The House of the White Shadows. B. L. Farjeon
"In which there is a great mystery. I do not trouble you with these law matters; long ago you expressed weariness of such themes."
Her humour changed again.
"A mystery!" she exclaimed with child-like vivacity, "in a place where news is so scarce! It must be delightful. What is it about? There is a woman in it, of course. There always is."
"Yes; a young woman, whose body was found in the Rhone."
"Murdered?"
"Murdered, as it at present seems."
"The wretch! Have they caught him? For of course it is a man who committed the dreadful deed."
"One is in prison, charged with the crime. I visited him to-day."
"Surely you are not going to defend him?"
"It is probable. I shall decide to-night."
"But why, Edward, why? If the man is guilty, should he not be punished?"
"Undoubtedly he should. And if he is innocent, he should not be made to suffer. He is poor and friendless; it will be a relief for me to take up the case, should I believe him to be unjustly accused."
"Is he young--handsome--and was it done through jealousy?"
"I have told you the case is shrouded in mystery. As for the man charged with the crime, he is very common and repulsive-looking."
"And you intend to defend such a creature?"
"Most likely."
She shrugged her shoulders with a slight gesture of contempt. She had no understanding of his motives, no sympathy in his labours, no pride in his victories.
When he retired to his study he did not immediately proceed to the investigation of the case of Gautran, as it was set forth in the numerous papers which lay on the table. These papers, in accordance with the given promise, had been sent to him by Pierre Lamont, and it was his intention to employ the hours of the night in a careful study of the details of the affair, and of the conjectures and opinions of editors and correspondents.
But he held his purpose back for a while, and for nearly half-an-hour paced the floor slowly in deep thought. Suddenly he went out, and sought his wife's private room.
"It did not occur to me before," he said, "to tell you that a friend of Christian Almer's--Mr. Hartrich, the banker--in a conversation I had with him, expressed his belief that Almer was suffering."
"Ill!" she cried in an agitated tone.
"In mind, not in body. You have received letters from him lately, I believe?"
"Yes, three or four--the last a fortnight ago."
"Does he say he is unwell?"
"No; but now I think of it, he does not write in his usual good spirits."
"You have his address?"
"Yes; he is in Switzerland, you know."
"So Mr. Hartrich informed me--somewhere in the mountains, endeavouring to extract peace of mind from silence and solitude. That is well enough for a few days, and intellectual men are always grateful for such a change; but, if it is prolonged, there is danger of its bringing a mental disease of a serious and enduring nature upon a man brooding upon unhealthy fancies. I value Almer too highly to lose sight of him, or to allow him to drift. He has no family ties, and is in a certain sense a lonely man. Why should he not come and remain with us during our stay in the village? I had an idea that he himself would have proposed doing so."
"He might have considered it indelicate," said Adelaide with a bright colour in her face, "the house being his. As if he had a right to be here."
"It is by no means likely," said the Advocate, shaking his head, "that Almer would ever be swayed by other than generous and large-minded considerations. Write to him to-night, and ask him to leave his solitude, and make his home with us. He will be company for you, and your bright and cheerful ways will do him good. The prospect of his visit has already excited you, I see. I am afraid," he said, with a regretful pathos in his voice, "that my society affords you but poor enjoyment; yet I never thought otherwise, when you honoured me by accepting my proposal of marriage, than that you loved me."
"I hope you do not think otherwise now," she said in a low tone.
"Why, no," he said with a sigh of relief; "what reason have I to think otherwise? We had time to study each other's characters, and I did not present myself in a false light. But we are forgetting Almer. Can you divine any cause for unusual melancholy in him?"
She seemed to consider, and answered:
"No, she could not imagine why he should be melancholy."
"Mr. Hartrich," continued the Advocate, "suggested that he might have experienced a disappointment in love, but I could not entertain the suggestion. Almer and I have for years exchanged confidences in which much of men's inner natures is revealed, and had he met with such a disappointment, he would have confided in me. I may be mistaken, however; your opinion would be valuable here; in these delicate matters, women are keen observers."
"Mr. Hartrich's suggestion is absurd; I am convinced Mr. Almer has not met with a disappointment in love. He is so bright and attractive----"
"That any woman," said the Advocate, taking up the thread, for Adelaide seemed somewhat at a loss for words, "might be proud to win him. That is your thought, Adelaide."
"Yes."
"I agree with you. I have never in my life known a man more likely to inspire love in a woman's heart than Christian Almer, and I have sometimes wondered that he had not met with one to whom he was drawn; it would be a powerful influence over him for good. Of an impure passion I believe him incapable. Write to him to-night, and urge him to come to us."
"If you wrote to him, also, it would be as well."
"I will do so; you can enclose my letter in yours. How does your new maid suit you?"
"Admirably. She is perfection."
"Which does not exist."
"If I could induce her grandmother to part with her, I should like to keep her with me always."
"Do not tempt her, Adelaide. For a simple maid a country life is the happiest and best--indeed, for any maid, or any man, young or old."
"How seldom practice and precept agree! Why do you not adopt a country life?"
"Too late. A man must follow his star. I should die of inaction in the country; and you--I smile when I think what would become of you were I to condemn you to it."
"You are not always right. I adore the country!"
"For an hour and a day. Adelaide, you could not exist out of society."
Until the Alpine peaks were tipped with the fire of the rising sun, the Advocate remained in his study, investigating and considering the case of Gautran. Only once did he leave it to give his wife the letter he wrote to Christian Almer. Newspaper after newspaper was read and laid aside, until the long labour came to its end. Then the Advocate rose, with no trace of fatigue on his countenance, and according to his wont, walked slowly up and down in deep thought. His eyes rested occasionally upon the grotesque and hideous figures carved on the old sideboard, which, had they been sentient and endowed with the power of speech, might have warned him that he had already, within the past few hours, woven one tragic link in his life, and have held him back from weaving another. But he saw no warning in their fantastic faces, and before he retired to rest he had formed his resolve. On the following day all Geneva was startled by the news that the celebrated Advocate, who had travelled thither for rest from years of arduous toil, had undertaken the defence of a wretch upon whose soul, in the opinion of nearly every thinking man and woman, the guilt of blood lay heavily. The trial of Gautran was instantly invested with an importance which elevated it into an absorbing theme with every class of society.