It had indeed killed her, and more quickly, therefore more mercifully, than they had anticipated. And now F. Chevreuse, having been the messenger of disgrace and desolation, had to be the messenger of joy.
He wiped away resolutely the tears that started at sight of that [pg 481] pitiful victim of maternal love. “To-day, at least,” he said, “I must have no feeling. I must do my duty faithfully, and only my duty. I cannot allow myself to sympathize with the slayer and the slain in the same hour.”
It was very hard for such a man not to sympathize with a true joy or sorrow whenever it came within his ken—him to whose lips, even in moments of care or sadness, the frank laugh of a child would bring a smile, and to whose eyes, even in moments of joy, the sorrow of a stranger would call the sudden moisture. But the very excess, and, still more, the contrast, of these contending emotions enabled him to hold himself in a sort of equilibrium. Like one who walks a rough path carrying a cup filled to the brim, and looks not to right nor left, lest he should lose its contents, so F. Chevreuse carried his full heart, and would not yield to any emotion till his work was done.
When he entered the corridor leading to Mr. Schöninger's cell, he was somewhat surprised at meeting Mr. Schöninger's lawyer coming out. The surprise was mutual, but they merely saluted each other, and passed on.
“He doesn't give up yet,” remarked the turnkey confidentially. “His lawyer comes every little while, and the warden has given orders that they shall talk without a guard. He, the lawyer, is the only person who can talk alone with a convict, except the chaplain, and, of course, you, sir!”
F. Chevreuse had self-possession enough to bow his acknowledgments. “But I wish to enter the cell this morning,” he said; “I don't want to talk through the bars; and I wish to enter alone.”
The man looked embarrassed.
There was a limit even to the privileges of F. Chevreuse.
“You can lock me in with him, and go away,” the priest said, impatient of delay. “I will be responsible for you this time. I looked for the warden, but he is not about the house. Let me go in, and, as soon as the warden returns, say I wish to see him.”
The guard yielded, though unwillingly. There was something imperative in the priest's manner which he did not venture to resist. Moreover, F. Chevreuse was so well known as a man who scrupulously upheld legitimate authority, and obeyed to the letter the regulations of any establishment he might enter, that it was evident there must be some urgent reason when he would set a rule aside.