Part 16 (2/2)
Surprise kept Fandor silent a moment.
_La Capitale_ had published the evening before a sensational article by Fandor, in which, under the guise of suppositions and interrogations, he had narrated the various adventures as they had happened to himself, concluding with the question--really an ironical one: ”If Jacques Dollon, who had disappeared from his cell, where he had been left for dead, had escaped from the Depot by way of the famous chimney of Marie Antoinette, had reached the roof of the Palais, had redescended by another pa.s.sageway to the sewer opening on to the Seine, did it not seem possible that Dollon had escaped alive from the Depot?”
Fandor had indulged in a gentle irony, despite the gravity of the circ.u.mstances, in order to complicate the already complicated affair, and so plunge the police into a confusion worse confounded: this, in spite of his conviction that Dollon was dead, dead as dead could be!
Now the cruelty of this professional game was brought home to him. His article had raised fresh hopes in Dollon's poor sister! At sight of this charming girl, brightened with hope, Fandor felt all pity and guilt. He pressed her hands; he hesitated; he was troubled. He did not know how to explain. At last he murmured:
”It was wrong of me, mademoiselle, very wrong to write that article in such a way without warning you beforehand. Alas! You must not cherish illusions, illusions which this unfortunate article has given rise to, illusions I cannot believe in myself. I speak with all the sincerity of which I am capable, with the keenest desire to be of service to you: I dare not let you buoy yourself up with false hopes.... I a.s.sure you then, that from what I have been able to learn, to see, to know, I am convinced that your unfortunate brother is no more!... If there have been moments when I have doubted this, I am now morally certain that he is dead. Take courage, mademoiselle! Try, try to forget--to--to ...”
Fandor was trembling with emotion: he could not continue. Elizabeth bent her head, her eyes full of tears. She could not speak. She was overcome by this cruel das.h.i.+ng to the ground of her hopes. Never, never, to see her brother again!
An agonising silence reigned.
Fandor was profoundly troubled by this mute grief. He sought in vain for some word of comfort, of encouragement.
Elizabeth rose to go. The poor girl realised that nothing could be gained by prolonging the interview. Her one need now was to be alone, for then she could weep.
Fandor was about to accompany her to the door, when a boy entered:
”Monsieur Fandor, there's a man wishes to speak to you!”
”Say I am not here,” replied our journalist: he had no wish to see strangers just then.
”But Monsieur Fandor, he says he is the keeper of the landing stage of the pa.s.senger boat service, and he comes with reference to the Dollon affair!”
Both Elizabeth Dollon and Jerome Fandor started. She was trembling. Our journalist said at once:
”Bring him in then!”
The boy went off, and Fandor turned to the trembling girl.
”Tell me, Mademoiselle Elizabeth, do you feel equal to hearing what this man has to tell us? It is not improbable that he has seen something--something it would be best you should not hear--had you not better avoid it?”
Elizabeth shook her head in the negative. She was collecting all her forces: she would not remain ignorant of any detail of the terrible tragedy which had cost her brother so dear:
”I shall be strong enough,” she announced firmly.
The boy ushered in the visitor. He looked a good specimen of his cla.s.s, a man about forty. On his cap were the gold anchors of those in the employ of the Paris boat service.
”Monsieur!... Madame!... At your service!” The good fellow was very much embarra.s.sed:
”Monsieur Fandor,” he went on, ”you do not know me, but I know you very well, that I do!... I read your articles every day in _La Capitale_.
They're jolly good! What I say is ...”
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