CHAPTER XI
HERRIARD AND ALEXIA
A LESS keen observer than Gastineau might have suspected that the position of Herriard and Countess Alexia was, at any rate on Herriard’s side, rapidly exceeding that of counsel and client. And it was, particularly in a man of Herriard’s temperament, scarcely to be wondered at. All through the trying stages of the case he had been brought into close and more than mere professional relations with the von Rohnburgs, while between him and the Count a friendship, founded on the secure foundation of reciprocal liking, had sprung up. Firmly and absolutely convinced as Herriard was of Alexia’s innocence, so completely, indeed, that the slander roused him to a quite unlawyer-like state of indignation, it came as a shock to find Gastineau coolly arguing upon the supposition and accepting the fact that she was guilty. Certainly, he told himself, Gastineau does not know her, has but a vague recollection of her over some four or five years back; he takes her as a mere pawn upon the legal chess-board: he has a cynical disbelief in women; it is but to be expected that he should think the worst of her; I might have realized all this, and not been such a fool as to resent his suggestion.
Nevertheless, the bare idea that any one, even a dry, quibbling lawyer, could for a moment admit the possibility that this woman, whose soul shone clear and true from her eyes, whose every word carried a conviction of honesty, could have done a man to death in secret, and then have entrenched herself behind a rampart of skilfully-woven lies, was to him utterly inconceivable. True, the deed, had she really been guilty of it, would naturally have been committed under stress of great provocation. Captain Martindale’s character and want of principle where women were concerned were well known: no one would have been surprised at his finding a reprisal at the hand of those whom, as a chartered Philander, he had loved and laughed at. Natural, too, it would have been, if having been driven to that fatal stroke, she should have fought against discovery by every means in her power. For, putting aside the consequences of the deed, it would have been a fight for her honour. No; it was not the probabilities of the case, considered generally, which weighed with Herriard, but his utter inability to believe this thing of this woman. And, as his feeling for her almost insensibly grew warmer, the more preposterous did the notion appear. So when Gastineau mooted it in his cold-blooded, cynical way, it came as a shock, as a suggestion which filled Herriard with abhorrence. His whole soul recoiled from the idea, as from a monstrous impossibility.
And this conviction was confirmed when, a night or two afterwards, he dined quietly with the Countess and her brother. All through her animated talk, happier now, in the good news that had come, he searched her face for a sign of guile, of a reservation of the truth, of an arrière pensée: looked till he was ashamed of himself for being led to doubt; and saw nothing but frankness and honesty. Clever she was, and possessed of wonderful self-command, but it was a cleverness unmixed with deceit, the reverse of wisdom, not falsehood.
Both Alexia and her brother were cheerful that night, happier than they had been since the charge was first levelled. There was a second guest, a countryman of the von Rohnburgs, Dr. Hallamar, the Austrian surgeon who had returned to England on a professional visit. It was a pleasant little party; the four being all completely in accord and sympathy. The doctor naturally felt strongly the way in which the Countess had been treated; he was a strong man, an acute thinker who suggested rather than expressed the depth of his opinions.
After dinner the two guests were left for a few moments alone.
“Mr. Herriard,” the doctor said, with more warmth than he seemed given to show, “you are a lawyer; it is your professional duty not only to defend but to think the best of your client, to maintain her innocence against the world; but now, tell me, not as a lawyer, but as a man, I will not say an English gentleman, for there the code of honour guides and restricts you, but as a man of brains and worldly knowledge, you do not in your heart believe that it is possible for our hostess to be guilty of this dastardly charge?”
Herriard had little difficulty in responding to the somewhat extraordinary invitation. “I should be willing to stake my life on the Countess’s absolute innocence,” he declared resolutely.
“I was sure of it,” the other observed.
“You, too, Doctor,” Herriard continued eagerly, “you are a man who has doubtless seen much of human nature and its capabilities of deception, does your observation tell you that disingenuousness is possible here?”