dignity.
“Well, well, ‘All’s well that ends well,’” said Monsieur de Granville. “But, my dear Countess, you must not often take such liberties with the Law; it might fail to discern who and what you are.”
“Monsieur Camusot valiantly resisted a woman whom none can resist; the Honor of the Robe is safe!” said the Comte de Bauvan, laughing.
“Indeed! Monsieur Camusot was resisting?” said the public prosecutor, laughing too. “He is a brave man indeed; I should not dare resist the Countess.”
And thus for the moment this serious affair was no more than a pretty woman’s jest, at which Camusot himself must laugh.
But Monsieur de Granville saw one man who was not amused.
Not a little alarmed by the Comte de Serizy’s attitude and expression, his friend led him aside.
“My dear fellow,” said he in a whisper, “your distress persuades me for the first and only time in my life to compromise with my duty.”
The public prosecutor rang, and the office-boy appeared.
“Desire Monsieur de Chargeboeuf to come here.”
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, a sucking barrister, was his private secretary.
“My good friend,” said the Comte de Granville to Camusot, whom he took to the window, “go back to your chambers, get your clerk to reconstruct the report of the Abbe Carlos Herrera’s depositions; as he had not signed the first copy, there will be no difficulty about that.
To-morrow you must confront your Spanish diplomate with Rastignac and Bianchon, who will not recognize him as Jacques Collin.
Then, being sure of his release, the man will sign the document.
“As to Lucien de Rubempre, set him free this evening; he is not likely to talk about an examination of which the evidence is destroyed, especially after such a lecture as I shall give him.
“Now you will see how little justice suffers by these proceedings.
If the Spaniard really is the convict, we have fifty ways of recapturing him and committing him for trial — for we will have his conduct in Spain thoroughly investigated. Corentin, the police agent, will take care of him for us, and we ourselves will keep an eye on him. So treat him decently; do not send him down to the cells again.
“Can we be the death of the Comte and Comtesse de Serizy, as well as of Lucien, for the theft of seven hundred and fifty thousand francs as yet unproven, and to Lucien’s personal loss?
Will it not be better for him to lose the money than to lose his character?
Above all, if he is to drag with him in his fall a Minister of State, and his wife, and the Duchesse du Maufrigneuse.
“This young man is a speckled orange; do not leave it to rot. “All this will take you about half an hour; go and get it done; we will wait for you.
It is half-past three; you will find some judges about. Let me know if you can get a rule of insufficient evidence — or Lucien must wait till to-morrow morning.”
Camusot bowed to the company and went; but Madame de Serizy, who was suffering a good deal from her burns, did not return his bow.
Monsieur de Serizy, who had suddenly rushed away while the public prosecutor and the magistrate were talking together, presently returned, having fetched a small jar of virgin wax. With this he dressed his wife’s fingers, saying in an undertone:
“Leontine, why did you come here without letting me know?”
“My dear,” replied she in a whisper, “forgive me. I seem mad, but indeed your interests were as much involved as mine.”
“Love this young fellow if fatality requires it, but do not display your passion to all the world,” said the luckless husband.
“Well, my dear Countess,” said Monsieur de Granville, who had been engaged in conversation with Comte Octave, “I hope you may take Monsieur de Rubempre home to dine with you this evening.”
This half promise produced a reaction; Madame de Serizy melted into tears.
“I thought I had no tears left,” said she with a smile. “But could you not bring Monsieur de Rubempre to wait here?”
“I will try if I can find the ushers to fetch him, so that he may not be seen under the escort of the gendarmes,” said Monsieur de Granville.
“You are as good as God!” cried she, with a gush of feeling that made her voice sound like heavenly music.
“These are the women,” said Comte Octave, “who are fascinating, irresistible!”
And he became melancholy as he thought of his own wife. (See Honorine.)
As he left the room, Monsieur de Granville was stopped by young Chargeboeuf, to whom he spoke to give him instructions as to what he was to say to Massol, one of the editors of the Gazette des Tribunaux.
While beauties, ministers, and magistrates were conspiring to save Lucien, this was what he was doing at the Conciergerie.
As he passed the gate the poet told the keeper that Monsieur Camusot had granted him leave to write, and he begged to have pens, ink, and paper. At a whispered word to the Governor from Camusot’s usher a warder was instructed to take them to him at once.
During the short time that it took for the warder to fetch these things and carry them up to Lucien, the hapless young man, to whom the idea of facing Jacques Collin had become intolerable, sank into one of those fatal moods in which the idea of suicide — to which he had yielded before now, but without succeeding in carrying it out — rises to the pitch of mania.
According to certain mad-doctors, suicide is in some temperaments the closing phase of mental aberration; and since his arrest Lucien had been possessed by that single idea.
Esther’s letter, read and reread many times, increased the vehemence of his desire to die by reminding him of the catastrophe of Romeo dying to be with Juliet.
This is what he wrote:—
“This is my Last Will and Testament.
“AT THE CONCIERGERIE, May 15th, 1830.