WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE

by Emile Gaboriau

 PREPARER'S NOTE

 This text was prepared from a 1913 edition, published by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. 

FIRST PART--FIRE AT VALPINSON

These were the facts:--

I. 

In the night from the 22nd to the 23rd of June, 1871, towards oneo'clock in the morning, the Paris suburb of Sauveterre, the principaland most densely populated suburb of that pretty town, was startled bythe furious gallop of a horse on its ill-paved streets. 

A number of peaceful citizens rushed to the windows. 

The dark night allowed these only to see a peasant in his shirt sleeves, and bareheaded, who belabored a large gray mare, on which he rodebareback, with his heels and a huge stick. 

This man, after having passed the suburbs, turned into National Street, formerly Imperial Street, crossed New-Market Square, and stopped at lastbefore the fine house which stands at the corner of Castle Street. 

This was the house of the mayor of Sauveterre, M. Seneschal, a formerlawyer, and now a member of the general council. 

Having alighted, the peasant seized the bell-knob, and began to ring sofuriously, that, in a few moments, the whole house was in an uproar. 

A minute later, a big, stout servant-man, his eyes heavy with sleep, came and opened the door, and then cried out in an angry voice, --

"Who are you, my man? What do you want? Have you taken too much wine?Don't you know at whose house you are making such a row?"

"I wish to see the mayor, " replied the peasant instantly. "Wake him up!"

M. Seneschal was wide awake. 

Dressed in a large dressing-gown of gray flannel, a candlestick in hishand, troubled, and unable to disguise his trouble, he had just comedown into the hall, and heard all that was said. 

"Here is the mayor, " he said in an ill-satisfied tone. "What do you wantof him at this hour, when all honest people are in bed?"

Pushing the servant aside, the peasant came up to him, and said, makingnot the slightest attempt at politeness, --

"I come to tell you to send the fire-engine. "

"The engine!"

"Yes; at once. Make haste!"

The mayor shook his head. 

"Hm!" he said, according to a habit he had when he was at a loss what todo; "hm, hm!"

And who would not have been embarrassed in his place?

To get the engine out, and to assemble the firemen, he had to rouse thewhole town; and to do this in the middle of the night was nothing lessthan to frighten the poor people of Sauveterre, who had heard the drumsbeating the alarm but too often during the war with the Germans, andthen again during the reign of the Commune. Therefore M. Seneschalasked, --

"Is it a serious fire?"

"Serious!" exclaimed the peasant. "How could it be otherwise with such awind as this, --a wind that would blow off the horns of our oxen. "

"Hm!" uttered the mayor again. "Hm, hm!"

It was not exactly the first time, since he was mayor of Sauveterre, that he was thus roused by a peasant, who came and cried under hiswindow, "Help! Fire, fire!"

At first, filled with compassion, he had hastily called out the firemen, put himself at their head, and hurried to the fire. 

And when they reached it, out of breath, and perspiring, after havingmade two or three miles at double-quick, they found what? A wretchedheap of straw, worth about ten dollars, and almost consumed by the fire. They had had their trouble for nothing. 

The peasants in the neighborhood had cried, "Wolf!" so often, when therewas no reason for it, that, even when the wolf really was there, thetownspeople were slow in believing it. 

"Let us see, " said M. Seneschal: "what is burning?"

The peasant seemed to be furious at all these delays, and bit his longwhip. 

"Must I tell you again and again, " he said, "that every thing is onfire, --barns, outhouses, haystacks, the houses, the old castle, andevery thing? If you wait much longer, you won't find one stone uponanother in Valpinson. "

The effect produced by this name was prodigious. 

"What?" asked the mayor in a half-stifled voice, "Valpinson is on fire?"

"Yes. "

"At Count Claudieuse's?"

"Of course. "

"Fool! Why did you not say so at once?" exclaimed the mayor. 

He hesitated no longer. 

"Quick!" he said to his servant, "go and get me my clothes. Wait, no!my wife can help me. There is no time to be lost. You run to Bolton, thedrummer, you know, and tell him from me to beat the alarm instantly allover town. Then you run to Capt. Parenteau's, and explainto him what you have heard. Ask him to get the keys of theengine-house. --Wait!--when you have done that, come back and put thehorse in. --Fire at Valpinson! I shall go with the engine. Go, run, knock at every door, cry, 'Fire! Fire!' Tell everybody to come to theNew-Market Square. "

When the servant had run off as fast as he could, the mayor turned tothe peasant, and said, --

"And you, my good man, you get on your horse, and reassure the count. Tell them all to take courage, not to give up; we are coming to helpthem. "

But the peasant did not move. 

"Before going back to Valpinson, " he said, "I have another commission toattend to in town. "

"Why? What is it?"

"I am to get the doctor to go back with me. "

"The doctor! Why? Has anybody been hurt?"

"Yes, master, Count Claudieuse. "

"How imprudent! I suppose he rushed into danger as usually. "

"Oh, no! He has been shot twice!"

The mayor of Sauveterre nearly dropped his candlestick. 

"Shot! Twice!" he said. "Where? When? By whom?"

"Ah! I don't know. "

"But"--

"All I can tell you is this. They have carried him into a little barnthat was not on fire yet. There I saw him myself lying on the straw, pale like a linen sheet, his eyes closed, and bloody all over. "

"Great God! They have not killed him?"

"He was not dead when I left. "

"And the countess?"

"Our lady, " replied the peasant with an accent of profound veneration, "was in the barn on her knees by the count's side, washing his woundswith fresh water. The two little ladies were there too. "

M. Seneschal trembled with excitement. 

"It is a crime that has been committed, I suppose. "

"Why, of course!"

"But who did it? What was the motive?"

"Ah! that is the question. "

"The count is very passionate, to be sure, quite violent, in fact; butstill he is the best and fairest of men, everybody knows that. "

"Everybody knows it. "

"He never did any harm to anybody. "

"That is what all say. "

"As for the countess"--

"Oh!" said the peasant eagerly, "she is the saint of saints. "

The mayor tried to come to some conclusion. 

"The criminal, therefore, must be a stranger. We are overrun withvagabonds and beggars on the tramp. There is not a day on which a lot ofill-looking fellows do not appear at my office, asking for help to getaway. "

The peasant nodded his head, and said, --

"That is what I think. And the proof of it is, that, as I came along, Imade up my mind I would first get the doctor, and then report the crimeat the police office. "

"Never mind, " said the mayor. "I will do that myself. In ten minutesI shall see the attorney of the Commonwealth. Now go. Don't spare yourhorse, and tell your mistress that we are all coming after you. "

In his whole official career M. Seneschal had never been so terriblyshocked. He lost his head, just as he did on that unlucky day, when, allof a sudden, nine hundred militia-men fell upon him, and asked to befed and lodged. Without his wife's help he would never have been able todress himself. Still he was ready when his servant returned. 

The good fellow had done all he had been told to do, and at that momentthe beat of the drum was heard in the upper part of the town. 

"Now, put the horse in, " said M. Seneschal: "let me find the carriage atthe door when I come back. "

In the streets he found all in an uproar. At every window a head poppedout, full of curiosity or terror; on all sides house doors were opened, and promptly closed again. 

"Great God!" he thought, "I hope I shall find Daubigeon at home!" M. Daubigeon, who had been first in the service of the empire, and then inthe service of the republic, was one of M. Seneschal's best friends. He was a man of about forty years, with a cunning look in his eye, apermanent smile on his face, and a confirmed bachelor, with no smallpride in his consistency. The good people of Sauveterre thought he didnot look stern and solemn enough for his profession. To be sure he wasvery highly esteemed; but his optimism was not popular; they reproachedhim for being too kind-hearted, too reluctant to press criminals whom hehad to prosecute, and thus prone to encourage evil-doers. 

He accused himself of not being inspired with the "holy fire, " and, ashe expressed it in his own way, "of robbing Themis of all the time hecould, to devote it to the friendly Muses. " He was a passionate lover offine books, rare editions, costly bindings, and fine illustrations; andmuch the larger part of his annual income of about ten thousand francswent to buying books. A scholar of the old-fashioned type, he professedboundless admiration for Virgil and Juvenal, but, above all, for Horace, and proved his devotion by constant quotations. 

Roused, like everybody else in the midst of his slumbers, this excellentman hastened to put on his clothes, when his old housekeeper came in, quite excited, and told him that M. Seneschal was there, and wanted tosee him. 

"Show him in!" he said, "show him in!"

And, as soon as the mayor entered, he continued:--

"For you will be able to tell me the meaning of all this noise, thisbeating of drums, --

"'Clamorque, virum, clangorque tubarum. '"

"A terrible misfortune has happened, " answered the mayor. From the toneof his voice one might have imagined it was he himself who had beenafflicted; and the lawyer was so strongly impressed in this way, that hesaid, --

"My dear friend, what is the matter? _Quid?_ Courage, my friend, keepcool! Remember that the poet advises us, in misfortune never to lose ourbalance of mind:--

 "'AEquam, memento, rebus in arduis, Sevare mentem. '"

"Incendiaries have set Valpinson on fire!" broke in the mayor. 

"You do not say so? Great God!

 "'Jupiter, Quod verbum audio. '"

"More than that. Count Claudieuse has been shot, and by this time he isprobably dead. "

"Oh!"

"You hear the drummer is beating the alarm. I am going to the fire; andI have only come here to report the matter officially to you, and to askyou to see to it that justice be done promptly and energetically. "

There was no need of such a serious appeal to stop at once all thelawyer's quotations. 

"Enough!" he said eagerly. "Come, let us take measures to catch thewretches. "

When they reached National Street, it was as full as at mid-day; forSauveterre is one of those rare provincial towns in which an excitementis too rare a treat to be neglected. The sad event had by this timebecome fully known everywhere. At first the news had been doubted; butwhen the doctor's cab had passed the crowd at full speed, escorted bya peasant on horseback, the reports were believed. Nor had the firemenlost time. As soon as the mayor and M. Daubigeon appeared on New-MarketSquare, Capt. Parenteau rushed up to them, and, touching his helmet witha military salute, said, --

"My men are ready. "

"All?"

"There are hardly ten absentees. When they heard that Count and CountessClaudieuse were in need--great heavens!--you know, they all were readyin a moment. "

"Well, then, start and make haste, " commanded M. Seneschal. "We shallovertake you on the way: M. Daubigeon and I are going to pick up M. Galpin, the magistrate. "

They had not far to go. 

The magistrate had already been looking for them all over town: he wasjust appearing on the Square, and saw them at once. 

In striking contrast with the commonwealth attorney, M. Galpin was aprofessional man in the full sense of the word, and perhaps a littlemore. He was the magistrate all over, from head to foot, and from thegaiters on his ankles to the light blonde whiskers on his face. Althoughhe was quite young, yet no one had ever seen him smile, or heard himmake a joke. He was so very stiff that M. Daubigeon suggested he hadbeen impaled alive on the sword of justice. 

At Sauveterre M. Galpin was looked upon as a superior man. He certainlybelieved it himself: hence he was very impatient at being confined to sonarrow a sphere of action, and thought his brilliant ability wastedupon the prosecution of a chicken-thief or a poacher. But hisalmost desperate efforts to secure a better office had always beenunsuccessful. In vain he had enlisted a host of friends in his behalf. In vain he had thrown himself into politics, ready to serve any partythat would serve him. 

But M. Galpin's ambition was not easily discouraged, and lately after ajourney to Paris, he had thrown out hints at a great match, which wouldshortly procure him that influence in high places which so far he hadbeen unable to obtain. When he joined M. Daubigeon and the mayor, hesaid, --

"Well, this is a horrible affair! It will make a tremendous noise. " Themayor began to give him the details, but he said, --

"Don't trouble yourself. I know all you know. I met the peasant who hadbeen sent in, and I have examined him. "

Then, turning to the commonwealth attorney, he added, --

"I think we ought to proceed at once to the place where the crime hasbeen committed. "

"I was going to suggest it to you, " replied M. Daubigeon. 

"The gendarmes ought to be notified. "

"M. Seneschal has just sent them word. "

The magistrate was so much excited, that his cold impassiveness actuallythreatened to give way for once. 

"There has been an attempt at murder. "

"Evidently. "

"Then we can act in concert, and side by side, each one in his own lineof duty, you examining, and I preparing for the trial. "

An ironical smile passed over the lips of the commonwealth attorney. 

"You ought to know me well enough, " he said, "to be sure that I havenever interfered with your duties and privileges. I am nothing but agood old fellow, a friend of peace and of studies. 

"'Sum piger et senior, Pieridumque comes. '"

"Then, " exclaimed M. Seneschal, "nothing keeps us here any longer. I amimpatient to be off; my carriage is ready; let us go!"

II. 

In a straight line it is only a mile from Sauveterre to Valpinson; butthat mile is as long as two elsewhere. M. Seneschal, however, had a goodhorse, "the best perhaps in the county, " he said, as he got into hiscarriage. In ten minutes they had overtaken the firemen, who had leftsome time before them. And yet these good people, all of them masterworkmen of Sauveterre, masons, carpenters, and tilers, hurried along asfast as they could. They had half a dozen smoking torches with them tolight them on the way: they walked, puffing and groaning, on the badroad, and pulling the two engines, together with the heavy cart on whichthey had piled up their ladders and other tools. 

"Keep up, my friends!" said the mayor as he passed them, --"keep up!"Three minutes farther on, a peasant on horseback appeared in the dark, riding along like a forlorn knight in a romance. M. Daubigeon orderedhim to halt. He stopped. 

"You come from Valpinson?" asked M. Seneschal. 

"Yes, " replied the peasant. 

"How is the count?"

"He has come to at last. "

"What does the doctor say?"

"He says he will live. I am going to the druggist to get somemedicines. " M. Galpin, to hear better, was leaning out of the carriage. He asked, --

"Do they accuse any one?"

"No. "

"And the fire?"

"They have water enough, " replied the peasant, "but no engines: so whatcan they do? And the wind is rising again! Oh, what a misfortune!"

He rode off as fast as he could, while M. Seneschal was whipping hispoor horse, which, unaccustomed as it was to such treatment, insteadof going any faster, only reared, and jumped from side to side. Theexcellent man was in despair. He looked upon this crime as if it hadbeen committed on purpose to disgrace him, and to do the greatestpossible injury to his administration. 

"For after all, " he said, for the tenth time to his companions, "is itnatural, I ask you, is it sensible, that a man should think of attackingthe Count and the Countess Claudieuse, the most distinguished and themost esteemed people in the whole county, and especially a lady whosename is synonymous with virtue and charity?"

And, without minding the ruts and the stones in the road, M. Seneschalwent on repeating all he knew about the owners of Valpinson. 

Count Trivulce Claudieuse was the last scion of one of the oldestfamilies of the county. At sixteen, about 1829, he had entered the navyas an ensign, and for many years he had appeared at Sauveterre onlyrarely, and at long intervals. In 1859 he had become a captain, and wason the point of being made admiral, when he had all of a sudden sent inhis resignation, and taken up his residence at the Castle of Valpinson, although the house had nothing to show of its former splendor but twotowers falling to pieces, and an immense mass of ruin and rubbish. Fortwo years he had lived here alone, busy with building up the old houseas well as it could be done, and by great energy and incessant laborrestoring it to some of its former splendor. It was thought he wouldfinish his days in this way, when one day the report arose that he wasgoing to be married. The report, for once, proved true. 

One fine day Count Claudieuse had left for Paris; and, a few days later, his friends had been informed by letter that he had married the daughterof one of his former colleagues, Miss Genevieve de Tassar. The amazementhad been universal. The count looked like a gentleman, and was very wellpreserved; but he was at least forty-seven years old, and Miss Genevievewas hardly twenty. Now, if the bride had been poor, they would haveunderstood the match, and approved it: it is but natural that a poorgirl should sacrifice her heart to her daily bread. But here it was notso. The Marquis de Tassar was considered wealthy; and report said thathis daughter had brought her husband fifty thousand dollars. 

Next they had it that the bride was fearfully ugly, infirm, or at leasthunchback, perhaps idiotic, or, at all events, of frightful temper. 

By no means. She had come down; and everybody was amazed at her noble, quiet beauty. She had conversed with them, and charmed everybody. 

Was it really a love-match, as people called it at Sauveterre? Perhapsso. Nevertheless there was no lack of old ladies who shook their heads, and said twenty-seven years difference between husband and wife was toomuch, and such a match could not turn out well. 

All these dark forebodings came to nought. The fact was, that, for milesand miles around, there was not a happier couple to be found than theCount and the Countess Claudieuse; and two children, girls, who hadappeared at an interval of four years, seemed to have secured thehappiness of the house forever. 

It is true the count retained somewhat of the haughty manners, thereserve, and the imperious tone, which he had acquired during the timethat he controlled the destinies of certain important colonies. He was, moreover, naturally so passionate, that the slightest excitement madehim turn purple in his face. But the countess was as gentle and assweet as he was violent; and as she never failed to step in between herhusband and the object of his wrath, as both he and she were naturallyjust, kind to excess, and generous to all, they were beloved byeverybody. There was only one point on which the count was ratherunmanageable, and that was the game laws. He was passionately fond ofhunting, and watched all the year round with almost painful restlessnessover his preserves, employing a number of keepers, and prosecutingpoachers with such energy, that people said he would rather miss ahundred napoleons than a single bird. 

The count and the countess lived quite retired, and gave their wholetime, he to agricultural pursuits, and she to the education of herchildren. They entertained but little, and did not come to Sauveterremore than four times a year, to visit the Misses Lavarande, or the oldBaron de Chandore. Every summer, towards the end of July, they went toRoyan, where they had a cottage. When the season opened, and the countwent hunting, the countess paid a visit to her relatives in Paris, withwhom she usually stayed a few weeks. 

It required a storm like that of 1870 to overthrow so peaceful anexistence. When the old captain heard that the Prussians were on Frenchsoil, he felt all the instincts of the soldier and the Frenchman awakein his heart. He could not be kept at home, and went to headquarters. Although a royalist at heart, he did not hesitate a moment to offerhis sword to Gambetta, whom he detested. They made him colonel of aregiment; and he fought like a lion, from the first day to the last, when he was thrown down and trod under foot in one of those fearfulrouts in which a part of Chanzy's army was utterly destroyed. When thearmistice was signed, he returned to Valpinson; but no one except hiswife ever succeeded in making him say a word about the campaign. He wasasked to become a candidate for the assembly, and would have certainlybeen elected; but he refused, saying that he knew how to fight, but nothow to talk. 

The commonwealth attorney and the magistrate listened but verycarelessly to these details, with which they were perfectly familiar. Suddenly M. Galpin asked, --

"Are we not getting near? I look and look; but I see no trace of afire. "

"We are in a deep valley, " replied the mayor. "But we are quite nearnow, and, at the top of that hill before us, you will see enough. "

This hill is well known in the whole province, and is frequently calledthe Sauveterre Mountain. It is so steep, and consists of such hardgranite, that the engineers who laid out the great turnpike turned milesout of their way to avoid it. It overlooks the whole country; and, whenM. Seneschal and his companions had reached the top, they could notcontrol their excitement. 

"Horresco!" murmured the attorney. 

The burning house itself was hid by high trees; but columns of fire rosehigh above the tops, and illumined the whole region with their sombrelight. The whole country was in a state of excitement. The short, squaretower of Brechy sent the alarm from its big bell; and in the deep shadeon all sides was heard the strange sound of the huge shells whichthe people here use for signals, and for the summoning of laborers atmealtimes. Hurried steps were heard on all the high-roads and by-roads;and peasants were continuously rushing by, with a bucket in each hand. 

"It is too late for help, " said M. Galpin. 

"Such a fine property!" said the mayor, "and so well managed!" Andregardless of danger, he dashed forward, down the hill; for Valpinsonlies in a deep valley, half a mile from the river. Here all was terror, disorder, and confusion; and yet there was no lack of hands or ofgood-will. At the first alarm, all the people of the neighborhood hadhurried up, and there were more coming every moment; but there was noone there to assume the command. They were mainly engaged in saving thefurniture. The boldest tried to get into the rooms, and in a kind ofrage, threw every thing they could lay hold on out of the window. Thusthe courtyard was already half full of beds and mattresses, chairs andtables, books, linen, and clothes. 

An immense clamor greeted the mayor and his companions. 

"Here comes the mayor!" cried the peasants, encouraged by his presence, and all ready to obey him. 

M. Seneschal took in the whole situation at a glance. 

"Yes, here I am, my friends, " he said, "and I thank you for your zeal. Now we must try not to waste our efforts. The farm buildings andthe workshops are lost: we must give them up. Let us try to save thedwelling-house. The river is not far. We must form a chain. Everybody inline, --men and women! And now for water, water! Here come the engines!"

They really came thundering up: the firemen appeared on the scene. Capt. Parenteau took the command. At last the mayor was at leisure to inquireafter Count Claudieuse. 

"Master is down there, " replied an old woman, pointing at a littlecottage with a thatched roof. "The doctor has had him carried there. "

"Let us go and see how he is, " said the mayor to his two companions. They stopped at the door of the only room of the cottage. It was a largeroom with a floor of beaten clay; while overhead the blackened beamswere full of working tools and parcels of seeds. Two beds with twistedcolumns and yellow curtains filled one side: on that on the left handlay a little girl, four years old, fast asleep, and rolled up in ablanket, watched over by her sister, who was two or three years older. On the other bed, Count Claudieuse was lying, or rather sitting; forthey had supported his back by all the pillows that had been saved fromthe fire. His chest was bare, and covered with blood; and a man, Dr. Seignebos, with his coat off, and his sleeves rolled up above theelbows, was bending over him, and holding a sponge in one hand and aprobe in the other, seemed to be engaged in a delicate and dangerousoperation. 

The countess, in a light muslin dress, was standing at the foot of herhusband's bed, pale but admirably composed and resigned. She was holdinga lamp, and moved it to and fro as the doctor directed. In a corner twoservant-women were sitting on a box, and crying, their aprons turnedover their heads. 

At last the mayor of Sauveterre overcame his painful impressions, andentered the room. Count Claudieuse was the first to perceive him, andsaid, --

"Ah, here is our good M. Seneschal. Come nearer, my friend; come nearer. You see the year 1871 is a fatal year. It will soon leave me nothing buta few handfuls of ashes of all I possessed. "

"It is a great misfortune, " replied the excellent mayor; "but, afterall, it is less than we apprehended. God be thanked, you are safe!"

"Who knows? I am suffering terribly. "

The countess trembled. 

"Trivulce!" she whispered in a tone of entreaty. "Trivulce!"

Never did lover glance at his beloved with more tenderness than CountClaudieuse did at his wife. 

"Pardon me, my dear Genevieve, pardon me, if I show any want ofcourage. "

A sudden nervous spasm seized him; and then he exclaimed in a loudvoice, which sounded like a trumpet, --

"Sir! But sir! Thunder and lightning! You kill me!"

"I have some chloroform here, " replied the physician coldly. 

"I do not want any. "

"Then you must make up your mind to suffer, and keep quiet now; forevery motion adds to your pain. "

Then sponging a jet of blood which spurted out from under his knife, headded, --

"However, you shall have a few minutes rest now. My eyes and my hand areexhausted. I see I am no longer young. "

Dr. Seignebos was sixty years old. He was a small, thin man, with a baldhead and a bilious complexion, carelessly dressed, and spending his lifein taking off, wiping, and putting back again his large gold spectacles. His reputation was widespread; and they told of wonderful cures whichhe had accomplished. Still he had not many friends. The common peopledisliked his bitterness; the peasants, his strictness in demanding hisfees; and the townspeople, his political views. 

There was a story that one evening, at a public dinner, he had gotten upand said, "I drink to the memory of the only physician of whose pure andchaste renown I am envious, --the memory of my countryman, Dr. Guillotinof Saintes!"

Had he really offered such a toast? The fact is, he pretended to be afierce radical, and was certainly the soul and the oracle of the smallsocialistic clubs in the neighborhood. People looked aghast when hebegan to talk of the reforms which he thought necessary; and theytrembled when he proclaimed his convictions, that "the sword and thetorch ought to search the rotten foundations of society. "

These opinions, certain utilitarian views of like eccentricity, andstill stranger experiments which he openly carried on before the wholeworld, had led people more than once to doubt the soundness of his mind. The most charitable said, "He is an oddity. " This eccentric man hadnaturally no great fondness for M. Seneschal, the mayor, a formerlawyer, and a legitimist. He did not think much of the commonwealthattorney, a useless bookworm. But he detested M. Galpin. Still he bowedto the three men; and, without minding his patient, he said to them, --

"You see, gentlemen, Count Claudieuse is in a bad plight. He has beenfired at with a gun loaded with small shot; and wounds made in that wayare very puzzling. I trust no vital part has been injured; but I cannotanswer for any thing. I have often in my practice seen very smallinjuries, wounds caused by a small-sized shot, which, nevertheless, proved fatal, and showed their true character only twelve or fifteenhours after the accident had happened. "

He would have gone on in this way, if the magistrate had not suddenlyinterrupted him, saying, --

"Doctor, you know I am here because a crime has been committed. Thecriminal has to be found out, and to be punished: hence I request yourassistance, from this moment, in the name of the Law. "

III. 

By this single phrase M. Galpin made himself master of the situation, and reduced the doctor to an inferior position, in which, it is true, hehad the mayor and the commonwealth attorney to bear him company. Therewas nothing now to be thought of, but the crime that had been committed, and the judge who was to punish the author. But he tried in vain toassume all the rigidity of his official air and that contempt for humanfeelings which has made justice so hateful to thousands. His whole beingwas impregnated with intense satisfaction, up to his beard, cut andtrimmed like the box-hedges of an old-fashioned garden. 

"Well, doctor, " he asked, "first of all, have you any objection to myquestioning your patient?"

"It would certainly be better for him to be left alone, " growled Dr. Seignebos. "I have made him suffer enough this last hour; and I shalldirectly begin again cutting out the small pieces of lead which havehoneycombed his flesh. But if it must be"--

"It must be. "

"Well, then, make haste; for the fever will set in presently. "

M. Daubigeon could not conceal his annoyance. He called out, --

"Galpin, Galpin!"

The other man paid no attention. Having taken a note-book and a pencilfrom his pocket, he drew up close to the sick man's bed, and asked himin an undertone, --

"Are you strong enough, count, to answer my questions?"

"Oh, perfectly!"

"Then, pray tell me all you know of the sad events of to-night. "

With the aid of his wife and Dr. Seignebos, the count raised himself onhis pillows, and began thus, --

"Unfortunately, the little I know will be of no use in aiding justice todiscover the guilty man. It may have been eleven o'clock, for I am noteven quite sure of the hour, when I had gone to bed, and just blown outmy candle: suddenly a bright light fell upon the window. I was amazed, and utterly confused; for I was in that state of sleepiness which is notyet sleep, but very much like it. I said to myself, 'What can this be?'but I did not get up: I only was roused by a great noise, like the crashof a falling wall; and then I jumped out of bed, and said to myself, 'The house is on fire!' What increased my anxiety was the fact, whichI at once recollected, that there were in the courtyard, and all aroundthe house, some sixteen thousand bundles of dry wood, which had beencut last year. Half dressed, I rushed downstairs. I was very muchbewildered, I confess, and could hardly succeed in opening the outerdoor: still I did open it at last. But I had barely put my foot onthe threshold, when I felt in my right side, a little above the hip, afierce pain, and heard at the same time, quite close to me, a shot. "

The magistrate interrupted him by a gesture. 

"Your statement, count, is certainly remarkably clear. But there is onepoint we must try to establish. Were you really fired at the moment youshowed yourself at the door?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then the murderer must have been quite near on the watch. He must haveknown that the fire would bring you out; and he was lying in wait foryou. "

"That was and still is my impression, " declared the count. 

M. Galpin turned to M. Daubigeon. 

"Then, " he said to him, "the murder is the principal fact with which wehave to do; and the fire is only an aggravating circumstance, --themeans which the criminal employed in order to succeed the better inperpetrating his crime. "

Then, returning to the count, he said, --

"Pray go on. "

"When I felt I was wounded, " continued Count Claudieuse, "my firstimpulse was instinctively to rush forward to the place from which thegun seemed to have been fired at me. I had not proceeded three yards, when I felt the same pain once more in the shoulder and in the neck. This second wound was more serous than the first; for I lost myconsciousness, my head began to swim and I fell. "

"You had not seen the murderer?"

"I beg your pardon. At the moment when I fell, I thought I saw a manrush forth from behind a pile of fagots, cross the courtyard, anddisappear in the fields. "

"Would you recognize him?"

"No. "

"But you saw how he was dressed: you can give me a description?"

"No, I cannot. I felt as if there was a veil before my eyes; and hepassed me like a shadow. "

The magistrate could hardly conceal his disappointment. 

"Never mind, " he said, "we'll find him out. But go on, sir. "

The count shook his head. 

"I have nothing more to say, " he replied. "I had fainted; and when Irecovered my consciousness, some hours later, I found myself here lyingon this bed. "

M. Galpin noted down the count's answers with scrupulous exactness: whenhe had done, he asked again, --

"We must return to the details of the attack, and examine them minutely. Now, however, it is important to know what happened after you fell. Whocould tell us that?"

"My wife, sir. "

"I thought so. The countess, no doubt, got up when you rose. "

"My wife had not gone to bed. "

The magistrate turned suddenly to the countess; and at a glance heperceived that her costume was not that of a lady who had been suddenlyroused from slumber by the burning of her house. 

"I see, " he said to himself. 

"Bertha, " the count went on to state, "our youngest daughter, who islying there on that bed, under the blanket, has the measles, and issuffering terribly. My wife was sitting up with her. Unfortunately thewindows of her room look upon the garden, on the side opposite to thatwhere the fire broke out. "

"How, then, did the countess become aware of the accident?" asked themagistrate. 

Without waiting for a more direct question, the countess came forwardand said, --

"As my husband has just told you, I was sitting up with my littleBertha. I was rather tired; for I had sat up the night before also, andI had begun to nod, when a sudden noise aroused me. I was not quite surewhether I had really heard such a noise; but just then a second shotwas heard. I left the room more astonished than frightened. Ah, sir! Thefire had already made such headway, that the staircase was as light asin broad day. I went down in great haste. The outer door was open. Iwent out; and there, some five or six yards from me, I saw, by thelight of the flames, the body of my husband lying on the ground. I threwmyself upon him; but he did not even hear me; his heart had ceased tobeat. I thought he was dead; I called for help; I was in despair. "

M. Seneschal and M. Daubigeon trembled with excitement. 

"Well, very well!" said M. Galpin, with an air of satisfaction, --"verywell done!"

"You know, " continued the countess, "how hard it is to rousecountry-people. It seems to me I remained ever so long alone there, kneeling by the side of my husband. At last the brightness of the fireawakened some of the farm-hands, the workmen, and our servants. Theyrushed out, crying, 'Fire!' When they saw me, they ran up and helpedme carry my husband to a place of safety; for the danger was increasingevery minute. The fire was spreading with terrific violence, thanks toa furious wind. The barns were one vast mass of fire; the outbuildingswere burning; the distillery was in a blaze; and the roof of thedwelling-house was flaming up in various places. And there was not onecool head among them all. I was so utterly bewildered, that I forgot allabout my children; and their room was already in flames, when a brave, bold fellow rushed in, and snatched them from the very jaws of death. Idid not come to myself till Dr. Seignebos arrived, and spoke to me wordsof hope. This fire will probably ruin us; but what matters that, so longas my husband and my children are safe?"

Dr. Seignebos had more than once given utterance to his contemptuousimpatience: he did not appreciate these preliminary steps. The others, however, the mayor, the attorney, and even the servants, had hardlybeen able to suppress their excitement. He shrugged his shoulders, andgrowled between his teeth, --

"Mere formalities! How petty! How childish!"

After having taken off his spectacles, wiped them and replaced themtwenty times, he had sat down at the rickety table in the corner of theroom, and amused himself with arranging the fifteen or twenty shot hehad extracted from the count's wounds, in long lines or small circles. But, when the countess uttered her last words, he rose, and, turning toM. Galpin, said in a curt tone, --

"Now, sir, I hope you will let me have my patient again. "

The magistrate was not a little incensed: there was reason enough, surely; and, frowning fiercely, he said, --

"I appreciate, sir, the importance of your duties; but mine are, Ithink, by no means less solemn nor less urgent. "

"Oh!"

"Consequently you will be pleased, sir, to grant me five minutes more. "

"Ten, if it must be, sir. Only I warn you that every minute henceforthmay endanger the life of my patient. "

They had drawn near to each other, and were measuring each other withdefiant looks, which betrayed the bitterest animosity. They would surelynot quarrel at the bedside of a dying man? The countess seemed to fearsuch a thing; for she said reproachfully, --

"Gentlemen, I pray, gentlemen"--

Perhaps her intervention would have been of no avail, if M. Seneschaland M. Daubigeon had not stepped in, each addressing one of the twoadversaries. M. Galpin was apparently the most obstinate of the two;for, in spite of all, he began once more to question the count, andsaid, --

"I have only one more question to ask you, sir: Where and how were youstanding, where and how do you think the murderer was standing, at themoment when the crime was committed?"

"Sir, " replied the count, evidently with a great effort, "I wasstanding, as I told you, on the threshold of my door, facing thecourtyard. The murderer must have been standing some twenty yards off, on my right, behind a pile of wood. "

When he had written down the answer of the wounded man, the magistrateturned once more to the physician, and said, --

"You heard what was said, sir. It is for you now to aid justice bytelling us at what distance the murderer must have been when he fired. "

"I don't guess riddles, " replied the physician coarsely. 

"Ah, have a care, sir!" said M. Galpin. "Justice, whom I here represent, has the right and the means to enforce respect. You are a physician, sir; and your science is able to answer my question with almostmathematical accuracy. "

The physician laughed, and said, --

"Ah, indeed! Science has reached that point, has it? Which science?Medical jurisprudence, no doubt, --that part of our profession which isat the service of the courts, and obeys the judges' behests. "

"Sir!"

But the doctor was not the man to allow himself to be defeated a secondtime. He went on coolly, --

"I know what you are going to say; there is no handbook of medicaljurisprudence which does not peremptorily settle the question you askme. I have studied these handbooks, these formidable weapons which yougentlemen of the bar know so well how to handle. I know the opinionsof a Devergie and an Orfila, I know even what Casper and Tardieu, anda host of others teach on that subject. I am fully aware that thesegentlemen claim to be able to tell you by the inch at what distancea shot has been fired. But I am not so skilful. I am only a poorcountry-practitioner, a simple healer of diseases. And before I give anopinion which may cost a poor devil his life, innocent though he be, Imust have time to reflect, to consult data, and to compare other casesin my practice. "

He was so evidently right in reality, if not in form, that even M. Galpin gave way. 

"It is merely as a matter of information that I request your opinion, sir, " he replied. "Your real and carefully-considered professionalopinion will, of course, be given in a special statement. "

"Ah, if that is the case!"

"Pray, inform me, then unofficially, what you think of the nature of thewounds of Count Claudieuse. "

Dr. Seignebos settled his spectacles ceremoniously on his nose, and thenreplied, --

"My impression, so far as I am now able to judge, is that the count hasstated the facts precisely as they were. I am quite ready to believethat the murderer was lying in ambush behind one of the piles of wood, and at the distance which he has mentioned. I am also able to affirmthat the two shots were fired at different distances, --one much nearerthan the other. The proof of it lies in the nature of the wounds, one ofwhich, near the hip may be scientifically called"--

"But we know at what distance a ball is spent, " broke in M. Seneschal, whom the doctor's dogmatic tone began to annoy. 

"Ah, do we know that, indeed? You know it, M. Seneschal? Well, I declareI do not know it. To be sure, I bear in mind, what you seem to forget, that we have no longer, as in former days, only three or four kindsof guns. Did you think of the immense variety of fire-arms, French andEnglish, American and German, which are nowadays found in everybody'shands? Do you not see, you who have been a lawyer and a magistrate, thatthe whole legal question will be based upon this grave and all-importantpoint?"

Thereupon the physician resumed his instruments, resolved to give noother answer, and was about to go to work once more when fearfulcries were heard without; and the lawyers, the mayor, and the countessherself, rushed at once to the door. 

These cries were, unfortunately, not uttered without cause. The roof ofthe main building had just fallen in, burying under its ruins thepoor drummer who had a few hours ago beaten the alarm, and one of thefiremen, the most respected carpenter in Sauveterre, and a father offive children. 

Capt. Parenteau seemed to be maddened by this disaster; and all viedwith each other in efforts to rescue the poor fellows, who were utteringshrieks of horror that rose high above the crash of falling timbers. Butall their endeavors were unavailing. One of the gendarmes and a farmer, who had nearly succeeded in reaching the sufferers, barely escaped beingburnt themselves, and were only rescued after having been dangerouslyinjured. Then only it seemed as if all became fully aware of theabominable crime committed by the incendiary. Then only the cloudsof smoke and the columns of fire, which rose high into the air, wereaccompanied by fierce cries of vengeance rising heavenwards. 

"Death to the incendiary! Death!"

At the moment M. Seneschal felt himself inspired with a sudden thought. He knew how cautious peasants are, and how difficult it is to make themtell what they know. He climbed, therefore, upon a heap of fallen beams, and said in a clear, loud voice, --

"Yes, my friends, you are right: death to the incendiary! Yes, theunfortunate victims of the basest of all crimes must be avenged. We mustfind out the incendiary; we must! You want it to be done, don't you?Well, it depends only on you. There must be some one among you who knowssomething about this matter. Let him come forward and tell us what hehas seen or heard. Remember that the smallest trifle may be a clewto the crime. You would be as bad as the incendiary himself, if youconcealed him. Just think it over, consider. "

Loud voices were heard in the crowd; then suddenly a voice said, --

"There is one here who can tell. "

"Who?"

"Cocoleu. He was there from the beginning. It was he who went andbrought the children of the countess out of their room. What has becomeof him?--Cocoleu, Cocoleu!"

One must have lived in the country, among these simple-minded peasants, to understand the excitement and the fury of all these men and women asthey crowded around the ruins of Valpinson. People in town do not mindbrigands, in general: they have their gas, their strong doors, andthe police. They are generally little afraid of fire. They have theirfire-alarms; and at the first spark the neighbor cries, "Fire!" Theengines come racing up; and water comes forth as if by magic. But itis very different in the country: here every man is constantly undera sense of his isolation. A simple latch protects his door; and no onewatches over his safety at night. If a murderer should attack him, hiscries could bring no help. If fire should break out, his house would beburnt down before the neighbors could reach it; and he is happy who cansave his own life and that of his family. Hence all these good people, whom the mayor's words had deeply excited, were eager to find out theonly man who knew anything about this calamity, Cocoleu. 

He was well known among them, and for many years. 

There was not one among them who had not given him a piece of bread, ora bowl of soup, when he was hungry; not one of them had ever refusedhim a night's rest on the straw in his barn, when it was raining orfreezing, and the poor fellow wanted a shelter. 

For Cocoleu was one of those unfortunate beings who labor under agrievous physical or moral deformity. 

Some twenty years ago, a wealthy land-owner in Brechy had sent to thenearest town for half a dozen painters, whom he kept at his house nearlya whole summer, painting and decorating his newly-built house. One ofthese men had seduced a girl in the neighborhood, whom he had bewitchedby his long white blouse, his handsome brown mustache, his good spirits, gay songs, and flattering speeches. But, when the work was done, thetempter had flown away with the others, without thinking any more of thepoor girl than of the last cigar which he had smoked. 

And yet she was expecting a child. When she could no longer concealher condition, she was turned out of the house in which she had beenemployed; and her family, unable to support themselves, drove her awaywithout mercy. Overcome with grief, shame, and remorse, poor Colettewandered from farm to farm, begging, insulted, laughed at, beaten evenat times. Thus it came about, that in a dark wood, one dismal winterevening, she gave life to a male child. No one ever understood howmother and child managed to survive. But both lived; and for many a yearthey were seen in and around Sauveterre, covered with rags, and livingupon the dear-bought generosity of the peasants. 

Then the mother died, utterly forsaken by human help, as she had lived. They found her body, one morning, in a ditch by the wayside. 

The child survived alone. He was then eight years old, quite strongand tall for his age. A farmer took pity on him, and took him home. The little wretch was not fit for anything: he could not even keephis master's cows. During his mother's lifetime, his silence, his wildlooks, and his savage appearance, had been attributed to his wretchedmode of life. But when people began to be interested in him, they foundout that his intellect had never been aroused. He was an idiot, and, besides, subject to that terrible nervous affection which at timesshakes the whole body and disfigures the face by the violence ofuncontrollable convulsions. He was not a deaf-mute; but he couldonly stammer out with intense difficulty a few disjointed syllables. Sometimes the country people would say to him, --

"Tell us your name, and you shall have a cent. "

Then it took him five minutes' hard work to utter, amid a thousandpainful contortions, the name of his mother. 

"Co-co-co-lette. "

Hence came his name Cocoleu. It had been ascertained that he was utterlyunable to do anything; and people ceased to interest themselves in hisbehalf. The consequence was, that he became a vagabond as of old. 

It was about this time that Dr. Seignebos, on one of his visits, met himone day on the public road. 

This excellent man had, among other extraordinary notions, theconviction that idiocy is nothing more than a defective state ofthe brains, which may be remedied by the use of certain well-knownsubstances, such as phosphorus, for instance. He lost no time in seizingupon this admirable opportunity to test his theory. Cocoleu was sentfor, and installed in his house. He subjected him to a treatment whichhe kept secret; and only a druggist at Sauveterre, who was alsowell known as entertaining very extraordinary notions, knew whathad happened. At the end of eighteen months, Cocoleu had fallen offterribly: he talked perhaps, a little more fluently; but his intellecthad not been perceptibly improved. 

Dr. Seignebos was discouraged. He made up a parcel of things which hehad given to his patient, put it into his hands, pushed him out of hisdoor, and told him never to come back again. 

The doctor had rendered Cocoleu a sad service. The poor idiot had lostthe habit of privation: he had forgotten how to go from door to door, asking for alms; and he would have perished, if his good fortune had notled him to knock at the door of the house at Valpinson. 

Count Claudieuse and his wife were touched by his wretchedness, anddetermined to take charge of him. They gave him a room and a bed at oneof the farmhouses; but they could never induce him to stay there. Hewas by nature a vagabond; and the instinct was too strong for him. Inwinter, frost and snow kept him in for a little while; but as soon asthe first leaves came out, he went wandering again through forest andfield, remaining absent often for weeks altogether. 

At last, however, something seemed to have been aroused in him, whichlooked like the instinct of a domesticated animal. His attachment tothe countess resembled that of a dog, even in the capers and cries withwhich he greeted her whenever he saw her. Often, when she went out, heaccompanied her, running and frolicking around her just like a dog. Hewas also very fond of little girls, and seemed to resent it when he waskept from them: for people were afraid his nervous attacks might affectthe children. 

With time he had also become capable of performing some simple service. He could be intrusted with certain messages: he could water the flowers, summon a servant, or even carry a letter to the post-office at Brechy. His progress in this respect was so marked, that some of the morecunning peasants began to suspect that Cocoleu was not so "innocent, "after all, as he looked, and that he was cleverly playing the fool inorder to enjoy life easily. 

"We have him at last, " cried several voices at once. "Here he is; herehe is!"

The crowd made way promptly; and almost immediately a young manappeared, led and pushed forward by several persons. Cocoleu's clothes, all in disorder, showed clearly that he had offered a stout resistance. He was a youth of about eighteen years, very tall, quite beardless, excessively thin, and so loosely jointed, that he looked like ahunchback. A mass of reddish hair came down his low, retreatingforehead. His small eyes, his enormous mouth bristling with sharp teeth, his broad flat nose, and his immense ears, gave to his face a strangeidiotic expression, and to his whole appearance a most painful brutishair. 

"What must we do with him?" asked the peasants of the mayor. 

"We must take him before the magistrate, my friends, " replied M. Seneschal, --"down there in that cottage, where you have carried thecount. "

"And we'll make him talk, " threatened his captors. "You hear! Go on, quick!"

IV. 

M. Galpin and the doctor had both considered it a point of honor whoshould show the most perfect indifference; and thus they had betrayedby no sign their curiosity to know what was going on out doors. Dr. Seignebos was on the point of resuming the operation; and, as coolly asif he had been in his own rooms at home, he was washing the sponge whichhe had just used, and wiping his instruments. The magistrate, on theother hand, was standing in the centre of the room, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed upon the infinite, apparently. It may be he was thinkingof his star which had at last brought him that famous criminal case forwhich he had ardently longed many a year. 

Count Claudieuse, however, was very far from sharing their reserve. Hewas tossing about on his bed; and as soon as the mayor and his friendreappeared, looking quite upset, he exclaimed, --

"What does that uproar mean?"

And, when he had heard of the calamity, he added, --

"Great God! And I was complaining of my losses. Two men killed! That isa real misfortune. Poor men! to die because they were so brave, --Boltonhardly thirty years old; Guillebault, a father of a family, who leavesfive children, and not a cent!"

The countess, coming in at that moment, heard his last words. 

"As long as we have a mouthful of bread, " she said in a voice full ofdeep emotion, "neither Bolton's mother, nor Guillebault's children, shall ever know what want is. "

She could not say another word; for at that moment the peasants crowdedinto the room, pushing the prisoner before them. 

"Where is the magistrate?" they asked. "Here is a witness!"

"What, Cocoleu!" exclaimed the count. 

"Yes, he knows something: he said so himself. We want him to tell it tothe magistrate. We want the incendiary to be caught. "

Dr. Seignebos had frowned fiercely. He execrated Cocoleu, whose sightrecalled to him that great failure which the good people of Sauveterrewere not likely to forget soon. 

"You do not really mean to examine him?" he asked, turning to M. Galpin. 

"Why not?" answered the magistrate dryly. 

"Because he is an imbecile, sir, an idiot. Because he cannot possiblyunderstand your questions, or the importance of his answers. "

"He may give us a valuable hint, nevertheless. "

"He? A man who has no sense? You don't really think so. The law cannotattach any importance to the evidence of a fool. "

M. Galpin betrayed his impatience by an increase of stiffness, as hereplied, --

"I know my duty, sir. "

"And I, " replied the physician, --"I also know what I have to do. Youhave summoned me to assist you in this investigation. I obey; and Ideclare officially, that the mental condition of this unfortunate manmakes his evidence utterly worthless. I appeal to the commonwealthattorney. "

He had hoped for a word of encouragement from M. Daubigeon; but nothingcame. Then he went on, --

"Take care, sir, or you may get yourself into trouble. What would you doif this poor fellow should make a formal charge against any one? Couldyou attach any weight to his word?"

The peasants were listening with open mouths. One of them said, --

"Oh! Cocoleu is not so innocent as he looks. "

"He can say very well what he wants to say, the scamp!" added another. 

"At all events, I am indebted to him for the life of my children, " saidthe count gently. "He thought of them when I was unconscious, and whenno one else remembered them. Come, Cocoleu, come nearer, my friend, don't be afraid: there is no one here to hurt you. "

It was very well the count used such kind words; for Cocoleu wasthoroughly terrified by the brutal treatment he had received, and wastrembling in all his limbs. 

"I am--not--a--afraid, " he stammered out. 

"Once more I protest, " said the physician. 

He had found out that he stood not alone in his opinion. CountClaudieuse came to his assistance, saying, --

"I really think it might be dangerous to question Cocoleu. "

But the magistrate was master of the situation, and conscious of all thepowers conferred upon him by the laws of France in such cases. 

"I must beg, gentlemen, " he said, in a tone which did not allow of anyreply, --"I must beg to be permitted to act in my own way. "

And sitting down, he asked Cocoleu, --

"Come, my boy, listen to me, and try to understand what I say. Do youknow what has happened at Valpinson?"

"Fire, " replied the idiot. 

"Yes, my friend, fire, which burns down the house of yourbenefactor, --fire, which has killed two good men. But that is not all:they have tried to murder the count. Do you see him there in his bed, wounded, and covered with blood? Do you see the countess, how shesuffers?"

Did Cocoleu follow him? His distorted features betrayed nothing of whatmight be going on within him. 

"Nonsense!" growled the doctor, "what obstinacy! What folly!"

M. Galpin heard him, and said angrily, --

"Sir, do not force me to remind you that I have not far from here, menwhose duty it is to see that my authority is respected here. "

Then, turning again to the poor idiot, he went on, --

"All these misfortunes are the work of a vile incendiary. You hate him, don't you; you detest him, the rascal!"

"Yes, " said Cocoleu. 

"You want him to be punished, don't you?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, then you must help me to find him out, so that the gendarmes maycatch him, and put him in jail. You know who it is; you have told thesepeople and"--

He paused, and after a moment, as Cocoleu kept silent, he asked, --

"But, now I think of it, whom has this poor fellow talked to?"

Not one of the peasants could tell. They inquired; but no answer came. Perhaps Cocoleu had never said what he was reported to have said. 

"The fact is, " said one of the tenants at Valpinson, "that the poordevil, so to say, never sleeps, and that he is roaming about all nightaround the house and the farm buildings. "

This was a new light for M. Galpin; suddenly changing the form of hisinterrogatory, he asked Cocoleu, --

"Where did you spend the night?"

"In--in--the--court--yard. "

"Were you asleep when the fire broke out?"

"No. "

"Did you see it commence?"

"Yes. "

"How did it commence?"

The idiot looked fixedly at the Countess Claudieuse with the timid andabject expression of a dog who tries to read something in his master'seyes. 

"Tell us, my friend, " said the Countess gently, --"tell us. "

A flash of intelligence shone in Cocoleu's eyes. 

"They--they set it on fire, " he stammered. 

"On purpose?"

"Yes. "

"Who?"

"A gentleman. "

There was not a person present at this extraordinary scene who did notanxiously hold his breath as the word was uttered. The doctor alone keptcool, and exclaimed, --

"Such an examination is sheer folly!"

But the magistrate did not seem to hear his words; and, turning toCocoleu, he asked him, in a deeply agitated tone of voice--

"Did you see the gentleman?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know who he is?"

"Very--very--well. "

"What is his name?"

"Oh, yes!"

"What is his name? Tell us. "

Cocoleu's features betrayed the fearful anguish of his mind. He hesitated, and at last he answered, making a violenteffort, --"Bois--Bois--Boiscoran!"

The name was received with murmurs of indignation and incredulouslaughter. There was not a shadow of doubt or of suspicion. The peasantssaid, --

"M. De Boiscoran an incendiary! Who does he think will believe thatstory?"

"It is absurd!" said Count Claudieuse. 

"Nonsense!" repeated the mayor and his friend. 

Dr. Siegnebos had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them with anair of intense satisfaction. 

"What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "But the gentleman did notcondescend to attach any importance to my suggestions. "

The magistrate was by far the most excited man in the crowd. He hadturned excessively pale, and made, visibly, the greatest efforts topreserve his equanimity. The commonwealth attorney leaned over towardshim, and whispered, --

"If I were in your place, I would stop here, and consider the answer asnot given. "

But M. Galpin was one of those men who are blinded by self-conceit, and who would rather be cut to pieces than admit that they have beenmistaken. He answered, --

"I shall go on. "

Then turning once more to Cocoleu, in the midst of so deep a silencethat the buzzing of a fly would have been distinctly heard, he asked, --

"Do you know, my boy, what you say? Do you know that you are accusing aman of a horrible crime?"

Whether Cocoleu understood, or not, he was evidently deeply agitated. Big drops of perspiration rolled slowly down his temples; and nervousshocks agitated his limbs, and convulsed his features. 

"I, I--am--telling the--truth!" he said at last. 

"M. De. Boiscoran has set Valpinson on fire?"

"Yes. "

"How did he do it?"

Cocoleu's restless eyes wandered incessantly from the count, who lookedindignant, to the countess, who seemed to listen with painful surprise. The magistrate repeated, --

"Speak!"

After another moment's hesitation, the idiot began to explain whathe had seen; and it took him many minutes to state, amid countlesscontortions, and painful efforts to speak, that he had seen M. DeBoiscoran pull out some papers from his pocket, light them with amatch, put them under a rick of straw near by, and push the burning masstowards two enormous piles of wood which were in close contact with avat full of spirits. 

"This is sheer nonsense!" cried the doctor, thus giving words to whatthey all seemed to feel. 

But M. Galpin had mastered his excitement. He said solemnly, --

"At the first sign of applause or of displeasure, I shall send for thegendarmes, and have the room cleared. "

Then, turning once more to Cocoleu, he said, --

"Since you saw M. De Boiscoran so distinctly, tell us how he wasdressed. "

"He had light trousers on, " replied the idiot, stammering still mostpainfully, "a dark-brown shooting-jacket, and a big straw hat. Histrousers were stuffed into his boots. "

Two or three peasants looked at each other, as if they had at last hitupon a suspicious fact. The costume which Cocoleu had so accuratelydescribed was well known to them all. 

"And when he had kindled the fire, " said the magistrate again, "what didhe do next?"

"He hid behind the woodpile. "

"And then?"

"He loaded his gun, and, when master came out, he fired. "

Count Claudieuse was so indignant that he forgot the pain which hiswounds caused him, and raised himself on his bed. 

"It is monstrous, " he exclaimed, "to allow an idiot to charge anhonorable man with such a crime! If he really saw M. De Boiscoran setthe house on fire, and hide himself in order to murder me, why did henot come and warn me?"

Mr. Galpin repeated the question submissively, to the great amazement ofthe mayor and M. Daubigeon. 

"Why did you not give warning?" he asked Cocoleu. 

But the efforts which the unfortunate man had made during the lasthalf-hour had exhausted his little strength. He broke out into stupidlaughter; and almost instantly one of his fearful nervous attacksovercame him: he fell down yelling, and had to be carried away. 

The magistrate had risen, pale and deeply excited, but evidentlymeditating on what was to be done next. The commonwealth attorney askedhim in an undertone what he was going to do; and the lawyer replied, --

"Prosecute!"

"What?"

"Can I do otherwise in my position? God is my witness that I triedmy best, by urging this poor idiot, to prove the absurdity of hisaccusation. But the result has disappointed me. "

"And now?"

"Now I can no longer hesitate. There have been ten witnesses present atthe examination. My honor is at stake. I must establish either the guiltor the innocence of the man whom Cocoleu accuses. " Immediately, walkingup to the count's bed, he asked, --

"Will you have the kindness, Count Claudieuse, to tell me what yourrelations are to M. De Boiscoran?"

Surprise and indignation caused the wounded man to blush deeply. 

"Can it be possible, sir, that you believe the words of that idiot?"

"I believe nothing, " answered the magistrate. "My duty is to unravel thetruth; and I mean to do it. "

"The doctor has told you what the state of Cocoleu's mind is?"

"Count, I beg you will answer my question. "

Count Claudieuse looked angry; but he replied promptly, --

"My relations with M. De Boiscoran are neither good nor bad. We havenone. "

"It is reported, I have heard it myself, that you are on bad terms. "

"On no terms at all. I never leave Valpinson, and M. De Boiscoran spendsnine months of the year in Paris. He has never called at my house, and Ihave never been in his. "

"You have been overheard speaking of him in unmeasured terms. "

"That may be. We are neither of the same age, nor have we the sametastes or the same opinions. He is young: I am old. He likes Paris andthe great world: I am fond of solitude and hunting. I am a Legitimist:he used to be an Orleanist, and now he is a Republican. I believe thatthe descendant of our old kings alone can save the country; and heis convinced that the happiness of France is possible only under aRepublic. But two men may be enemies, and yet esteem each other. M. DeBoiscoran is an honorable man; he has done his duty bravely in the war, he has fought well, and has been wounded. "

M. Galpin noted down these answers with extreme care. When he had doneso, he continued, --

"The question is not one of political opinions only. You have hadpersonal difficulties with M. De Boiscoran. "

"Of no importance. "

"I beg pardon: you have been at law. "

"Our estates adjoin each other. There is an unlucky brook between us, which is a source of constant trouble to the neighbors. "

M. Galpin shook his head, and added, --

"These are not the only difficulties you have had with each other. Everybody in the country knows that you have had violent altercations. "

Count Claudieuse seemed to be in great distress. 

"It is true: we have used hard words. M. De Boiscoran had two wretcheddogs that were continually escaping from his kennels, and came huntingin my fields. You cannot imagine how much game they destroyed. "

"Exactly so. And one day you met M. De Boiscoran, and you warned himthat you would shoot his dogs. "

"I must confess I was furious. But I was wrong, a thousand times wrong:I did threaten"--

"That is it. You were both of you armed. You threatened one another: heactually aimed at you. Don't deny it. A number of persons have seen it;and I know it. He has told me so himself. "

V. 

There was not a person in the whole district who did not know of whata fearful disease poor Cocoleu was suffering; and everybody knew, also, that it was perfectly useless to try and help him. The two men who hadtaken him out had therefore laid him simply on a pile of wet straw, andthen they had left him to himself, eager as they were to see and hearwhat was going on. 

It must be said, in justice to the several hundred peasants who werecrowding around the smoking ruins of Valpinson, that they treated themadman who had accused M. De Boiscoran of such a crime, neither withcruel jokes nor with fierce curses. Unfortunately, first impulses, which are apt to be good impulses, do not last long. One of those idlegood-for-nothings, drunkards, envious scamps who are found in everycommunity, in the country as well as in the city, cried out, --

"And why not?"

These few words opened at once a door to all kinds of bold guesses. 

Everybody had heard something about the quarrel between Count Claudieuseand M. De Boiscoran. It was well known, moreover, that the provocationhad always come from the count, and that the latter had invariably givenway in the end. Why, therefore, might not M. De Boiscoran, impatient atlast, have resorted to such means in order to avenge himself on a manwhom they thought he must needs hate, and whom he probably feared at thesame time?

"Perhaps he would not do it, because he is a nobleman, and because he isrich?" they added sneeringly. 

The next step was, of course, to look out for circumstances which mightsupport such a theory; and the opportunity was not lacking. Groups wereformed; and soon two men and a woman declared aloud that they couldastonish the world if they chose to talk. They were urged to tell whatthey knew; and, of course, they refused. But they had said too muchalready. Willing or not willing, they were carried up to the house, where, at that very moment, M. Galpin was examining Count Claudieuse. The excited crowd made such a disturbance, that M. Seneschal, tremblingat the idea of a new accident, rushed out to the door. 

"What is it now?" he asked. 

"More witnesses, " replied the peasants. "Here are some more witnesses. "

The mayor turned round, and, after having exchanged glances with M. Daubigeon, he said to the magistrate, --

"They are bringing you some more witnesses, sir. "

No doubt M. Galpin was little pleased at the interruption; but he knewthe people well enough to bear in mind, that, unless he took them at themoment when they were willing to talk, he might never be able to get anything out of them at any other time. 

"We shall return some other time to our conversation, " he said to CountClaudieuse. 

Then, replying to M. Seneschal, he said, --

"Let the witnesses come in, but one by one. "

The first who entered was the only son of a well-to-do farmer inthe village of Brechy, called Ribot. He was a young fellow of abouttwenty-five, broad-shouldered, with a very small head, a low brow, andformidable crimson ears. For twenty miles all around, he was reputed tobe an irresistible beau, --a reputation of which he was very proud. After having asked him his name, his first names, and his age, M. Galpinsaid, --

"What do you know?"

The young man straightened himself, and with a marvellously conceitedair, which set all the peasants a-laughing, he replied, --

"I was out that night on some little private business of my own. I wason the other side of the chateau of Boiscoran. Somebody was waiting forme, and I was behind time: so I cut right across the marsh. I knew therains of the last days would have filled all the ditches; but, when aman is out on such important business as mine was, he can always findhis way"--

"Spare us those tedious details, " said the magistrate coldly. Thehandsome fellow looked surprised, rather than offended, by theinterruption, and then went on, --

"As your Honor desires. Well, it was about eight o'clock, or a littlemore, and it was growing dark, when I reached the Seille swamps. Theywere overflowing; and the water was two inches above the stones ofthe canal. I asked myself how I should get across without spoiling myclothes, when I saw M. De Boiscoran coming towards me from the otherside. "

"Are you quite sure it was he?"

"Why, I should think so! I talked to him. But stop, he was not afraid ofgetting wet. Without much ado, he rolled up his trousers, stuffed theminto the tops of his tall boots, and went right through. Just then hesaw me, and seemed to be surprised. I was as much so as he was. 'Why, is it you, sir?' I said. He replied 'Yes: I have to see somebody atBrechy. ' That was very probably so; still I said again, 'But youhave chosen a queer way. ' He laughed. 'I did not know the swamps wereoverflowed, ' he answered, 'and I thought I would shoot some snipes. ' Ashe said this, he showed me his gun. At that moment I had nothing to say;but now, when I think it over, it looks queer to me. "

M. Galpin had written down the statement as fast as it was given. Thenhe asked, --

"How was M. De Boiscoran dressed?"

"Stop. He had grayish trousers on, a shooting-jacket of brown velveteen, and a broad-brimmed panama hat. "

The count and the countess looked distressed and almost overcome; nordid the mayor and his friend seem to be less troubled. One circumstancein Ribot's evidence seemed to have struck them with peculiar force, --thefact that he had seen M. De Boiscoran push his trousers inside hisboots. 

"You can go, " said M. Galpin to the young man. "Let another witness comein. "

The next one was an old man of bad reputation, who lived alone in an oldhut two miles from Valpinson. He was called Father Gaudry. Unlike youngRibot, who had shown great assurance, the old man looked humble andcringing in his dirty, ill-smelling rags. After having given his name, he said, --

"It might have been eleven o'clock at night, and I was going through theforest of Rochepommier, along one of the little by-paths"--

"You were stealing wood!" said the magistrate sternly. 

"Great God, what an idea!" cried the old man, raising his hands toheaven. "How can you say such a thing! I steal wood! No, my dear sir, I was very quietly going to sleep in the forest, so as to be upwith daylight, and gather champignons and other mushrooms to sell atSauveterre. Well, I was trotting along, when, all of a sudden, I hearfootsteps behind me. Naturally, I was frightened. "

"Because you were stealing!"

"Oh, no! my dear sir; only, at night, you understand. Well, I hid behinda tree; and almost at the same moment I saw M. De Boiscoran pass by. Irecognized him perfectly in spite of the dark; for he seemed to be ina great rage, talked loud to himself, swore, gesticulated, and torehandfuls of leaves from the branches. "

"Did he have a gun?"

"Yes, my dear sir; for that was the very thing that frightened me so. Ithought he was a keeper. "

The third and last witness was a good old woman, Mrs. Courtois, whoselittle farm lay on the other side of the forest of Rochepommier. Whenshe was asked, she hesitated a moment, and then she said, --

"I do not know much; but I will tell you all I do know. As we expectedto have a house full of workmen a few days hence, and as I was going tobake bread to-morrow, I was going with my ass to the mill on SauveterreMountain to fetch flour. The miller had not any ready; but he told me, if I could wait, he would let me have some: and so I staid to supper. About ten o'clock, they gave me a bag full of flour. The boys put iton my ass, and I went home. I was about half-way, and it was, perhaps, eleven o'clock, when, just at the edge of the forest of Rochepommier, myass stumbled, and the bag fell off. I had a great deal of trouble, for Iwas not strong enough to lift it alone; and just then a man came outof the woods, quite near me. I called to him, and he came. It was M. DeBoiscoran: I ask him to help me; and at once, without losing a moment, he puts his gun down, lifts the bag from the ground, and puts it on myass. I thank him. He says, 'Welcome, ' and--that is all. "

The mayor had been all this time standing in the door of the chamber, performing the humble duty of a doorkeeper, and barring the entrance tothe eager and curious crowd outside. When Mrs. Courtois retired, quitebewildered by her own words, and regretting what she had said, he calledout, --

"Is there any one else who knows any thing?"

As nobody appeared, he closed the door, and said curtly, --

"Well, then, you can go home now, my friends. Let the law have freecourse. "

The law, represented by the magistrate, was a prey at that moment to themost cruel perplexity. M. Galpin was utterly overcome by consternation. He sat at the little table, on which he had been writing, his headresting on his hands, thinking, apparently, how he could find a way outof this labyrinth. 

All of a sudden he rose, and forgetting, for a moment, his customaryrigidity, he let his mask of icy impassiveness drop off his face, andsaid, --

"Well?" as if, in his despair, he had hoped for some help or advice inhis troubles, --"well?"

No answer came. 

All the others were as much troubled as he was. They all tried to shakeoff the overwhelming impression made by this accumulation of evidence;but in vain. At last, after a moment's silence, the magistrate said withstrange bitterness, --

"You see, gentlemen, I was right in examining Cocoleu. Oh! don't attemptto deny it: you share my doubts and my suspicions, I see it. Is thereone among you who would dare assert that the terrible excitement of thispoor man has not restored to him for a time the use of his reason? Whenhe told you that he had witnessed the crime, and when he gave the nameof the criminal, you looked incredulous. But then other witnessescame; and their united evidence, corresponding without a missing link, constitutes a terrible presumption. "

He became animated again. Professional habits, stronger than every thingelse, obtained once more the mastery. 

"M. De Boiscoran was at Valpinson to-night: that is clearly established. Well, how did he get here? By concealing himself. Between his own houseand Valpinson there are two public roads, --one by Brechy, and anotheraround the swamps. Does M. De Boiscoran take either of the two? No. He cuts straight across the marshes, at the risk of sinking in, or ofgetting wet from head to foot. On his return he chooses, in spite of thedarkness, the forest of Rochepommier, unmindful of the danger he runs tolose his way, and to wander about in it till daybreak. What was he doingthis for? Evidently, in order not to be seen. And, in fact, whom doeshe meet?--a loose fellow, Ribot, who is himself in hiding on accountof some love-intrigue; a wood-stealer, Gaudry, whose only anxiety is toavoid the gendarmes; an old woman, finally, Mrs. Courtois, who hasbeen belated by an accident. All his precautions were well chosen; butProvidence was watching. "

"O Providence!" growled Dr. Seignebos, --"Providence!"

But M. Galpin did not even hear the interruption. Speaking faster andfaster, he went on, --

"Would it at least be possible to plead in behalf of M. De Boiscoran adifference in time? No. At what time was he seen to come to thisplace? At nightfall. 'It was half-past eight, ' says Ribot, 'when M. DeBoiscoran crossed the canal at the Seille swamps. ' He might, therefore, have easily reached Valpinson at half-past nine. At that hour the crimehad not yet been committed. When was he seen returning home? Gaudry andthe woman Courtois have told you the hour, --after eleven o'clock. Atthat time Count Claudieuse had been shot, and Valpinson was on fire. Dowe know any thing of M. De Boiscoran's temper at that time? Yes, we do. When he came this way he was quite cool. He is very much surprised atmeeting Ribot; but he explains to him very fully how he happens to be atthat place, and also why he has a gun. 

"He says he is on his way to meet somebody at Brechy, and he thought hewould shoot some birds. Is that admissible? Is it even likely? However, let us look at him on his way back. Gaudry says he was walking veryfast: he seemed to be furious, and was pulling handfuls of leaves fromthe branches. What does Mrs. Courtois say? Nothing. When she calls him, he does not venture to run; that would have been a confession, but he isin a great hurry to help her. And then? His way for a quarter of an houris the same as the woman's: does he keep her company? No. He leaves herhastily. He goes ahead, and hurries home; for he thinks Count Claudieuseis dead; he knows Valpinson is in flames; and he fears he will hear thebells ring, and see the fire raging. "

It is not often that magistrates allow themselves such familiarity; forjudges, and even lawyers, generally fancy they are too high above commonmortals, on such occasions, to explain their views, to state theirimpressions, and to ask, as it were, for advice. Still, when the inquiryis only begun, there are, properly speaking, no fixed rules prescribed. As soon as a crime has been reported to a French magistrate, he is atliberty to do any thing he chooses in order to discover the guilty one. Absolutely master of the case, responsible only to his conscience, andendowed with extraordinary powers, he proceeds as he thinks best. But, in this affair at Valpinson, M. Galpin had been carried away by therapidity of the events themselves. Since the first question addressed toCocoleu, up to the present moment, he had not had time to consider. And his proceedings had been public; thus he felt naturally tempted toexplain them. 

"And you call this a legal inquiry?" asked Dr. Seignebos. 

He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously. 

"An inquiry founded upon what?" he went on with such vehemence that noone dared interrupt him, --"founded upon the evidence of an unfortunatecreature, whom I, a physician, testify to be not responsible for what hesays. Reason does not go out and become lighted again, like the gas ina street-lamp. A man is an idiot, or he is not an idiot. He has alwaysbeen one; and he always will be one. But you say the other statementsare conclusive. Say, rather, that you think they are. Why? Because youare prejudiced by Cocoleu's accusation. But for it, you would neverhave troubled yourselves about what M. De Boiscoran did, or did not. Hewalked about the whole evening. He has a right to do so. He crossed themarsh. What hindered him? He went through the woods. Why should he not?He is met with by people. Is not that quite natural? But no: an idiotaccuses him, and forthwith all he does looks suspicious. He talks. It isthe insolence of a hardened criminal. He is silent. It is the remorseof a guilty man trembling with fear. Instead of naming M. De Boiscoran, Cocoleu might just as well have named me, Dr. Seignebos. At once, allmy doings would have appeared suspicious; and I am quite sure a thousandevidences of my guilt would have been discovered. It would have been aneasy matter. Are not my opinions more radical even than those of M. DeBoiscoran? For there is the key to the whole matter. M. De Boiscoran isa Republican; M. De Boiscoran acknowledges no sovereignty but that ofthe people"--

"Doctor, " broke in the commonwealth attorney, --"doctor, you are notthinking of what you say. "

"I do think of it, I assure you"--

But he was once more interrupted, and this time by Count Claudieuse, whosaid, --

"For my part, I admit all the arguments brought up by the magistrate. But, above all probabilities, I put a fact, --the character of theaccused. M. De Boiscoran is a man of honor and an excellent man. He isincapable of committing a mean and odious crime. "

The others assented. M. Seneschal added, --

"And I, I will tell you another thing. What would have been the purposeof such a crime? Ah, if M. De Boiscoran had nothing to lose! But do youknow among all your friends a happier man than he is?--young, handsome, in excellent health, immensely wealthy, esteemed and popular witheverybody. Finally, there is another fact, which is a family secret, butwhich I may tell you, and which will remove at once all suspicions, --M. De Boiscoran is desperately in love with Miss Dionysia de Chandore. Shereturns his love; and the day before yesterday the wedding-day was fixedon the 20th of the next month. "

In the meantime the hours had sped on. It was half-past three by theclock of the church in Brechy. Day was breaking; and the light of thelamps was turning pale. The morning mists began to disappear; and thesunlight fell upon the window-panes. But no one noticed this: all thesemen gathered around the bed of the wounded man were too deeply excited. M. Galpin had listened to the objection made by the others, without aword or a gesture. He had so far recovered his self-control, that itwould have been difficult to see what impressions they made upon hismind. At last, shaking his head gravely, he said, --

"More than you, gentlemen, I feel a desire to believe M. De Boiscoraninnocent. M. Daubigeon, who knows what I mean, will tell you so. In myheart I pleaded his cause long before you. But I am the representativeof the law; and my duty is above my affections. Does it depend on me toset aside Cocoleu's accusation, however stupid, however absurd, itmay be? Can I undo the three statements made by the witnesses, andconfirming so strongly the suspicions aroused by the first charge?"

Count Claudieuse was distressed beyond expression. At last he said, --

"The worst thing about it is, that M. De Boiscoran thinks I am hisenemy. I should not wonder if he went and imagined that these chargesand vile suspicions have been suggested by my wife or by myself. If Icould only get up! At least, let M. De Boiscoran know distinctly that Iam ready to answer for him, as I would answer for myself. Cocoleu, thewretched idiot! Ah, Genevieve, my darling wife! Why did you induce himto talk? If you had not insisted, he would have kept silent forever. "

The countess succumbed at last to the anxieties of this terrible night. At first she had been supported by that exaltation which is apt toaccompany a great crisis; but latterly she had felt exhausted. She hadsunk upon a stool, near the bed on which her two daughters were lying;and, her head hid in the pillow, she seemed to sleep. But she was notasleep. When her husband reproached her thus, she rose, pale, withswollen eyes and distorted features, and said in a piercing voice, --

"What? They have tried to kill my Trivulce; our children have been nearunto death in the flames; and I should have allowed any means to beunused by which the guilty one may be found out? No! I have only donewhat it was my duty to do. Whatever may come of it, I regret nothing. "

"But, Genevieve, M. De Boiscoran is not guilty: he cannot possibly beguilty. How could a man who has the happiness of being loved by Dionysiade Chandore, and who counts the days to his wedding, --how could hedevise such a hideous crime?"

"Let him prove his innocence, " replied the countess mercilessly. 

The doctor smacked his lips in the most impertinent manner. 

"There is a woman's logic for you, " he murmured. 

"Certainly, " said M. Seneschal, "M. De Boiscoran's innocence will bepromptly established. Nevertheless, the suspicion will remain. And ourpeople are so constituted, that this suspicion will overshadow his wholelife. Twenty years hence, they will meet him, and they will say, 'Oh, yes! the man who set Valpinson on fire!'"

It was not M. Galpin this time who replied, but the commonwealthattorney. He said sadly, --

"I cannot share your views; but that does not matter. After what haspassed, our friend, M. Galpin cannot retrace his steps: his duty makesthat impossible, and, even more so, what is due to the accused. Whatwould all these people say, who have heard Cocoleu's deposition, and theevidence given by the witnesses, if the inquiry were stopped? Theywould certainly say M. De Boiscoran was guilty, but that he was not heldresponsible because he was rich and noble. Upon my honor I believe himto be innocent. But precisely because this is my conviction, I maintainthat his innocence must be clearly established. No doubt he has themeans of doing so. When he met Ribot, he told him he was on his way tosee somebody at Brechy. "

"But suppose he never went there?" objected M. Seneschal. "Suppose hedid not see anybody there? Suppose it was only a pretext to satisfyRibot's impertinent curiosity?"

"Well, then, he would only have to tell the truth in court. Andlook! Here's an important proof which almost by itself relieves M. DeBoiscoran. Would he not have loaded his gun with a ball, if he shouldever have really thought of murdering the count? But it was loaded withnothing but small-shot. "

"And he would never have missed me at ten yards' distance, " said thecount. 

Suddenly somebody was heard knocking furiously at the door. 

"Come in!" cried M. Seneschal. 

The door opened and three peasants appeared, looking bewildered, butevidently well pleased. 

"We have just, " said one of them, "found something curious. "

"What?" asked M. Galpin. 

"It looks very much like a case; but Pitard says it is the paper of acartridge. "

Count Claudieuse raised himself on his pillows, and said eagerly, --

"Let me see! I have during these last days fired several times quitenear to the house to frighten the birds away that eat my fruit. I wantto see if the paper is mine. "

The peasant gave it to him. 

It was a very thin lead form, such as contain the cartridges usedin American breech-loading guns. What was singular was that it wasblackened by burnt powder; but it had not been torn, nor had it blazedup in the discharge. It was so perfectly uninjured, that one could readthe embossed letters of the name of the manufacturer, Clebb. 

"That cartridge never belonged to me, " said the count. 

But as he uttered these words he turned deadly pale, so pale, that hiswife came close to him, and looked at him with a glance full of terribleanguish. 

"Well?"

He made no reply. 

But at that moment such silence was so eloquent, that the countess feltsickened, and whispered to him, --

"Then Cocoleu was right, after all!"

Not one feature of this dramatic scene had escaped M. Galpin's eye. He had seen on every face signs of a kind of terror; still he made noremark. He took the metal case from the count's hands, knowing that itmight become an important piece of evidence; and for nearly a minute heturned it round and round, looking at it from all sides, and examiningit in the light with the utmost attention. 

Then turning to the peasants, who were standing respectfully anduncovered close by the door, he asked them, --

"Where did you find this cartridge, my friends?"

"Close by the old tower, where they keep the tools, and where the ivy isgrowing all over the old castle. "

M. Seneschal had in the meantime succeeded in recovering hisself-control, and said now, --

"Surely the murderer cannot have fired from there. You cannot even seethe door of the house from the old tower. "

"That may be, " replied the magistrate; "but the cartridge-case does notnecessarily fall to the ground at the place where the gun is discharged. It falls as soon as the gun is cocked to reload. "

This was so true, that even Dr. Seignebos had nothing to say. 

"Now, my friends, " said M. Galpin, "which of you has found thecartridge-case?"

"We were all together when we saw it, and picked it up. "

"Well, then, all three of you must give me your names and your domicile, so that I can send for you when you are wanted. "

This was done; and, when all formalities were attended to, they wentoff with numberless bows and doffings of hats. Just at that moment thefurious gallop of a horse was heard approaching the house; the nextmoment the man who had been sent to Sauveterre for medicines came in. Hewas furious. 

"That rascal of a druggist!" he said. "I thought he would never open hisshop!"

Dr. Seignebos had eagerly seized the things that were sent him, then, bowing with mock respect to the magistrate, he said, --

"I know very well, sir, how pressing the necessity is to have the headof the culprit cut off; but I think it is almost as pressing to save thelife of the murdered man. I have probably delayed the binding up of thecount's wounds longer than I ought to have done; and I beg you will nowleave me alone, so as to enable me to do my duty to him. "

VI. 

There was nothing more to be done for the magistrate, the commonwealthattorney, or the mayor. The doctor might assuredly have used more politelanguage; but people were accustomed to his brutal ways; for it issurprising with what readiness men are tolerated in France, under thepretext that they are as they are, and that they must be taken as theyare. The three gentlemen, therefore, left the room, after having bidfarewell to the countess, and after having promised to send the countnews of all that might be discovered. 

The fire was going out for want of fuel. A few hours had sufficed todestroy all that the hard work and incessant cares of many years hadaccomplished. This charming and much envied estate presented now nothingbut a few half calcined walls, heaps of black and gray ashes, and stillglowing timbers, from which columns of smoke were slowly rising upward. Thanks to Capt. Parenteau, all that they had been able to save had beencarried to a distance, and safely stored away under the shelter of theruins of the old castle. There, furniture and other articles were piledup pell-mell. There, carts and agricultural machines were standingabout, empty casks, and sacks of oats and rye. There, also, the cattlewere gathered, that had been drawn from their stalls with infinitelabor, and at great risk of life, --horses, oxen, some sheep, and adozen cows, who lowed piteously. Few of the people had left as yet. Withgreater zeal than ever the firemen, aided by the peasants, deluged theremains of the dwelling-house with water. They had nothing to fearfrom the fire; but they desired to keep the bodies of their unfortunatecompanions from being entirely consumed. 

"What a terrible scourge fire is!" said M. Seneschal. 

Neither M. Galpin nor the mayor made any answer. They also felt theirhearts oppressed by the sad sight before them, in spite of all theintense excitement before; for a fire is nothing as long as the feverishexcitement, and the hope of saving something, continue to keep us up, and as long as the red flames illumine the horizon; but the next day, when all is over, then we realize the extent of the misfortune. 

The firemen recognized the mayor, and greeted him with cheers. He wentrapidly towards them; and, for the first time since the alarm had beenraised, the magistrate and the attorney were alone. They were standingclose by each other, and for a moment kept silent, while each one triedto read in the other's eyes the secret of his thoughts. At last M. Daubigeon asked, --

"Well?"

M. Galpin trembled. 

"This is a fearful calamity, " he said. 

"What is your opinion?"

"Ah! do I know it myself? I have lost my head: the whole thing looks tome like a nightmare. "

"You cannot really believe that M. De Boiscoran is guilty?"

"I believe nothing. My reason tells me he is innocent. I feel he must beinnocent; and yet I see terrible evidence rising against him. "

The attorney was overwhelmed. 

"Alas!" he said, "why did you, contrary to everybody's opinion, insistupon examining Cocoleu, a poor idiotic wretch?"

But the magistrate remonstrated--

"You do not mean to reproach me, sir, for having followed the impulsesof my conscience?"

"I reproach you for nothing. "

"A horrible crime has been committed; and my duty compelled me to do allthat lies in the power of man to discover the culprit. "

"Yes; and the man who is accused of the crime is your friend, and onlyyesterday you spoke of his friendship as your best chance of success inlife. "

"Sir?"

"Are you surprised to find me so well informed? Ah, you do not knowthat nothing escapes the idle curiosity of a village. I know that yourdearest hope was to become a member of M. De Boiscoran's family, andthat you counted upon him to back you in your efforts to obtain the handof one of his cousins. "

"I do not deny that. "

"Unfortunately, you have been tempted by the prestige you might gainin a great and famous trial. You have laid aside all prudence; and yourprojects are forgotten. Whether M. De Boiscoran is innocent or guilty, his family will never forgive you your interference. If he is guilty, they will blame you for having handed him over to justice: if he isinnocent, they will blame you even more for having suspected him. "

M. Galpin hung his head as if to conceal his trouble. Then he asked, --

"And what would you do in my place?"

"I would withdraw from the case, although it is rather late. "

"If I did so, I should risk my career. "

"Even that would be better for you than to engage in an affair in whichyou cannot feel the calmness nor the impartiality which are the firstand indispensable virtues of an upright magistrate. "

The latter was becoming impatient. He exclaimed, --

"Sir, do you think I am a man to be turned aside from my duty byconsiderations of friendship or personal interest?"

"I said nothing of the kind. "

"Did you not see just now how I carried on the inquiry? Did you see mestart when Cocoleu first mentioned M. De Boiscoran's name? If he haddenounced any one else, I should probably have let the matter restthere. But precisely because M. De Boiscoran is a friend of mine, and because I have great expectations from him, I have insisted andpersisted, and I do so still. "

The commonwealth attorney shrugged his shoulders. 

"That is it exactly, " he said. "Because M. De Boiscoran is a friend ofyours, you are afraid of being accused of weakness; and you are goingto be hard, pitiless, unjust even, against him. Because you had greatexpectations from him, you will insist upon finding him guilty. And youcall yourself impartial?"

M. Galpin assumed all his usual rigidity, and said solemnly, --

"I am sure of myself!"

"Have a care!"

"My mind is made up, sir. "

It was time for M. Seneschal to join them again: he returned, accompanied by Capt. Parenteau. 

"Well, gentlemen, " he asked, "what have you resolved?"

"We are going to Boiscoran, " replied the magistrate. 

"What! Immediately?"

"Yes: I wish to find M. De Boiscoran in bed. I am so anxious about it, that I shall do without my clerk. "

Capt. Parenteau bowed, and said, --

"Your clerk is here, sir: he was but just inquiring for you. " Thereuponhe called out as loud as he could, --

"Mechinet, Mechinet!"

A small gray-haired man, jovial and cheerful, came running up, and atonce proceeded to tell at full length how a neighbor had told him whathad happened, and how the magistrate had left town, whereupon he, also, had started on foot, and come after him as fast as he could. 

"Now will you go to Boiscoran?" asked the mayor. 

"I do not know yet. Mechinet will have to look for some conveyance. "

Quick like lightning, the clerk was starting off, when M. Seneschal heldhim back, saying, --

"Don't go. I place my horse and my carriage at your disposal. Any one ofthese peasants can drive you. Capt. Parenteau and I will get into somefarmer's wagon, and thus get back to Sauveterre; for we ought to be backas soon as possible. I have just heard alarming news. There may be somedisorder. The peasant-women who attend the market have brought in mostexciting reports, and exaggerated the calamities of last night. Theyhave started reports that ten or twelve men have been killed, and thatthe incendiary, M. De Boiscoran, has been arrested. The crowd has goneto poor Guillebault's widow; and there have been demonstrations beforethe houses of several of the principal inhabitants of Sauveterre. "

In ordinary times, M. Seneschal would not have intrusted his famoushorse, Caraby, for any thing in the world, to the hands of a stranger. He considered it the best horse in the province. But he was evidentlyterribly upset, and betrayed it in his manner, and by the very effortshe made to regain his official dignity and self-possession. 

He made a sign, and his carriage was brought up, all ready. But, when heasked for somebody to drive, no one came forward. All these good peoplewho had spent the night abroad were in great haste to return home, wheretheir cattle required their presence. When young Ribot saw the othershesitate, he said, --

"Well, I'll drive the justice. "

And, taking hold of the whip and the reins, he took his seat on thefront-bench, while the magistrate, the commonwealth attorney, and theclerk filled the vehicle. 

"Above all, take care of Caraby, " begged M. Seneschal, who at the lastmoment felt almost overcome with anxiety for his favorite. 

"Don't be afraid, sir, " replied the young man, as he started the horse. "If I strike too hard, M. Mechinet will stop me. "

This Mechinet, the magistrate's clerk, was almost a power in Sauveterre;and the greatest personages there paid their court to him. His officialduties were of very humble nature, and ill paid; but he knew how to ekeout his income by other occupations, of which the court took no notice;and these added largely both to his importance in the community and tohis modest income. 

As he was a skilful lithographer, he printed all the visiting-cardswhich the people of Sauveterre ordered at the principal printing-officeof Sauveterre, where "The Independent" was published. An ableaccountant, he kept books and made up accounts for some of theprincipal merchants in town. Some of the country people who were fond oflitigation came to him for legal advice; and he drew up all kinds of lawpapers. For many years now, he had been director of the firemen's band, and manager of the Orpheon. He was a correspondent of certain Parissocieties, and thus obtained free admission to the theatre not only, butalso to the sacred precincts behind the scenes. Finally he was alwaysready to give writing-lessons, French lessons to little girls, ormusic-lessons on the flute and the horn, to amateurs. 

These varied talents had drawn upon him the hostility of all the otherteachers and public servants of the community, especially that of themayor's clerk, and the clerks of the bank and great institutions ofSauveterre. But all these enemies he had gradually conquered by theunmistakable superiority of his ability; so that they fell in with theuniversal habit, and, when any thing special happened, said to eachother, --

"Let us go and consult Mechinet. "

He himself concealed, under an appearance of imperturbable good nature, the ambition by which he was devoured: he wanted to become rich, and torise in the world. In fact, Mechinet was a diplomat, working in secret, but as cunning as Talleyrand. He had succeeded already in making himselfthe one great personage of Sauveterre. The town was full of him; nothingwas done without him; and yet he had not an enemy in the place. 

The fact is, people were afraid of him, and dreaded his terrible tongue. Not that he had ever injured anybody, he was too wise for that; butthey knew the harm he might do, if he chose, as he was master of everyimportant secret in Sauveterre, and the best informed man in town asregarded all their little intrigues, their private foibles, and theirdark antecedents. 

This gave him quite an exceptional position. As he was unmarried, he lived with his sisters, the Misses Mechinet, who were the bestdressmakers in town, and, moreover, devout members of all kinds ofreligious societies. Through them he heard all that was going on insociety, and was able to compare the current gossip with what he heardin court, or at the newspaper office. Thus he could say pleasantly, --

"How could any thing escape me, when I have the church and the press, the court and the theatre, to keep me informed?"

Such a man would have considered himself disgraced if he had not knownevery detail of M. De Boiscoran's private affairs. He did not hesitate, therefore, while the carriage was rolling along on an excellent road, inthe fresh spring morning, to explain to his companions the "case, " as hecalled it, of the accused nobleman. 

M. De Boiscoran, called Jacques by his friends, was rarely on hisestate, and then only staid a month or so there. He was living in Paris, where his family owned a comfortable house in University Street. Hisparents were still alive. 

His father, the Marquis de Boiscoran, the owner of a large landedestate, a deputy under Louis Philippe, a representative in 1848, hadwithdrawn from public life when the Second Empire was established, and spent, since that time, all his money, and all his energies, incollecting rare old books, and especially costly porcelain, on which hehad written a monograph. 

His mother, a Chalusse by birth, had enjoyed the reputation of being oneof the most beautiful and most gifted ladies at the court of the CitizenKing. At a certain period in her life, unfortunately, slander hadattacked her; and about 1845 or 1846, it was reported that she had hada remarkable affair with a young lawyer of distinction, who had sincebecome one of the austerest and most renowned judges. As she grew old, the marchioness devoted herself more and more to politics, as otherwomen become pious. While her husband boasted that he had not reada newspaper for ten years, she had made her _salon_ a kind ofparliamentary centre, which had its influence on political affairs. 

Although Jacques de Boiscoran's parents were still alive, he possesseda considerable fortune of his own--five or six thousand dollars a year. This fortune, which consisted of the Chateau of Boiscoran, the farms, meadows, and forests belonging to it, had been left to him by one of hisuncles, the oldest brother of his father, who had died a widower, andchildless, in 1868. M. De Boiscoran was at this moment about twenty-sixor twenty-seven years old, dark complexion, tall, strong, well made, notexactly a handsome man, but having, what was worth more, one of thosefrank, intelligent faces which prepossess one at first sight. 

His character was less well known at Sauveterre than his person. Thosewho had had any business with him described him as an honorable, uprightman: his companions spoke of him as cheerful and gay, fond of pleasure, and always in good humor. At the time of the Prussian invasion, he hadbeen made a captain of one of the volunteer companies of the district. He had led his men bravely under fire, and conducted himself so well onthe battlefield, that Gen. Chanzy had rewarded him, when wounded, withthe cross of the legion of honor. 

"And such a man should have committed such a crime at Valpinson, " saidM. Daubigeon to the magistrate. "No, it is impossible! And no doubt hewill very easily scatter all our doubts to the four winds. "

"And that will be done at once, " said young Ribot; "for here we are. "

In many of the provinces of France the name of _chateau_ is given toalmost any little country-house with a weathercock on its pointed roof. But Boiscoran was a real chateau. It had been built towards the endof the seventeenth century, in wretched taste, but massively, like afortress. Its position is superb. It is surrounded on all sides by woodsand forests; and at the foot of the sloping garden flows a little river, merrily splashing over its pebbly bed, and called the Magpie on accountof its perpetual babbling. 

VII. 

It was seven o'clock when the carriage containing the justice drove intothe courtyard at Boiscoran, --a vast court, planted with lime-trees, andsurrounded by farm buildings. The chateau was wide awake. Before herhouse-door, the farmer's wife was cleaning the huge caldron in which shehad prepared the morning soup; the maids were going and coming; and atthe stable a groom was rubbing down with great energy a thorough-bredhorse. 

On the front-steps stood Master Anthony, M. De Boiscoran's own man, smoking his cigar in the bright sunlight, and overlooking the farmoperations. He was a man of nearly fifty, still very active, who hadbeen bequeathed to his new master by his uncle, together with hispossessions. He was a widower now; and his daughter was in themarchioness' service. 

As he had been born in the family, and never left it afterwards, helooked upon himself as one of them, and saw no difference between hisown interests and those of his master. In fact, he was treated less likea servant than like a friend; and he fancied he knew every thing aboutM. De Boiscoran's affairs. 

When he saw the magistrate and the commonwealth attorney come up to thedoor, he threw away his cigar, came down quickly, and, bowing deeply, said to them with his most engaging smile, --

"Ah, gentlemen! What a pleasant surprise! My master will be delighted. "

With strangers, Anthony would not have allowed himself such familiarity, for he was very formal; but he had seen M. Daubigeon more than once atthe chateau; and he knew the plans that had been discussed betweenM. Galpin and his master. Hence he was not a little amazed at theembarrassed stiffness of the two gentlemen, and at the tone of voice inwhich the magistrate asked him, --

"Has M. De Boiscoran gotten up yet?"

"Not yet, " he replied; "and I have orders not to wake him. He came homelate last night, and wanted to make up this morning. "

Instinctively the magistrate and the attorney looked away, each fearingto meet the other's eyes. 

"Ah! M. De Boiscoran came home late last night?" repeated M. Galpin. 

"Towards midnight, rather after midnight than before. "

"And when had he gone out?"

"He left here about eight. "

"How was he dressed?"

"As usually. He had light gray trousers, a shooting-jacket of brownvelveteen, and a large straw hat. "

"Did he take his gun?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Do you know where he went?"

But for the respect which he felt for his master's friends, Anthonywould not have answered these questions, which he thought were extremelyimpertinent. But this last question seemed to him to go beyond all fairlimits. He replied, therefore, in a tone of injured self-respect, --

"I am not in the habit of asking my master where he goes when he leavesthe house, nor where he has been when he comes back. "

M. Daubigeon understood perfectly well the honorable feelingswhich actuated the faithful servant. He said to him with an air ofunmistakable kindness, --

"Do not imagine, my friend, that I ask you these questions from idlecuriosity. Tell me what you know; for your frankness may be more usefulto your master than you imagine. "

Anthony looked with an air of perfect stupefaction, by turns at themagistrate and the commonwealth attorney, at Mechinet, and finally atRibot, who had taken the lines, and tied Caraby to a tree. 

"I assure you, gentlemen, I do not know where M. De Boiscoran has spentthe evening. "

"You have no suspicion?"

"No. "

"Perhaps he went to Brechy to see a friend?"

"I do not know that he has any friends in Brechy. "

"What did he do after he came home?"

The old servant showed evident signs of embarrassment. 

"Let me think, " he said. "My master went up to his bedroom, and remainedthere four or five minutes. Then he came down, ate a piece of a pie, anddrank a glass of wine. Then he lit a cigar, and told me to go to bed, adding that he would take a little walk, and undress without my help. "

"And then you went to bed?"

"Of course. "

"So that you do not know what your master may have done?"

"I beg your pardon. I heard him open the garden door. "

"He did not appear to you different from usual?"

"No: he was as he always is, --quite cheerful: he was singing. "

"Can you show me the gun he took with him?"

"No. My master probably took it to his room. "

M. Daubigeon was about to make a remark, when the magistrate stopped himby a gesture, and eagerly asked, --

"How long is it since your master and Count Claudieuse have ceasedseeing each other?"

Anthony trembled, as if a dark presentiment had entered his mind. Hereplied, --

"A long time: at least I think so. "

"You are aware that they are on bad terms?"

"Oh!"

"They have had great difficulties between them?"

"Something unpleasant has happened, I know; but it was not much. As theydo not visit each other, they cannot well hate each other. Besides, I have heard master say a hundred times, that he looked upon CountClaudieuse as one of the best and most honorable men; that he respectedhim highly, and"--

For a minute or so M. Galpin kept silent, thinking whether he hadforgotten any thing. Then he asked suddenly, --

"How far is it from here to Valpinson?"

"Three miles, sir, " replied Anthony. 

"If you were going there, what road would you take?"

"The high road which passes Brechy. "

"You would not go across the marsh?"

"Certainly not. "

"Why not?"

"Because the Seille is out of its banks, and the ditches are full ofwater. "

"Is not the way much shorter through the forest?"

"Yes, the way is shorter; but it would take more time. The paths arevery indistinct, and overgrown with briers. "

The commonwealth attorney could hardly conceal his disappointment. Anthony's answers seemed to become worse and worse. 

"Now, " said the magistrate again, "if fire should break out atValpinson, would you see it from here?"

"I think not, sir. There are hills and tall woods between. "

"Can you hear the Brechy bells from here?"

"When the wind is north, yes, sir. "

"And last night, how was it?"

"The wind was from the west, as it always is when we have a storm. "

"So that you have heard nothing? You do not know what a terriblecalamity"--

"A calamity? I do not understand you, sir. "

This conversation had taken place in the court-yard: and at this momentthere appeared two gendarmes on horseback, whom M. Galpin had sent forjust before he left Valpinson. 

When old Anthony saw them, he exclaimed, --

"Great God! what is the meaning of this? I must wake master. "

The magistrate stopped him, saying harshly, --

"Not a step! Don't say a word!"

And pointing out Ribot to the gendarmes, he said, --

"Keep that lad under your eyes, and let him have no communication withanybody. "

Then, turning again to Anthony, he said, --

"Now show us to M. De Boiscoran's bedroom. "

VIII. 

In spite of its grand feudal air, the chateau at Boiscoran was, afterall, little more than a bachelor's modest home, and in a very bad stateof preservation. Of the eighty or a hundred rooms which it contained, hardly more than eight or ten were furnished, and this only in thesimplest possible manner, --a sitting-room, a dining-room, a fewguest-chambers: this was all M. De Boiscoran required during his rarevisits to the place. He himself used in the second story a small room, the door of which opened upon the great staircase. 

When they reached this door, guided by old Anthony, the magistrate saidto the servant, --

"Knock!"

The man obeyed: and immediately a youthful, hearty voice replied fromwithin, --

"Who is there?"

"It is I, " said the faithful servant. "I should like"--

"Go to the devil!" broke in the voice. 

"But, sir"--

"Let me sleep, rascal. I have not been able to close an eye till now. "The magistrate, becoming impatient, pushed the servant aside, and, seizing the door-knob tried to open it; it was locked inside. But helost no time in saying, --

"It is I, M. De Boiscoran: open, if you please!"

"Ah, dear M. Galpin!" replied the voice cheerfully. 

"I must speak to you. "

"And I am at your service, illustrious jurist. Just give me time to veilmy Apollonian form in a pair of trousers, and I appear. "

Almost immediately, the door opened; and M. De Boiscoran presentedhimself, his hair dishevelled, his eyes heavy with sleep, but lookingbright in his youth and full health, with smiling lips and open hands. 

"Upon my word!" he said. "That was a happy inspiration you had, my dearGalpin. You come to join me at breakfast?"

And, bowing to M. Daubigeon, he added, --

"Not to say how much I thank you for bringing our excellent commonwealthattorney with you. This is a veritable judicial visit"--

But he paused, chilled as he was by M. Daubigeon's icy face, and amazedat M. Galpin's refusal to take his proffered hand. 

"Why, " he said, "what is the matter, my dear friend?"

The magistrate had never been stiffer in his life, when he replied, --

"We shall have to forget our relations, sir. It is not as a friend Icome to-day, but as a magistrate. "

M. De Boiscoran looked confounded; but not a shadow of trouble appearedon his frank and open face. 

"I'll be hanged, " he said, "if I understand"--

"Let us go in, " said M. Galpin. 

They went in; and, as they passed the door, Mechinet whispered into theattorney's ear, --

"Sir, that man is certainly innocent. A guilty man would never havereceived us thus. "

"Silence, sir!" said the commonwealth attorney, however much he wasprobably of his clerk's opinion. "Silence!"

And grave and sad he went and stood in one of the window embrasures. M. Galpin remained standing in the centre of the room, trying to see everything in it, and to fix it in his memory, down to the smallest details. The prevailing disorder showed clearly how hastily M. De Boiscoran hadgone to bed the night before. His clothes, his boots, his shirt, hiswaistcoat, and his straw hat lay scattered about on the chairs andon the floor. He wore those light gray trousers, which had beensucccessively seen and recognized by Cocoleu, by Ribot, by Gaudry, andby Mrs. Courtois. 

"Now, sir, " began M. De Boiscoran, with that slight angry tone of voicewhich shows that a man thinks a joke has been carried far enough, "willyou please tell me what procures for me the honor of this early visit?"

Not a muscle in M. Galpin's face was moving. As if the question had beenaddressed to some one else, he said coldly, --

"Will you please show us your hands, sir?"

M. De Boiscoran's cheeks turned crimson; and his eyes assumed anexpression of strange perplexity. 

"If this is a joke, " he said, "it has perhaps lasted long enough. "

He was evidently getting angry. M. Daubigeon thought it better tointerfere, and thus he said, --

"Unfortunately, sir, the question is a most serious one. Do what themagistrate desires. "

More and more amazed, M. De Boiscoran looked rapidly around him. In thedoor stood Anthony, his faithful old servant, with anguish on his face. Near the fireplace, the clerk had improvised a table, and put his paper, his pens, and his horn inkstand in readiness. Then with a shrug of hisshoulders, which showed that he failed to understand, M. De Boiscoranshowed his hands. 

They were perfectly clean and white: the long nails were carefullycleaned also. 

"When did you last wash your hands?" asked M. Galpin, after havingexamined them minutely. 

At this question, M. De Boiscoran's face brightened up; and, breakingout into a hearty laugh, he said, --

"Upon my word! I confess you nearly caught me. I was on the point ofgetting angry. I almost feared"--

"And there was good reason for fear, " said M. Galpin; "for a terriblecharge has been brought against you. And it may be, that on your answerto my question, ridiculous as it seems to you, your honor may depend, and perhaps your liberty. "

This time there was no mistake possible. M. De Boiscoran felt that kindof terror which the law inspires even in the best of men, when they findthemselves suddenly accused of a crime. He turned pale, and then he saidin a troubled voice, --

"What! A charge has been brought against me, and you, M. Galpin, come tomy house to examine me?"

"I am a magistrate, sir. "

"But you were also my friend. If anyone should have dared in my presenceto accuse you of a crime, of a mean act, of something infamous, I shouldhave defended you, sir, with all my energy, without hesitation, andwithout a doubt. I should have defended you till absolute, undeniableevidence should have been brought forward of your culpability; and eventhen I should have pitied you, remembering that I had esteemed you sohighly as to favor your alliance with my family. But you--I am accused, I do not know of what, falsely, wrongly; and at once you hasten hither, you believe the charge, and consent to become my judge. Well, let it beso! I washed my hands last night after coming home. "

M. Galpin had not boasted too much in praising his self-possession andhis perfect control over himself. He did not move when the terriblewords fell upon his ear; and he asked again in the same calm tone, --

"What has become of the water you used for that purpose?"

"It is probably still there, in my dressing-room. "

The magistrate at once went in. On the marble table stood a basin fullof water. That water was black and dirty. At the bottom lay particlesof charcoal. On the top, mixed with the soapsuds, were swimming someextremely slight but unmistakable fragments of charred paper. Withinfinite care the magistrate carried the basin to the table atwhich Mechinet had taken a sea; and, pointing at it, he asked M. DeBoiscoran, --

"Is that the water in which you washed your hands last night aftercoming home?"

"Yes, " replied the other with an air of careless indifference. 

"You had been handling charcoal, or some inflammable material. "

"Don't you see?"

Standing face to face, the commonwealth attorney and clerk exchangedrapid glances. They had had the same feeling at that moment. If M. De Boiscoran was innocent, he was certainly a marvellously cool andenergetic man, or he was carrying out a long-premeditated plan ofaction; for every one of his answers seemed to tighten the net in whichhe was taken. The magistrate himself seemed to be struck by this; but itwas only for a moment, and then, turning to the clerk, he said, --

"Write that down!"

He dictated to him the whole evidence, most minutely and accurately, correcting himself every now and then to substitute a better word, or toimprove his style. When he had read it over he said, --

"Let us go on, sir. You were out last night?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Having left the house at eight, you returned only around midnight. "

"After midnight. "

"You took your gun?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Where is it?"

With an air of indifference, M. De Boiscoran pointed at it in the cornerof the fireplace, and said, --

"There it is!"

M. Galpin took it up quickly. It was a superb weapon, double-barrelled, of unusually fine make, and very elegant. On the beautifully carvedwoodwork the manufacturer's name, Clebb, was engraven. 

"When did you last fire this gun?" asked the magistrate. 

"Some four or five days ago. "

"What for?"

"To shoot some rabbits who infested my woods. "

M. Galpin raised and lowered the cock with all possible care: he noticedthat it was the Remington patent. Then he opened the chamber, and foundthat the gun was loaded. Each barrel had a cartridge in it. Then heput the gun back in its place, and, pulling from his pocket the leadencartridge-case which Pitard had found, he showed it to M. De Boiscoran, and asked him, --

"Do you recognize this?"

"Perfectly!" replied the other. "It is a case of one of the cartridgeswhich I have probably thrown away as useless. "

"Do you think you are the only one in this country who has a gun by thismaker?"

"I do not think it: I am quite sure of it. "

"So that you must, as a matter of course, have been at a spot where sucha cartridge-case as this has been found?"

"Not necessarily. I have often seen children pick up these things, andplay with them. "

The clerk, while he made his pen fly across his paper, could not resistthe temptation of making all kinds of faces. He was too well acquaintedwith lawyers' tactics not to understand M. Galpin's policy perfectlywell, and to see how cunningly it was devised to make every factstrengthen the suspicion against M. De Boiscoran. 

"It is a close game, " he said to himself. 

The magistrate had taken a seat. 

"If that is so, " he began again, "I beg you will give me an account ofhow you spent the evening after eight o'clock: do not hurry, consider, take your time; for your answers are of the utmost importance. "

M. De Boiscoran had so far remained quite cool; but his calmnessbetrayed one of those terrible storms within, which may break forth, noone knows when. This warning, and, even more so, the tone in which itwas given, revolted him as a most hideous hypocrisy. And, breaking outall of a sudden, he cried, --

"After all, sir, what do you want of me? What am I accused of?"

M. Galpin did not stir. He replied, --

"You will hear it at the proper time. First answer my question, andbelieve me in your own interest. Answer frankly. What did you do lastnight?"

"How do I know? I walked about. "

"That is no answer. "

"Still it is so. I went out with no specific purpose: I walked athaphazard. "

"Your gun on your shoulder?"

"I always take my gun: my servant can tell you so. "

"Did you cross the Seille marshes?"

"No. "

The magistrate shook his head gravely. He said, --

"You are not telling the truth. "

"Sir!"

"Your boots there at the foot of the bed speak against you. Where doesthe mud come from with which they are covered?"

"The meadows around Boiscoran are very wet. "

"Do not attempt to deny it. You have been seen there. "

"But"--

"Young Ribot met you at the moment when you were crossing the canal. "

M. De Boiscoran made no reply. 

"Where were you going?" asked the magistrate. 

For the first time a real embarrassment appeared in the features of theaccused, --the embarrassment of a man who suddenly sees an abyss openingbefore him. He hesitated; and, seeing that it was useless to deny, hesaid, --

"I was going to Brechy. "

"To whom?"

"To my wood-merchant, who has bought all this year's wood. I did notfind him at home, and came back on the high road. "

M. Galpin stopped him by a gesture. 

"That is not so, " he said severely. 

"Oh!"

"You never went to Brechy. "

"I beg your pardon. "

"And the proof is, that, about eleven o'clock, you were hurriedlycrossing the forest of Rochepommier. "

"I?"

"Yes, you! And do not say No; for there are your trousers torn to piecesby the thorns and briers through which you must have made your way. "

"There are briers elsewhere as well as in the forest. "

"To be sure; but you were seen there. "

"By whom?"

"By Gaudry the poacher. And he saw so much of you, that he could tellus in what a bad humor you were. You were very angry. You were talkingloud, and pulling the leaves from the trees. "

As he said so, the magistrate got up and took the shooting-jacket, whichwas lying on a chair not far from him. He searched the pockets, andpulled out of one a handful of leaves. 

"Look here! you see, Gaudry has told the truth. "

"There are leaves everywhere, " said M. De Boiscoran half aloud. 

"Yes; but a woman, Mrs. Courtois, saw you come out of the forest ofRochepommier. You helped her to put a sack of flour on her ass, whichshe could not lift alone. Do you deny it? No, you are right; for, lookhere! on the sleeve of your coat I see something white, which, no doubt, is flour from her bag. "

M. De Boiscoran hung his head. The magistrate went on, --

"You confess, then, that last night, between ten and eleven you were atValpinson?"

"No, sir, I do not. "

"But this cartridge-case which I have just shown you was picked up atValpinson, close by the ruins of the old castle. "

"Well, sir, have I not told you before that I have seen a hundred timeschildren pick up these cases to play with? Besides, if I had really beenat Valpinson, why should I deny it?"

M. Galpin rose to his full height, and said in the most solemn manner, --

"I am going to tell you why! Last night, between ten and eleven, Valpinson was set on fire; and it has been burnt to the ground. "

"Oh!"

"Last night Count Claudieuse was fired at twice. "

"Great God!"

"And it is thought, in fact there are strong reasons to think, that you, Jacques de Boiscoran, are the incendiary and the assassin. "

IX. 

M. De Boiscoran looked around him like a man who has suddenly beenseized with vertigo, pale, as if all his blood had rushed to his heart. 

He saw nothing but mournful, dismayed faces. 

Anthony, his old trusted servant, was leaning against the doorpost, asif he feared to fall. The clerk was mending his pen in the air, overcomewith amazement. M. Daubigeon hung his head. 

"This is horrible!" he murmured: "this is horrible!"

He fell heavily into a chair, pressing his hands on his heart, as if tokeep down the sobs that threatened to rise. M. Galpin alone seemed toremain perfectly cool. The law, which he imagined he was representing inall its dignity, knows nothing of emotions. His thin lips even trembleda little, as if a slight smile was about to burst forth: it was the coldsmile of the ambitious man, who thinks he has played his little partwell. 

Did not every thing tend to prove that Jacques de Boiscoran was theguilty man, and that, in the alternative between a friend, and anopportunity of gaining high distinction, he had chosen well? After thesilence of a minute, which seemed to be a century, he went and stood, with arms crossed on his chest, before the accused, and asked him, --

"Do you confess?"

M. De Boiscoran sprang up as if moved by a spring, and said, --

"What? What do you want me to confess?"

"That you have committed the crime at Valpinson. "

The young man pressed his hands convulsively on his brow, and criedout, --

"But I am mad! I should have committed such a fearful, cowardly crime?Is that possible? Is that likely? I might confess, and you would notbelieve me. No! I am sure you would not believe my own words. "

He would have moved the marble on his mantelpiece sooner than M. Galpin. The latter replied in icy tones, --

"I am not part of the question here. Why will you refer to relationswhich must be forgotten? It is no longer the friend who speaks to you, not even the man, but simply the magistrate. You were seen"--

"Who is the wretch?"

"Cocoleu!"

M. De Boiscoran seemed to be overwhelmed. He stammered, --

"Cocoleu? That poor epileptic idiot whom the Countess Claudieuse haspicked up?"

"The same. "

"And upon the strength of the senseless words of a poor imbecile I amcharged with incendiarism, with murder?"

Never had the magistrate made such efforts to assume an air of impassivedignity and icy solemnity, as when he replied, --

"For an hour, at least, poor Cocoleu has been in the full enjoyment ofhis faculties. The ways of Providence are inscrutable. "

"But sir"--

"And what does Cocoleu depose? He says he saw you kindle the fire withyour own hands, then conceal yourself behind a pile of wood, and firetwice at Count Claudieuse. "

"And all that appears quite natural to you?"

"No! At first it shocked me as it shocked everybody. You seem to befar above all suspicion. But a moment afterwards they pick up thecartridge-case, which can only have belonged to you. Then, upon myarrival here, I surprise you in bed, and find the water in which youhave washed your hands black with coal, and little pieces of charredpaper swimming on top of it. "

"Yes, " said M. De Boiscoran in an undertone: "it is fate. "

"And that is not all, " continued the magistrate, raising his voice, "Iexamine you, and you admit having been out from eight o'clock till aftermidnight. I ask what you have been doing, and you refuse to tell me. Iinsist, and you tell a falsehood. In order to overwhelm you, I am forcedto quote the evidence of young Ribot, of Gaudry, and Mrs. Courtois, who have seen you at the very places where you deny having been. Thatcircumstance alone condemns you. Why should you not be willing to tellme what you have been doing during those four hours? You claim to beinnocent. Help me, then, to establish your innocence. Speak, tell mewhat you were doing between eight and midnight. "

M. De Boiscoran had no time to answer. 

For some time already, half-suppressed cries, and the sound of a largecrowd, had come up from the courtyard. A gendarme came in quite excited;and, turning to the magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, he said, --

"Gentlemen, there are several hundred peasants, men and women, in theyard, who clamor for M. De Boiscoran. They threaten to drag him down tothe river. Some of the men are armed with pitchforks; but the women arethe maddest. My comrade and I have done our best to keep them quiet. "

And just then, as if to confirm what he said, the cries came nearer, growing louder and louder; and one could distinctly hear, --

"Drown Boiscoran! Let us drown the incendiary!"

The attorney rose, and told the gendarme, --

"Go down and tell these people that the authorities are this momentexamining the accused; that they interrupt us; and that, if they keepon, they will have to do with me. "

The gendarme obeyed his orders. M. De Boiscoran had turned deadly pale. He said to himself, --

"These unfortunate people believe my guilt!"

"Yes, " said M. Galpin, who had overheard the words; "and you wouldcomprehend their rage, for which there is good reason, if you knew allthat has happened. "

"What else?"

"Two Sauveterre firemen, one the father of five children, have perishedin the flames. Two other men, a farmer from Brechy, and a gendarme whotried to rescue them, have been so seriously burned that their lives arein danger. "

M. De Boiscoran said nothing. 

"And it is you, " continued the magistrate, "who is charged with allthese calamities. You see how important it is for you to exculpateyourself. "

"Ah! how can I?"

"If you are innocent, nothing is easier. Tell us how you employedyourself last night. "

"I have told you all I can say. "

The magistrate seemed to reflect for a full minute; then he said, --

"Take care, M. De Boiscoran: I shall have to have you arrested. "

"Do so. "

"I shall be obliged to order your arrest at once, and to send you tojail in Sauveterre. "

"Very well. "

"Then you confess?"

"I confess that I am the victim of an unheard-of combination ofcircumstances; I confess that you are right, and that certain fatalitiescan only be explained by the belief in Providence: but I swear by allthat is holy in the world, I am innocent. "

"Prove it. "

"Ah! would I not do it if I could?"

"Be good enough, then, to dress, sir, and to follow the gendarmes. "

Without a word, M. De Boiscoran went into his dressing-room, followedby his servant, who carried him his clothes. M. Galpin was so busydictating to the clerk the latter part of the examination, that heseemed to forget his prisoner. Old Anthony availed himself of thisopportunity. 

"Sir, " he whispered into his master's ear while helping him to put onhis clothes. 

"What?"

"Hush! Don't speak so loud! The other window is open. It is only abouttwenty feet to the ground: the ground is soft. Close by is one of thecellar openings; and in there, you know, there is the old hiding-place. It is only five miles to the coast, and I will have a good horse readyfor you to-night, at the park-gate. "

A bitter smile rose on M. De Boiscoran's lips, as he said, --

"And you too, my old friend: you think I am guilty?"

"I conjure you, " said Anthony, "I answer for any thing. It is barelytwenty feet. In your mother's name"--

But, instead of answering him, M. De Boiscoran turned round, and calledM. Galpin. When he had come in, he said to him, "Look at that window, sir! I have money, fast horses; and the sea is only five miles off. Aguilty man would have escaped. I stay here; for I am innocent. "

In one point, at least, M. De Boiscoran had been right. Nothing wouldhave been easier for him than to escape, to get into the garden, and toreach the hiding-place which his servant had suggested to him. But afterthat? He had, to be sure, with old Anthony's assistance, some chance ofescaping altogether. But, after all, he might have been found out in hishiding-place, or he might have been overtaken in his ride to the coast. Even if he had succeeded, what would have become of him? His flightwould necessarily have been looked upon as a confession of his guilt. 

Under such circumstances, to resist the temptation to escape, and tomake this resistance well known, was in fact not so much an evidenceof innocence as a proof of great cleverness. M. Galpin, at all events, looked upon it in that light; for he judged others by himself. Carefullyand cunningly calculating every step he took in life, he did not believein sudden inspirations. He said, therefore, with an ironical smile, which was to show that he was not so easily taken in, --

"Very well, sir. This circumstance shall be mentioned, as well as theothers, at the trial. "

Very differently thought the commonwealth attorney and the clerk. Ifthe magistrate had been too much engaged in his dictation to notice anything, they had been perfectly able to notice the great excitement underwhich the accused had naturally labored. Perfectly amazed at first, andthinking, for a moment, that the whole was a joke, he had next becomefuriously angry; then fear and utter dejection had followed one another. But in precise proportion as the charges had accumulated, and theevidence had become overwhelming, he had, so far from becomingdemoralized, seemed to recover his assurance. 

"There is something curious about it, " growled Mechinet. M. Daubigeon, on the other hand, said nothing; but when M. De Boiscoran came out ofhis dressing-room, fully dressed and ready, he said, --

"One more question, sir. "

The poor man bowed. He was pale, but calm and self-possessed. 

"I am ready to reply, " he said. 

"I'll be brief. You seemed to be surprised and indignant at any one'sdaring to accuse you. That was weakness. Justice is but the work of man, and must needs judge by appearances. If you reflect, you will see thatthe appearances are all against you. "

"I see it but too clearly. "

"If you were on a jury, you would not hesitate to pronounce a man guiltyupon such evidence. "

"No, sir, no!"

The commonwealth attorney bounded from his chair. He said, --

"You are not sincere!"

M. De Boiscoran sadly shook his head, and replied, --

"I speak to you without the slightest hope of convincing you, but in allsincerity. No, I should not condemn a man, as you say, if he assertedhis innocence, and if I did not see any reason for his crime. For, afterall, unless a man is mad, he does not commit a crime for nothing. Now Iask you, how could I, upon whom fortune has always smiled; I who am onthe eve of marrying one whom I love passionately, --how could I have setValpinson on fire, and tried to murder Count Claudieuse?"

M. Galpin had scarcely been able to disguise his impatience, when hesaw the attorney take part in the affair. Seizing, therefore, theopportunity to interfere, he said, --

"Your reason, sir, was hatred. You hated the count and the countessmortally. Do not protest: it is of no use. Everybody knows it; and youyourself have told me so. "

M. De Boiscoran looked as if he were growing still more pale, and thenreplied in a tone of crushing disdain, --

"Even if that were so, I do not see what right you have to abuse theconfidence of a friend, after having declared, upon your arrival here, that all friendship between us had ceased. But that is not so. I nevertold you any such thing. As my feelings have never changed, I canrepeat literally what I have said. I have told you that the count wasa troublesome neighbor, a stickler for his rights, and almost absurdlyattached to his preserves. I have also told you, that, if he declaredmy public opinions to be abominable, I looked upon his as ridiculous anddangerous. As for the countess, I have simply said, half in jest, thatso perfect a person was not to my taste; and that I should be veryunhappy if my wife were a Madonna, who hardly ever deigned to put herfoot upon the ground. "

"And that was the only reason why you once pointed your gun at CountClaudieuse? A little more blood rushing to your head would have made youa murderer on that day. "

A terrible spasm betrayed M. De Boiscoran's fury; but he checkedhimself, and said, --

"My passion was less fiery than it may have looked. I have the mostprofound respect for the count's character. It is an additional grief tome that he should have accused me. "

"But he has not accused you!" broke in M. Daubigeon. "On the contrary, he was the first and the most eager to defend you. "

And, in spite of the signs which M. Galpin made, he continued, --

"Unfortunately that has nothing to do with the force of the evidenceagainst you. If you persist in keeping silence, you must look for acriminal trial for the galleys. If you are innocent, why not explain thematter? What do you wait for? What do you hope?"

"Nothing. "

Mechinet had, in the meantime, completed the official report. 

"We must go, " said M. Galpin

"Am I at liberty, " asked M. De Boiscoran, "to write a few lines to myfather and my mother? They are old: such an event may kill them. "

"Impossible!" said the magistrate. 

Then, turning to Anthony, he said, --

"I am going to put the seals on this room, and I shall leave it in themeanwhile in your keeping. You know your duty, and the penalties towhich you would be subject, if, at the proper time, every thing is notfound in the same condition in which it is left now. Now, how shall weget back to Sauveterre?"

After mature deliberation it was decided that M. De Boiscoran shouldgo in one of his own carriages, accompanied by one of the gendarmes. M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and the clerk would return in themayor's carriage, driven by Ribot, who was furious at being kept undersurveillance. 

"Let us be off, " said the magistrate, when the last formalities had beenfulfilled. 

M. De Boiscoran came down slowly. He knew the court was full of furiouspeasants; and he expected to be received with hootings. It was not so. The gendarme whom the attorney had sent down had done his duty sowell, that not a cry was heard. But when he had taken his seat in thecarriage, and the horse went off at a trot, fierce curses arose, and ashower of stones fell, one of which wounded a gendarme. 

"Upon my word, you bring ill luck, prisoner, " said the man, a friend ofthe other gendarme who had been so much injured at the fire. 

M. De Boiscoran made no reply. He sank back into the corner, and seemedto fall into a kind of stupor, from which he did not rouse himself tillthe carriage drove into the yard of the prison at Sauveterre. On thethreshold stood Master Blangin, the jailer, smiling with delight at theidea of receiving so distinguished a prisoner. 

"I am going to give you my best room, " he said, "but first I have togive a receipt to the gendarme, and to enter you in my book. " Thereuponhe took down his huge, greasy register, and wrote the name of Jacquesde Boiscoran beneath that of Trumence Cheminot, a vagabond who had justbeen arrested for having broken into a garden. 

It was all over. Jacques de Boiscoran was a prisoner, to be kept inclose confinement. 

SECOND PART--THE BOISCORAN TRIAL

I. 

The Paris house of the Boiscoran family, No. 216 University Street, isa house of modest appearance. The yard in front is small; and the fewsquare yards of damp soil in the rear hardly deserve the name of agarden. But appearances are deceptive. The inside is marvellouslycomfortable; careful and painstaking hands have made every provision forease; and the rooms display that solid splendor for which our age haslost the taste. The vestibule contains a superb mosaic, brought homefrom Venice, in 1798, by one of the Boiscorans, who had degenerated, andfollowed the fortunes of Napoleon. The balusters of the great staircaseare a masterpiece of iron work; and the wainscoting in the dining-roomhas no rival in Paris. 

All this, however, is a mere nothing in comparison with the marquis'scabinet of curiosities. It fills the whole depth, and half the width, ofthe upper story; is lighted from above like a huge _atelier_; and wouldfill the heart of an artist with delight. Immense glass cases, which stand all around against the walls, hold the treasures of themarquis, --priceless collections of enamels, ivories, bronzes, uniquemanuscripts, matchless porcelains, and, above all, his _faiences_, hisdear _faiences_, the pride and the torment of his old age. 

The owner was well worthy of such a setting. 

Though sixty-one years old at that time, the marquis was as straightas ever, and most aristocratically lean. He had a perfectly magnificentnose, which absorbed immense quantities of snuff; his mouth was large, but well furnished; and his brilliant eyes shone with that restlesscunning which betrayed the amateur, who has continually to deal withsharp and eager dealers in curiosities and second-hand articles of_vertu_. 

In the year 1845 he had reached the summit of his renown by a greatspeech on the question of public meetings; but at that hour his watchseemed to have stopped. All his ideas were those of an Orleanist. Hisappearance, his costume, his high cravat, his whiskers, and the way hebrushed his hair, all betrayed the admirer and friend of the citizenking. But for all that, he did not trouble himself about politics; infact, he troubled himself about nothing at all. With the only conditionthat his inoffensive passion should be respected, the marchioness wasallowed to rule supreme in the house, administering her large fortune, ruling her only son, and deciding all questions without the right ofappeal. It was perfectly useless to ask the marquis any thing: hisanswer was invariably, --

"Ask my wife. "

The good man had, the evening before, purchased a little at haphazard, a large lot of _faiences_, representing scenes of the Revolution; andat about three o'clock, he was busy, magnifying-glass in hand, examininghis dishes and plates, when the door was suddenly opened. 

The marchioness came in, holding a blue paper in her hand. Six or sevenyears younger than her husband, she was the very companion for such anidle, indolent man. In her walk, in her manner, and in her voice, she showed at once the woman who stands at the wheel, and means to beobeyed. Her once celebrated beauty had left remarkable traces enoughto justify her pretensions. She denied having any claims to beingconsidered handsome, since it was impossible to deny or conceal theravages of time, and hence by far her best policy was to accept old agewith good grace. Still, if the marchioness did not grow younger, shepretended to be older than she really was. She had her gray hair puffedout with considerable affectation, so as to contrast all the moreforcibly with her ruddy, blooming cheeks, which a girl might have enviedand she often thought of powdering her hair. 

She was so painfully excited, and almost undone, when she came into herhusband's cabinet, that even he, who for many a year had made it a ruleof his life to show no emotion, was seriously troubled. Laying aside thedish which he was examining, he said with an anxious voice, --

"What is the matter? What has happened?"

"A terrible misfortune. "

"Is Jacques dead?" cried the old collector. 

The marchioness shook her head. 

"No! It is something worse, perhaps"--

The old man, who has risen at the sight of his wife, sank slowly backinto his chair. 

"Tell me, " he stammered out, --"tell me. I have courage. "

She handed him the blue paper which she had brought in, and saidslowly, --

"Here. A telegram which I have just received from old Anthony, our son'svalet. "

With trembling hands the old marquis unfolded the paper, and read, --

"Terrible misfortune! Master Jacques accused of having set the chateauat Valpinson on fire, and murdered Count Claudieuse. Terrible evidenceagainst him. When examined, hardly any defence. Just arrested andcarried to jail. In despair. What must I do?"

The marchioness had feared lest the marquis should have been crushedby this despatch, which in its laconic terms betrayed Anthony's abjectterror. But it was not so. He put it back on the table in the calmestmanner, and said, shrugging his shoulders, --

"It is absurd!"

His wife did not understand it. She began again, --

"You have not read it carefully, my friend"--

"I understand, " he broke in, "that our son is accused of a crime whichhe has not and can not have committed. You surely do not doubt hisinnocence? What a mother you would be! On my part, I assure you I amperfectly tranquil. Jacques an incendiary! Jacques a murderer! That isnonsense!"

"Ah! you did not read the telegram, " exclaimed the marchioness. 

"I beg your pardon. "

"You did not see that there was evidence against him. "

"If there had been none, he could not have been arrested. Of course, thething is disagreeable: it is painful. "

"But he did not defend himself. "

"Upon my word! Do you think that if to-morrow somebody accused me ofhaving robbed the till of some shopkeeper, I would take the trouble todefend myself?"

"But do you not see that Anthony evidently thinks our son is guilty?"

"Anthony is an old fool!" declared the marquis. 

Then pulling out his snuffbox, and stuffing his nose full of snuff, hesaid, --

"Besides, let us consider. Did you not tell me that Jacques is in lovewith that little Dionysia Chandore?"

"Desperately. Like a real child. "

"And she?"

"She adores Jacques. "

"Well. And did you not also tell me that the wedding-day was fixed?"

"Yes, three days ago. "

"Has Jacques written to you about the matter?"

"An excellent letter. "

"In which he tells you he is coming up?"

"Yes: he wanted to purchase the wedding-presents himself. " With agesture of magnificent indifference the marquis tapped the top of hissnuffbox, and said, --

"And you think a boy like our Jacques, a Boiscoran, in love, andbeloved, who is about to be married, and has his head full ofwedding-presents, could have committed such a horrible crime? Suchthings are not worth discussing, and, with your leave, I shall return tomy occupation. "

If doubt is contagious, confidence is still more so. Gradually themarchioness felt reassured by the perfect assurance of her husband. Theblood came back to her cheeks; and smiles reappeared on pale lips. Shesaid in a stronger voice, --

"In fact, I may have been too easily frightened. "

The marquis assented by a gesture. 

"Yes, much too easily, my dear. And, between us, I would not say muchabout it. How could the officers help accusing our Jacques if his ownmother suspects him?"

The marchioness had taken up the telegram, and was reading it over oncemore. 

"And yet, " she said, answering her own objections, "who in my placewould not have been frightened? This name of Claudieuse especially"--

"Why? It is the name of an excellent and most honorable gentleman, --thebest man in the world, in spite of his sea-dog manners. "

"Jacques hates him, my dear. "

"Jacques does not mind him any more than that. "

"They have repeatedly quarrelled. "

"Of course. Claudieuse is a furious legitimist; and as such he alwaystalks with the utmost contempt of all of us who have been attached tothe Orleans family. "

"Jacques has been at law with him. "

"And he has done right, only he ought to have carried the matterthrough. Claudieuse has claims on the Magpie, which divides ourlands, --absurd claims. He wants at all seasons, and according as he maydesire, to direct the waters of the little stream into his own channels, and thus drown the meadows at Boiscoran, which are lower than his own. Even my brother, who was an angel in patience and gentleness, had histroubles with this tyrant. "

But the marchioness was not convinced yet. 

"There was another trouble, " she said. 

"What?"

"Ah! I should like to know myself. "

"Has Jacques hinted at any thing?"

"No. I only know this. Last year, at the Duchess of Champdoce's, I metby chance the Countess Claudieuse and her children. The young woman isperfectly charming; and, as we were going to give a ball the week after, it occurred to me to invite her at once. She refused, and did so in suchan icy, formal manner, that I did not insist. "

"She probably does not like dancing, " growled the marquis. 

"That same evening I mentioned the matter to Jacques. He seemed to bevery angry, and told me, in a manner that was hardly compatible withrespect, that I had been very wrong, and that he had his reasons for notdesiring to come in contact with those people. "

The marquis felt so secure, that he only listened with partialattention, looking all the time aside at his precious _faiences_. 

"Well, " he said at last, "Jacques detests the Claudieuses. What doesthat prove? God be thanked, we do not murder all the people we detest!"

His wife did not insist any longer. She only asked, --

"Well, what must we do?"

She was so little in the habit of consulting her husband, that he wasquite surprised. 

"The first thing is to get Jacques out of jail. We must see--we ought toask for advice. "

At this moment a light knock was heard at the door. 

"Come in!" he said. 

A servant came in, bringing a large envelope, marked "TelegraphicDespatch. Private. "

"Upon my word!" cried the marquis. "I thought so. Now we shall be allright again. "

The servant had left the room. He tore open the envelope; but at thefirst glance at the contents the smile vanished, he turned pale, andjust said, --

"Great God!"

Quick as lightning, the marchioness seized the fatal paper. She read ata glance, --

"Come quick. Jacques in prison; close confinement; accused of horriblecrime. The whole town says he is guilty, and that he has confessed. Infamous calumny! His judge is his former friend, Galpin, who wasto marry his cousin Lavarande. Know nothing except that Jacques isinnocent. Abominable intrigue! Grandpa Chandore and I will do what canbe done. Your help indispensable. Come, come!

"DIONYSIA CHANDORE. "

"Ah, my son is lost!" cried the marchioness with tears in her eyes. Themarquis, however, had recovered already from the shock. 

"And I--I say more than ever, with Dionysia, who is a brave girl, Jacques is innocent. But I see he is in danger. A criminal prosecutionis always an ugly affair. A man in close confinement may be made to sayany thing. "

"We must do something, " said the mother, nearly mad with grief. 

"Yes, and without losing a minute. We have friends: let us see who amongthem can help us. "

"I might write to M. Margeril. "

The marquis, who had turned quite pale, became livid. 

"What!" he cried. "You dare utter that name in my presence?"

"He is all powerful; and my son is in danger. "

The marquis stopped her with a threatening gesture, and cried with anaccent of bitter hatred, --

"I would a thousand times rather my son should die innocent on thescaffold than owe his safety to that man!"

His wife seemed to be on the point of fainting. 

"Great God! And yet you know very well that I was only a littleindiscreet. "

"No more!" said the marquis harshly. 

Then, recovering his self-control by a powerful effort, he went on, --

"Before we attempt any thing, we must know how the matter stands. Youwill leave for Sauveterre this evening. "

"Alone?"

"No. I will find some able lawyer, --a reliable jurist, who is not apolitician, --if such a one can be found nowadays. He will tell you whatto do, and will write to me, so that I can do here whatever may bebest. Dionysia is right. Jacques must be the victim of some abominableintrigue. Nevertheless, we shall save him; but we must keep cool, perfectly cool. "

And as he said this he rang the bell so violently, that a number ofservants came rushing in at once. 

"Quick, " he said; "send for my lawyer, Mr. Chapelain. Take a carriage. "

The servant who took the order was so expeditious, that, in less thantwenty minutes, M. Chapelain arrived. 

"Ah! we want all your experience, my friend, " said the marquis to him. "Look here. Read these telegrams. "

Fortunately, the lawyer had such control over himself, that he did notbetray what he felt; for he believed Jacques guilty, knowing as he didhow reluctant courts generally are to order the arrest of a suspectedperson. 

"I know the man for the marchioness, " he said at last. 

"Ah!"

"A young man whose modesty alone has kept him from distinguishinghimself so far, although I know he is one of the best jurists at thebar, and an admirable speaker. "

"What is his name?"

"Manuel Folgat. I shall send him to you at once. "

Two hours later, M. Chapelain's _protégé_ appeared at the house ofthe Boiscorans. He was a man of thirty-one or thirty-two, with large, wide-open eyes, whose whole appearance was breathing intelligence andenergy. 

The marquis was pleased with him, and after having told him all he knewabout Jacques's position, endeavored to inform him as to the peopledown at Sauveterre, --who would be likely to be friends, and who enemies, recommending to him, above all, to trust M. Seneschal, an old friend ofthe family, and a most influential man in that community. 

"Whatever is humanly possible shall be done, sir, " said the lawyer. 

That same evening, at fifteen minutes past eight, the Marchioness ofBoiscoran and Manuel Folgat took their seats in the train for Orleans. 

II. 

The railway which connects Sauveterre with the Orleans line enjoys acertain celebrity on account of a series of utterly useless curves, which defy all common sense, and which would undoubtedly be the sourceof countless accidents, if the trains were not prohibited from goingfaster than eight or ten miles an hour. 

The depot has been built--no doubt for the greater convenience oftravellers--at a distance of two miles from town, on a place whereformerly the first banker of Sauveterre had his beautiful gardens. The pretty road which leads to it is lined on both sides with inns andtaverns, on market-days full of peasants, who try to rob each other, glass in hand, and lips overflowing with protestations of honesty. On ordinary days even, the road is quite lively; for the walk to therailway has become a favorite promenade. People go out to see thetrains start or come in, to examine the new arrivals, or to exchangeconfidences as to the reasons why Mr. Or Mrs. So-and-so have made uptheir mind to travel. 

It was nine o'clock in the morning when the train which brought themarchioness and Manuel Folgat at last reached Sauveterre. The formerwas overcome by fatigue and anxiety, having spent the whole nightin discussing the chances for her son's safety, and was all the moreexhausted as the lawyer had taken care not to encourage her hopes. 

For he also shared, in secret at least, M. Chapelain's doubts. He, also, had said to himself, that a man like M. De Boiscoran is not apt tobe arrested, unless there are strong reasons, and almost overwhelmingproofs of his guilt in the hands of the authorities. 

The train was slackening speed. 

"If only Dionysia and her father, " sighed the marchioness, "have thoughtof sending a carriage to meet us. "

"Why so?" asked Manuel Folgat. 

"Because I do not want all the world to see my grief and my tears. "

The young lawyer shook his head, and said, --

"You will certainly not do that, madame, if you are disposed to followmy advice. "

She looked at him quite amazed; but he insisted. 

"I mean you must not look as if you wished not to be seen: that would bea great, almost irreparable mistake. What would they think if they sawyou in tears and great distress? They would say you were sure of yourson's guilt; and the few who may still doubt will doubt no longer. Youmust control public opinion from the beginning; for it is absolutein these small communities, where everybody is under somebody else'simmediate influence. Public opinion is all powerful; and say what youwill, it controls even the jurymen in their deliberations. "

"That is true, " said the marchioness: "that is but too true. "

"Therefore, madame, you must summon all your energy, conceal yourmaternal anxiety in your innermost heart, dry your tears, and shownothing but the most perfect confidence. Let everybody say, as he seesyou, 'No mother could look so who thinks her son guilty. '"

The marchioness straightened herself, and said, --

"You are right, sir; and I thank you. I must try to impress publicopinion as you say; and, so far from wishing to find the stationdeserted, I shall be delighted to see it full of people. I will show youwhat a woman can do who thinks of her son's life. "

The Marchioness of Boiscoran was a woman of rare power. 

Drawing her comb from her dressing-case, she repaired the disorder ofher coiffure; with a few skilful strokes she smoothed her dress; herfeatures, by a supreme effort of will, resumed their usual serenity; sheforced her lips to smile without betraying the effort it cost her; andthen she said in a clear, firm voice, --

"Look at me, sir. Can I show myself now?"

The train stopped at the station. Manuel Folgat jumped out lightly; and, offering the marchioness his hand to assist her, he said, --

"You will be pleased with yourself, madam. Your courage will not beuseless. All Sauveterre seems to be here. "

This was more than half true. Ever since the night before, a report hadbeen current, --no one knew how it had started, --that the "murderer'smother, " as they charitably called her, would arrive by the nine o'clocktrain; and everybody had determined to happen to be at the station atthat hour. In a place where gossip lives for three days upon the lastnew dress from Paris, such an opportunity for a little excitement wasnot to be neglected. No one thought for a moment of what the poor oldlady would probably feel upon being compelled thus to face a wholetown; for at Sauveterre curiosity has at least the merit, that it is nothypocritical. Everybody is openly indiscreet, and by no means ashamedof it. They place themselves right in front of you, and look at you, andtry to find out the secret of your joy or your grief. 

It must be borne in mind, however, that public opinion was runningstrongly against M. De Boiscoran. If there had been nothing against himbut the fire at Valpinson, and the attempts upon Count Claudieuse, that would have been a small matter. But the fire had had terribleconsequences. Two men had perished in it; and two others had been soseverely wounded as to put their lives in jeopardy. Only the eveningbefore, a sad procession had passed through the streets of Sauveterre. In a cart covered with a cloth, and followed by two priests, the almostcarbonized remains of Bolton the drummer, and of poor Guillebault, hadbeen brought home. The whole city had seen the widow go to the mayor'soffice, holding in her arms her youngest child, while the four othersclung to her dress. 

All these misfortunes were traced back to Jacques, who was loadedwith curses; and the people now thought of receiving his mother, themarchioness, with fierce hootings. 

"There she is, there she is!" they said in the crowd, when she appearedin the station, leaning upon M. Folgat's arm. 

But they did not say another word, so great was their surprise at herappearance. Immediately two parties were formed. "She puts a bold faceon it, " said some; while others declared, "She is quite sure of herson's innocence. "

At all events, she had presence of mind enough to see what an impressionshe produced, and how well she had done to follow M. Folgat's advice. It gave her additional strength. As she distinguished in the crowd somepeople whom she knew, she went up to them, and, smiling, said, --

"Well, you know what has happened to us. It is unheard of! Here is theliberty of a man like my son at the mercy of the first foolish notionthat enters the head of a magistrate. I heard the news yesterday bytelegram, and came down at once with this gentleman, a friend of ours, and one of the first lawyers of Paris. "

M. Folgat looked embarrassed: he would have liked more consideratewords. Still he could not help supporting the marchioness in what shehad said. 

"These gentlemen of the court, " he said in measured tones, "will perhapsbe sorry for what they have done. "

Fortunately a young man, whose whole livery consisted in a gold-lacedcap, came up to them at this moment. 

"M. De Chandore's carriage is here, " he said. 

"Very well, " replied the marchioness. 

And bowing to the good people of Sauveterre, who were quite dumfoundedby her assurance, she said, --

"Pardon me if I leave you so soon; but M. De Chandore expects us. Ishall, however, be happy to call upon you soon, on my son's arm. "

The house of the Chandore family stands on the other side of theNew-Market Place, at the very top of the street, which is hardly morethan a line of steps, which the mayor persistently calls upon themunicipal council to grade, and which the latter as persistently refuseto improve. The building is quite new, massive but ugly, and has at theside a pretentious little tower with a peaked roof, which Dr. Seigneboscalls a perpetual menace of the feudal system. 

It is true the Chandores once upon a time were great feudal lords, andfor a long time exhibited a profound contempt for all who could notboast of noble ancestors and a deep hatred of revolutionary ideas. Butif they had ever been formidable, they had long since ceased to be so. Of the whole great family, --one of the most numerous and most powerfulof the province, --only one member survived, the Baron de Chandore, and agirl, his granddaughter, betrothed to Jacques de Boiscoran. Dionysia wasan orphan. She was barely three years old, when within five months, shelost her father, who fell in a duel, and her mother, who had not thestrength to survive the man whom she had loved. This was certainly forthe child a terrible misfortune; but she was not left uncared for norunloved. Her grandfather bestowed all his affections upon her; and thetwo sisters of her mother, the Misses Lavarande, then already no longeryoung, determined never to marry, so as to devote themselves exclusivelyto their niece. From that day the two good ladies had wished to livein the baron's house; but from the beginning he had utterly refusedto listen to their propositions, asserting that he was perfectly ablehimself to watch over the child, and wanted to have her all to himself. All he would grant was, that the ladies might spend the day withDionysia whenever they chose. 

Hence arose a certain rivalry between the aunts and the grandfather, which led both parties to most amazing exaggerations. Each one did whatcould be done to engage the affections of the little girl; each one waswilling to pay any price for the most trifling caress. At five yearsDionysia had every toy that had ever been invented. At ten she wasdressed like the first lady of the land, and had jewelry in abundance. 

The grandfather, in the meantime, had been metamorphosed from head tofoot. Rough, rigid, and severe, he had suddenly become a "love of afather. " The fierce look had vanished from his eyes, the scorn from hislips; and both had given way to soft glances and smooth words. He wasseen daily trotting through the streets, and going from shop to shopon errands for his grandchild. He invited her little friends, arrangedpicnics for her, helped her drive her hoops, and if needs be, led in acotillion. 

If Dionysia looked displeased, he trembled. If she coughed, he turnedpale. Once she was sick: she had the measles. He staid up for twelvenights in succession, and sent to Paris for doctors, who laughed in hisface. 

And yet the two old ladies found means to exceed his folly. 

If Dionysia learned any thing at all, it was only because she herselfinsisted upon it: otherwise the writing-master and the music-masterwould have been sent away at the slightest sign of weariness. 

Sauveterre saw it, and shrugged its shoulders. 

"What a wretched education!" the ladies said. "Such weakness isabsolutely unheard of. They tender the child a sorry service. "

There was no doubt that such almost incredible spoiling, such blinddevotion, and perpetual worship, came very near making of Dionysia themost disagreeable little person that ever lived. But fortunately she hadone of those happy dispositions which cannot be spoiled; and besides, she was perhaps saved from the danger by its very excess. As she grewolder she would say with a laugh, --

"Grandpapa Chandore, my aunts Lavarande, and I, we do just what wechoose. "

That was only a joke. Never did a young girl repay such sweet affectionwith rarer and nobler qualities. 

She was thus leading a happy life, free from all care, and was justseventeen years old, when the great event of her life took place. M. DeChandore one morning met Jacques de Boiscoran, whose uncle had beena friend of his, and invited him to dinner. Jacques accepted theinvitation, and came. Dionysia saw him, and loved him. 

Now, for the first time in her life, she had a secret unknown toGrandpapa Chandore and to her aunts; and for two years the birds and theflowers were the only confidants of this love of hers, which grew up inher heart, sweet like a dream, idealized by absence, and fed by memory. 

For Jacques's eyes remained blind for two years. 

But the day on which they were opened he felt that his fate was sealed. Nor did he hesitate a moment; and in less than a month after that, theMarquis de Boiscoran came down to Sauveterre, and in all form askedDionysia's hand for his son. 

Ah! that was a heavy blow for Grandpapa Chandore. 

He had, of course, often thought of the future marriage of hisgrandchild; he had even at times spoken of it, and told her that hewas getting old, and should feel very much relieved when he should havefound her a good husband. But he talked of it as a distant thing, verymuch as we speak of dying. M. De Boiscoran brought his true feelingsout. He shuddered at the idea of giving up Dionysia, of seeing herprefer another man to himself, and of loving her children best of all. He was quite inclined to throw the ambassador out of the window. 

Still he checked his feelings, and replied that he could give no replytill he had consulted his granddaughter. 

Poor grandpapa! At the very first words he uttered, she exclaimed, --

"Oh, I am so happy! But I expected it. "

M. De Chandore bent his head to conceal a tear which burned in his eyes. Then he said very low, --

"Then the thing is settled. "

At once, rather comforted by the joy that was sparkling in hisgrandchild's eyes, he began reproaching himself for his selfishness, andfor being unhappy, when his Dionysia seemed to be so happy. Jacques had, of course, been allowed to visit the house as a lover; and the very daybefore the fire at Valpinson, after having long and carefully countedthe days absolutely required for all the purchases of the trousseau, and all the formalities of the event, the wedding-day had been finallyfixed. 

Thus Dionysia was struck down in the very height of her happiness, whenshe heard, at the same time, of the terrible charges brought against M. De Boiscoran, and of his arrest. 

At first, thunderstruck, she had lain nearly ten minutes unconsciousin the arms of her aunts, who, like the grandfather, were themselvesutterly overcome with terror. But, as soon as she came to, sheexclaimed, --

"Am I mad to give way thus? Is it not evident that he is innocent?"

Then she had sent her telegram to the marquis, knowing well, that, before taking any measures, it was all important to come to anunderstanding with Jacques's family. Then she had begged to be leftalone; and she had spent the night in counting the minutes that mustpass till the hour came when the train from Paris would bring her help. 

At eight o'clock she had come down to give orders herself that acarriage should be sent to the station for the marchioness, adding thatthey must drive back as fast as they could. Then she had gone into thesitting-room to join her grandfather and her aunts. They talked to her;but her thoughts were elsewhere. 

At last a carriage was heard coming up rapidly, and stopping before thehouse. She got up, rushed into the hall, and cried, --

"Here is Jacques's mother!"

III. 

We cannot do violence to our natural feelings without paying for it. Themarchioness had nearly fainted when she could at last take refuge in thecarriage: she was utterly overcome by the great effort she had madeto present to the curious people of Sauveterre a smiling face and calmfeatures. 

"What a horrible comedy!" she murmured, as she sank back on thecushions. 

"Admit, at least, madam, " said the lawyer, "that it was necessary. Youhave won over, perhaps, a hundred persons to your son's side. "

She made no reply. Her tears stifled her. What would she not have givenfor a few moments' solitude, to give way to all the grief of her heart, to all the anxiety of a mother! The time till she reached the houseseemed to her an eternity; and, although the horse was driven at afurious rate, she felt as if they were making no progress. At last thecarriage stopped. 

The little servant had jumped down, and opened the door, saying, --

"Here we are. "

The marchioness got out with M. Folgat's assistance; and her foot washardly on the ground, when the house-door opened, and Dionysia threwherself into her arms, too deeply moved to speak. At last she brokeforth, --

"Oh, my mother, my mother! what a terrible misfortune!"

In the passage M. De Chandore was coming forward. He had not been ableto follow his granddaughter's rapid steps. 

"Let us go in, " he said to the two ladies: "don't stand there!"

For at all the windows curious eyes were peeping through the blinds. 

He drew them into the sitting-room. Poor M. Folgat was sorelyembarrassed what to do with himself. No one seemed to be aware of hisexistence. He followed them, however. He entered the room, and standingby the door, sharing the general excitement, he was watching by turns, Dionysia, M. De Chandore, and the two spinsters. 

Dionysia was then twenty years old. It could not be said that she wasuncommonly beautiful; but no one could ever forget her again who hadonce seen her. Small in form, she was grace personified; and all hermovements betrayed a rare and exquisite perfection. Her black hair fellin marvellous masses over her head, and contrasted strangely with herblue eyes and her fair complexion. Her skin was of dazzling whiteness. Every thing in her features spoke of excessive timidity. And yet, fromcertain movements of her lips and her eyebrows, one might have suspectedno lack of energy. 

Grandpapa Chandore looked unusually tall by her side. His massive framewas imposing. He did not show his seventy-two years, but was as straightas ever, and seemed to be able to defy all the storms of life. Whatstruck strangers most, perhaps, was his dark-red complexion, which gavehim the appearance of an Indian chieftain, while his white beard andhair brought the crimson color still more prominently out. In spiteof his herculean frame and his strange complexion, his face bore theexpression of almost child-like goodness. But the first glance at hiseyes proved that the gentle smile on his lips was not to be taken alone. There were flashes in his gray eyes which made people aware that a manwho should dare, for instance, to offend Dionysia, would have to pay forit pretty dearly. 

As to the two aunts, they were as tall and thin as a couple ofwillow-rods, pale, discreet, ultra-aristocratic in their reserve andtheir coldness; but they bore in their faces an expression of happypeace and sentimental tenderness, such as is often seen in old maidswhose temper has not been soured by celibacy. They dressed absolutelyalike, as they had done now for forty years, preferring neutral colorsand modest fashions, such as suited their simple taste. 

They were crying bitterly at that moment; and M. Folgat feltinstinctively that there was no sacrifice of which they were not capablefor their beloved niece's sake. 

"Poor Dionysia!" they whispered. 

The girl heard them, however; and, drawing herself up, she said, --

"But we are behaving shamefully. What would Jacques say, if he could seeus from his prison! Why should we be so sad? Is he not innocent?"

Her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy: her voice had a ring which movedManuel Folgat deeply. 

"I can at least, in justice to myself, " she went on saying, "assure youthat I have never doubted him for a moment. And how should I ever havedared to doubt? The very night on which the fire broke out, Jacqueswrote me a letter of four pages, which he sent me by one of his tenants, and which reached me at nine o'clock. I showed it to grandpapa. He readit, and then he said I was a thousand times right, because a man who hadbeen meditating such a crime could never have written that letter. "

"I said so, and I still think so, " added M. De Chandore; "and everysensible man will think so too; but"--

His granddaughter did not let him finish. 

"It is evident therefore, that Jacques is the victim of an abominableintrigue; and we must unravel it. We have cried enough: now let us act!"

Then, turning to the marchioness, she said, --

"And my dear mother, I sent for you, because we want you to help us inthis great work. "

"And here I am, " replied the old lady, "not less certain of my son'sinnocence than you are. "

Evidently M. De Chandore had been hoping for something more; for heinterrupted her, asking, --

"And the marquis?"

"My husband remained in Paris. "

The old gentleman's face assumed a curious expression. 

"Ah, that is just like him, " he said. "Nothing can move him. His onlyson is wickedly accused of a crime, arrested, thrown into prison. Theywrite to him; they hope he will come at once. By no means. Let his songet out of trouble as he can. He has his _faiences_ to attend to. Oh, ifI had a son!"

"My husband, " pleaded the marchioness, "thinks he can be more useful toJacques in Paris than here. There will be much to be done there. "

"Have we not the railway?"

"Moreover, " she went on, "he intrusted me to this gentleman. " Shepointed out M. Folgat. 

"M. Manuel Folgat, who has promised us the assistance of his experience, his talents, and his devotion. "

When thus formally introduced, M. Folgat bowed, and said, --

"I am all hope. But I think with Miss Chandore, that we must go to workwithout losing a second. Before I can decide, however, upon what is tobe done, I must know all the facts. "

"Unfortunately we know nothing, " replied M. De Chandore, --"nothing, except that Jacques is kept in close confinement. "

"Well, then, we must try to find out. You know, no doubt, all the lawofficers of Sauveterre?"

"Very few. I know the commonwealth attorney. "

"And the magistrate before whom the matter has been brought. "

The older of the two Misses Lavarande rose, and exclaimed, --

"That man, M. Galpin, is a monster of hypocrisy and ingratitude. Hecalled himself Jacques's friend; and Jacques liked him well enoughto induce us, my sister and myself, to give our consent to a marriagebetween him and one of our cousins, a Lavarande. Poor child. When shelearned the sad truth, she cried, 'Great God! God be blessed that Iescaped the disgrace of becoming the wife of such a man!'"

"Yes, " added the other old lady, "if all Sauveterre thinks Jacquesguilty, let them also say, 'His own friend has become his judge. '"

M. Folgat shook his head, and said, --

"I must have more minute information. The marquis mentioned to me a M. Seneschal, mayor of Sauveterre. "

M. De Chandore looked at once for his hat, and said, --

"To be sure! He is a friend of ours; and, if any one is well informed, he is. Let us go to him. Come. "

M. Seneschal was indeed a friend of the Chandores, the Lavarandes, andalso of the Boiscorans. Although he was a lawyer he had become attachedto the people whose confidential adviser he had been for more thantwenty years. Even after having retired from business, M. Seneschal hadstill retained the full confidence of his former clients. They neverdecided on any grave question, without consulting him first. Hissuccessor did the business for them; but M. Seneschal directed what wasto be done. 

Nor was the assistance all on one side. The example of great peoplelike M. De Chandore and Jacques's uncle had brought many a peasant onbusiness into M. Seneschal's office; and when he was, at a later periodof his life, attacked by the fever of political ambition, and offered to"sacrifice himself for his country" by becoming mayor of Sauveterre, anda member of the general council, their support had been of great serviceto him. 

Hence he was well-nigh overcome when he returned, on that fatal morning, to Sauveterre. He looked so pale and undone, that his wife was seriouslytroubled. 

"Great God, Augustus! What has happened?" she asked. 

"Something terrible has happened, " he replied in so tragic a manner, that his wife began to tremble. 

To be sure, Mrs. Seneschal trembled very easily. She was a woman offorty-five or fifty years, very dark, short, and fat, trying hard tobreathe in the corsets which were specially made for her by the MissesMechinet, the clerk's sisters. When she was young, she had been ratherpretty: now she still kept the red cheeks of her younger days, a forestof jet black hair, and excellent teeth. But she was not happy. Her lifehad been spent in wishing for children, and she had none. 

She consoled herself, it is true, by constantly referring to all themost delicate details on the subject, mentioning not to herintimate friends only, but to any one who would listen, her constantdisappointments, the physicians she had consulted, the pilgrimages shehad undertaken, and the quantities of fish she had eaten, although sheabominated fish. All had been in vain, and as her hopes fled with heryears, she had become resigned, and indulged now in a kind of romanticsentimentality, which she carefully kept alive by reading novels andpoems without end. She had a tear ready for every unfortunate being, andsome words of comfort for every grief. Her charity was well known. Neverhad a poor woman with children appealed to her in vain. In spite of allthat, she was not easily taken in. She managed her household with herhand as well as with her eye; and no one surpassed her in the extent ofher washings, or the excellence of her dinners. 

She was quite ready, therefore, to sigh and to sob when her husband toldher what had happened during the night. When he had ended, she said, --

"That poor Dionysia is capable of dying of it. In your place, I would goat once to M. De Chandore, and inform him in the most cautious manner ofwhat has happened. "

"I shall take good care not to do so, " replied M. Seneschal; "and I tellyou expressly not to go there yourself. "

For he was by no means a philosopher; and, if he had been his ownmaster, he would have taken the first train, and gone off a hundredmiles, so as not to see the grief of the Misses Lavarande and GrandpapaChandore. He was exceedingly fond of Dionysia: he had been hard at workfor years to settle and to add to her fortune, as if she had been hisown daughter, and now to witness her grief! He shuddered at the idea. Besides, he really did not know what to believe, and influenced by M. Galpin's assurance, misled by public opinion, he had come to ask himselfif Jacques might not, after all, have committed the crimes with which hewas charged. 

Fortunately his duties were on that day so numerous and so troublesome, that he had no time to think. He had to provide for the recovery andthe transportation of the remains of the two unfortunate victims of thefire; he had to receive the mother of one, and the widow and children ofthe other, and to listen to their complaints, and try to console themby promising the former a small pension, and the latter some help in theeducation of their children. Then he had to give directions to have thewounded men brought home; and, after that, he had gone out in searchof a house for Count Claudieuse and his wife, which had given him muchtrouble. Finally, a large part of the afternoon had been taken up by anangry discussion with Dr. Seignebos. The doctor, in the name of outragedsociety, as he called it, and in the name of justice and humanity, demanded the immediate arrest of Cocoleu, that wretch whose unconsciousstatement formed the basis of the accusation. He demanded with a furiousoath that the epileptic idiot should be sent to the hospital, and keptthere so as to be professionally examined by experts. The mayor hadfor some time refused to grant the request, which seemed to himunreasonable; but he doctor had talked so loud and insisted so strongly, that at last he had sent two gendarmes to Brechy with orders to bringback Cocoleu. 

They had returned several hours later with empty hands. The idiot haddisappeared; and no one in the whole district had been able to give anyinformation as to this whereabouts. 

"And you think that is natural?" exclaimed Dr. Seignebos, whose eyeswere glaring at the mayor from under his spectacles. "To me that lookslike an absolute proof that a plot has been hatched to ruin M. DeBoiscoran. "

"But can't you be quiet?" M. Seneschal said angrily. "Do you thinkCocoleu is lost? He will turn up again. "

The doctor had left him without insisting any longer; but before goinghome, he had dropped in at his club, and there, in the presence oftwenty people he had declared that he had positive proof of a plotformed against M. De Boiscoran, whom the Monarchists had never forgivenfor having left them; and that the Jesuits were certainly mixed up withthe business. 

This interference was more injurious than useful to Jacques; and theconsequences were soon seen. That same evening, when M. Galpin crossedthe New-Market Place, he was wantonly insulted. Very naturally he went, almost in a fury, to call upon the mayor, to hold him responsible forthis insult offered to Justice in his person, and asking for energeticpunishment. M. Seneschal promised to take the proper measures, andwent to the commonwealth attorney to act in concert with him. There helearned what had happened at Boiscoran, and the terrible result of theexamination. 

So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques's situation, and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter wasbeginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning haddisplayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say aword to him. But even that was not all. At two o'clock precisely, thefuneral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promisedCapt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, andaccompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already givenorders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announcedvisitors, --M. De Chandore and friend. 

"That was all that was wanting!" he exclaimed

But, thinking it over, he added, --

"Well, it had to come sooner or later. Show them in!"

M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to preparehimself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almostcheerful manner with which M. De Chandore presented to him hiscompanion. 

"M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, whohas been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran. "

"I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal, " said Folgat: "I do not know themanner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of thiscountry; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit manya grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able andexperienced counsellor. M. De Boiscoran and M. De Chandore have bothencouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you. "

"Certainly, sir, and with all my heart, " replied M. Seneschal, bowingpolitely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of agreat Paris lawyer. 

He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and restinghis elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shavenchin with his hand. 

"This is a very serious matter, gentlemen, " he said at last. 

"A criminal charge is always serious, " replied M. Folgat. 

"Upon my word, " cried M. De Chandore, "you are not in doubt aboutJacques's innocence?"

M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wiseremarks made by his wife the evening before. 

"How can we know, " he began at last, "what may be going on in youngbrains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance ofcertain insults! Wrath is a dangerous counsellor. "

Grandpapa Chandore refused to hear any more. 

"What! do you talk to me of wrath?" he broke in; "and what do you seeof wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for my part, butthe very meanest crime, long prepared and coolly carried out. "

The mayor very seriously shook his head, and said, --

"You do not know all that has happened. "

"Sir, " added M. Folgat, "it is precisely for the purpose of hearing whathas happened that we come to you. "

"Very well, " said M. Seneschal. 

Thereupon he went to work to describe the events which he had witnessedat Valpinson, and those, which, as he had learned from the commonwealthattorney, had taken place at Boiscoran; and this he did with all thelucidity of an experienced old lawyer who is accustomed to unravel themysteries of complicated suits. He wound up by saying, --

"Finally, do you know what Daubigeon said to me, whose evidence youwill certainly know how to appreciate? He said in so many words, 'Galpincould not but order the arrest of M. De Boiscoran. Is he guilty? I donot know what to think of it. The accusation is overwhelming. He swearsby all the gods that he is innocent; but he will not tell how he spentthe night. '"

M. De Chandore, in spite of his vigor, was near fainting, although hisface remained as crimson as ever. Nothing on earth could make him turnpale. 

"Great God!" he murmured, "what will Dionysia say?"

Then, turning to M. Folgat, he said aloud, --

"And yet Jacques had something in his mind for that evening. "

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it. But for that, he would certainly have come to thehouse, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said sohimself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, andwhich she mentioned to you. He wrote, 'I curse from the bottom of myheart the business which prevents me from spending the evening with you;but I cannot possibly defer it any longer. To-morrow!'"

"You see, " said M. Seneschal. 

"The letter is of such a nature, " continued the old gentleman, "that Irepeat, No man who premeditated such a hideous crime could possibly havewritten it. Nevertheless, I confess to you, that, when I heard thefatal news, this very allusion to some pressing business impressed mepainfully. "

But the young lawyer seemed to be far from being convinced. 

"It is evident, " he said, "that M. De Boiscoran will on no account letit be known where he went. "

"He told a falsehood, sir, " insisted M. Seneschal. "He commenced bydenying that he had gone the way on which the witnesses met him. "

"Very naturally, since he desires to keep the place unknown to which hewent. "

"He did not say any more when he was told that he was under arrest. "

"Because he hopes he will get out of this trouble without betraying hissecret. "

"If that were so, it would be very strange. "

"Stranger things than that have happened. "

"To allow himself to be accused of incendiarism and murder when he isinnocent!"

"To be innocent, and to allow one's self to be condemned, is stillstranger; and yet there are instances"--

The young lawyer spoke in that short, imperious tone which is, soto say, the privilege of his profession, and with such an accent ofassurance, that M. De Chandore felt his hopes revive. M. Seneschal wassorely troubled. 

"And what do you think, sir?" he asked. 

"That M. De Boiscoran must be innocent, " replied the young advocate. And, without leaving time for objections, he continued, --

"That is the opinion of a man who is not influenced by anyconsideration. I come here without any preconceived notions. I do notknow Count Claudieuse any more than M. De Boiscoran. A crime has beencommitted: I am told the circumstances; and I at once come to theconclusion that the reasons which led to the arrest of the accused wouldlead me to set him at liberty. "

"Oh!"

"Let me explain. If M. De Boiscoran is guilty, he has shown, in theway in which he received M. Galpin at the house, a perfectly unheard-ofself-control, and a matchless genius for comedy. Therefore, if he isguilty, he is immensely clever"--

"But. "

"Allow me to finish. If he is guilty, he has in the examination shown amarvellous want of self-control, and, to be brief, a nameless stupidity:therefore, if he is guilty, he is immensely stupid"--

"But. "

"Allow me to finish. Can one and the same person be at once so unusuallyclever and so unusually stupid? Judge yourself. But again: if M. DeBoiscoran is guilty, he ought to be sent to the insane asylum, and notto prison; for any one else but a madman would have poured out the dirtywater in which he had washed his blackened hands, and would have buriedanywhere that famous breech-loader, of which the prosecution makes suchgood use. "

"Jacques is safe!" exclaimed M. De Chandore. 

M. Seneschal was not so easily won over. 

"That is specious pleading, " he said. "Unfortunately, we want somethingmore than a logic conclusion to meet a jury with an abundance ofwitnesses on the other side. "

"We will find more on our side. "

"What do you propose to do?"

"I do not know. I have just told you my first impression. Now I muststudy the case, and examine the witnesses, beginning with old Anthony. "

M. De Chandore had risen. He said, --

"We can reach Boiscoran in an hour. Shall I send for my carriage?"

"As quickly as possible, " replied the young lawyer. 

M. De Chandore's servant was back in a quarter of an hour, and announcedthat the carriage was at the door. M. De Chandore and M. Folgat tooktheir seats; and, while they were getting in, the mayor warned the youngParis lawyer, --

"Above all, be prudent and circumspect. The public mind is already buttoo much inflamed. Politics are mixed up with the case. I am afraid ofsome disturbance at the burial of the firemen; and they bring me wordthat Dr. Seignebos wants to make a speech at the graveyard. Good-by andgood luck!"

The driver whipped the horse, and, as the carriage was going downthrough the suburbs, M. De Chandore said, --

"I cannot understand why Anthony did not come to me immediately afterhis master had been arrested. What can have happened to him?"

IV. 

M. Seneschal's horse was perhaps one of the very best in the wholeprovince; but M. De Chandore's was still better. In less than fiftyminutes they had driven the whole distance to Boiscoran; and during thistime M. De Chandore and M. Folgat had not exchanged fifty words. 

When they reached Boiscoran, the courtyard was silent and deserted. Doors and windows were hermetically closed. On the steps of the porchsat a stout young peasant, who, at the sight of the newcomers, rose, andcarried his hand to his cap. 

"Where is Anthony?" asked M. De Chandore. 

"Up stairs, sir. "

The old gentleman tried to open the door: it resisted. 

"O sir! Anthony has barricaded the door from the inside. "

"A curious idea, " said M. De Chandore, knocking with the butt-end of hiswhip. 

He was knocking fiercer and fiercer, when at last Anthony's voice washeard from within, --

"Who is there?"

"It is I, Baron Chandore. "

The bars were removed instantly, and the old valet showed himself in thedoor. He looked pale and undone. The disordered condition of his beard, his hair, and his dress, showed that he had not been to bed. And thisdisorder was full of meaning in a man who ordinarily prided himself uponappearing always in the dress of an English gentleman. 

M. De Chandore was so struck by this, that he asked, first of all, --

"What is the matter with you, my good Anthony?"

Instead of replying, Anthony drew the baron and his companion inside;and, when he had fastened the door again, he crossed his arms, andsaid, --

"The matter is--well, I am afraid. "

The old gentleman and the lawyer looked at each other. They evidentlyboth thought the poor man had lost his mind. Anthony saw it, and saidquickly, --

"No, I am not mad, although, certainly, there are things passing herewhich could make one doubtful of one's own senses. If I am afraid, it isfor good reasons. "

"You do not doubt your master?" asked M. Folgat. 

The servant cast such fierce, threatening glances at the lawyer, that M. De Chandore hastened to interfere. 

"My dear Anthony, " he said, "this gentleman is a friend of mine, alawyer, who has come down from Paris with the marchioness to defendJacques. You need not mistrust him, nay, more than that, you must tellhim all you know, even if"--

The trusty old servant's face brightened up, and he exclaimed, --

"Ah! If the gentleman is a lawyer. Welcome, sir. Now I can say all thatweighs on my heart. No, most assuredly I do not think Master Jacquesguilty. It is impossible he should be so: it is absurd to think of it. But what I believe, what I am sure of, is this, --there is a plot tocharge him with all the horrors of Valpinson. "

"A plot?" broke in M. Folgat, "whose? how? and what for?"

"Ah! that is more than I know. But I am not mistaken; and you wouldthink so too, if you had been present at the examination, as I was. Itwas fearful, gentlemen, it was unbearable, so that even I was stupefiedfor a moment, and thought my master was guilty, and advised him to flee. The like has never been heard of before, I am sure. Every thing wentagainst him. Every answer he made sounded like a confession. A crimehad been committed at Valpinson; he had been seen going there and comingback by side paths. A fire had been kindled; his hands bore traces ofcharcoal. Shots had been fired; they found one of his cartridge-casesclose to the spot where Count Claudieuse had been wounded. There itwas I saw the plot. How could all these circumstances have agreed soprecisely if they had not been pre-arranged, and calculated beforehand?Our poor M. Daubigeon had tears in his eyes; and even that meddlesomefellow, Mechinet, the clerk, was quite overcome. M. Galpin was the onlyone who looked pleased; but then he was the magistrate, and he put thequestions. He, my master's friend!--a man who was constantly cominghere, who ate our bread, slept in our beds, and shot our game. Then itwas, 'My dear Jacques, ' and 'My dear Boiscoran' always, and no end ofcompliments and caresses; so that I often thought one of these days Ishould find him blackening my master's boots. Ah! he took his revengeyesterday; and you ought to have seen with what an air he said tomaster, 'We are friends no longer. ' The rascal! No, we are friends nolonger; and, if God was just, you ought to have all the shot in yourbody that has wounded Count Claudieuse. "

M. De Chandore was growing more and more impatient. As soon, therefore, as Anthony's breath gave out a moment, he said, --

"Why did you not come and tell me all that immediately?"

The old servant ventured to shrug his shoulders slightly, and replied, --

"How could I? When the examination was over, that man, Galpin, put theseals everywhere, --strips of linen, fastened on with sealing-wax, asthey do with dead people. He put one on every opening, and on someof them two. He put three on the outer door. Then he told me that heappointed me keeper of the house, that I would be paid for it, but thatI would be sent to the galleys if any one touched the seals with thetip of the finger. When he had handed master over to the gendarmes, thatman, Galpin, went away, leaving me here alone, dumfounded, like a manwho has been knocked in the head. Nevertheless, I should have come toyou, sir, but I had an idea, and that gave me the shivers. "

Grandpapa Chandore stamped his foot, and said, --

"Come to the point, to the point!"

"It was this: you must know, gentlemen, that, in the examination, thatbreech-loading gun played a prominent part. That man, Galpin looked atit carefully, and asked master when he had last fired it off. Mastersaid, 'About five days ago. You hear, I say, five days. ' Thereupon, thatman, Galpin, puts the gun down, without looking at the barrels. "

"Well?" asked M. Folgat. 

"Well, sir, I--Anthony--I had the evening before--I say the eveningbefore--cleaned the gun, washed it, and"--

"Upon my word, " cried M. De Chandore, "why did you not say so at once?If the barrels are clean, that is an absolute proof that Jacques isinnocent. "

The old servant shook his head, and said, --

"To be sure, sir. But are they clean?"

"Oh!"

"Master may have been mistaken as to the time when he last fired thegun, and then the barrels would be soiled; and, instead of helping him, my evidence might ruin him definitely. Before I say any thing, I oughtto be sure. "

"Yes, " said Folgat, approvingly, "and you have done well to keepsilence, my good man, and I cannot urge you too earnestly not to say aword of it to any one. That fact may become a decisive argument for the_defence_. "

"Oh! I can keep my tongue, sir. Only you may imagine how impatient ithas made me to see these accursed seals which prevent me from going tolook at the gun. Oh, if I had dared to break one of them!"

"Poor fellow!"

"I thought of doing it; but I checked myself. Then it occurred to methat other people might think of the same thing. The rascals who haveformed this abominable plot against Master Jacques are capable of anything, don't you think so? Why might not they come some night, andbreak the seals? I put the steward on guard in the garden, beneath thewindows. I put his son as a sentinel into the courtyard; and I havemyself stood watch before the seals with arms in my hands all the time. Let the rascals come on; they will find somebody to receive them. "

In spite of all that is said, lawyers are better than their reputation. Lawyers, accused of being sceptics above all men, are, on the contrary, credulous and simple-minded. Their enthusiasm is sincere; and, when wethink they play a part, they are in earnest. In the majority of cases, they fancy their own side the just one, even though they should bebeaten. Hour by hour, ever since his arrival at Sauveterre, M. Folgat'sfaith in Jacques's innocence had steadily increased. Old Anthony'stale was not made to shake his growing conviction. He did not admit theexistence of a plot, however; but he was not disinclined to believein the cunning calculations of some rascal, who, availing himself ofcircumstances known to him alone, tried to let all suspicion fall uponM. De Boiscoran, instead of himself. 

But there were many more questions to be asked; and Anthony was in sucha state of feverish excitement, that it was difficult to induce him toanswer. For it is not so easy to examine a man, however inclined he maybe to answer. It requires no small self-possession, much care, and animperturbable method, without which the most important facts are apt tobe overlooked. M. Folgat began, therefore, after a moment's pause, oncemore, saying, --

"My good Anthony, I cannot praise your conduct in this matter toohighly. However, we have not done with it yet. But as I have eatennothing since I left Paris last night, and as I hear the bell striketwelve o'clock"--

M. De Chandore seemed to be heartily ashamed, and broke in, --

"Ah, forgetful old man that I am! Why did I not think of it? But youwill pardon me, I am sure. I am so completely upset. Anthony, what canyou let us have?"

"The housekeeper has eggs, potted fowl, ham"--

"Whatever can be made ready first will be the best, " said the younglawyer. 

"In a quarter of an hour the table shall be set, " replied the servant. 

He hurried away, while M. De Chandore invited M. Folgat into thesitting-room. The poor grandfather summoned all his energy to keep upappearances. 

"This fact about the gun will save him, won't it?" he asked. 

"Perhaps so, " replied the famous advocate. 

And they were silent, --the grandfather thinking of the grief of hisgrandchild, and cursing the day on which he had opened his houseto Jacques, and with him to such heart-rending anguish; the lawyerarranging in his mind the facts he had learned, and preparing thequestions he was going to ask. They were both so fully absorbed by theirthoughts, that they started when Anthony reappeared, and said, --

"Gentlemen, breakfast is ready!"

The table had been set in the dining-room; and, when the two gentlemenhad taken their seats, old Anthony placed himself, his napkin over hisarm, behind them; but M. De Chandore called him, saying, --

"Put another plate, Anthony, and breakfast with us. "

"Oh, sir, " protested the old servant, --"sir"--

"Sit down, " repeated the baron: "if you eat after us, you will make uslose time, and an old servant like you is a member of the family. "

Anthony obeyed, quite overcome, but blushing with delight at the honorthat was done him; for the Baron de Chandore did not usually distinguishhimself to familiarity. When the ham and eggs of the housekeeper hadbeen disposed of, M. Folgat said, --

"Now let us go back to business. Keep cool, my dear Anthony, andremember, that, unless we get the court to say that there is no case, your answers may become the basis of our defence. What were M. DeBoiscoran's habits when he was here?"

"When he was here, sir, he had, so to say, no habits. We came here veryrarely, and only for a short time. "

"Never mind: what was he doing here?"

"He used to rise late; he walked about a good deal; he sometimes wentout hunting; he sketched; he read, for master is a great reader, and isas fond of his books as the marquis, his father, is of his porcelains. "

"Who came here to see him?"

"M. Galpin most frequently, Dr. Seignebos, the priest from Brechy, M. Seneschal, M. Daubigeon. "

"How did he spend his evenings?"

"At M. De Chandore's, who can tell you all about it. "

"He had no other relatives in this country?"

"No. "

"You do not know that he had any lady friend?"

Anthony looked as if he would have blushed. 

"Oh, sir!" he said, "you do not know, I presume, that master is engagedto Miss Dionysia?"

The Baron de Chandore was not a baby, as he liked to call it. Deeplyinterested as he was, he got up, and said, --

"I want to take a little fresh air. "

And he went out, understanding very well that his being Dionysia'sgrandfather might keep Anthony from telling the truth. 

"That is a sensible man, " thought M. Folgat. 

Then he added aloud, --

"Now we are alone, my dear Anthony, you can speak frankly. Did M. DeBoiscoran keep a mistress?"

"No, sir. "

"Did he ever have one?"

"Never. They will tell you, perhaps, that once upon a time he was ratherpleased with a great, big red-haired woman, the daughter of a miller inthe neighborhood, and that the gypsy of a woman came more frequently tothe chateau than was needful, --now on one pretext, and now on another. But that was mere childishness. Besides, that was five years ago, and the woman has been married these three years to a basket-maker atMarennes. "

"You are quite sure of what you say?"

"As sure as I am of myself. And you would be as sure of it yourself, ifyou knew the country as I know it, and the abominable tongues the peoplehave. There is no concealing any thing from them. I defy a man to talkthree times to a woman without their finding it out, and making a storyof it. I say nothing of Paris"--

M. Folgat listened attentively. He asked, --

"Ah! was there any thing of the kind in Paris?"

Anthony hesitated; at last he said, --

"You see, master's secrets are not my secrets, and, after the oath Ihave sworn, "--

"It may be, however, that his safety depends upon your frankness intelling me all, " said the lawyer. "You may be sure he will not blame youfor having spoken. "

For several seconds the old servant remained undecided; then he said, --

"Master, they say, has had a great love-affair. "

"When?"

"I do not know when. That was before I entered his service. All I knowis, that, for the purpose of meeting the person, master had bought atPassy, at the end of Vine Street, a beautiful house, in the centre of alarge garden, which he had furnished magnificently. "

"Ah!"

"That is a secret, which, of course, neither master's father nor hismother knows to this day; and I only know it, because one day masterfell down the steps, and dislocated his foot, so that he had to send forme to nurse him. He may have bought the house under his own name; but hewas not known by it there. He passed for an Englishmen, a Mr. Burnett;and he had an English maid-servant. "

"And the person?"

"Ah, sir! I not only do not know who she is, but I cannot even guessit, she took such extraordinary precautions! Now that I mean to tell youevery thing, I will confess to you that I had the curiosity to questionthe English maid. She told me that she was no farther than I was, thatshe knew, to be sure, a lady was coming there from time to time; butthat she had never seen even the end of her nose. Master always arrangedit so well, that the girl was invariably out on some errand or otherwhen the lady came and when she went away. While she was in the house, master waited upon her himself. And when they wanted to walk in thegarden, they sent the servant away, on some fool's errand, to Versaillesor to Fontainebleau; and she was mad, I tell you. "

M. Folgat began to twist his mustache, as he was in the habit of doingwhen he was specially interested. For a moment, he thought he saw thewoman--that inevitable woman who is always at the bottom of every greatevent in man's life; and just then she vanished from his sight; forhe tortured his mind in vain to discover a possible if not probableconnection between the mysterious visitor in Vine Street and theevents that had happened at Valpinson. He could not see a trace. Ratherdiscouraged, he asked once more, --

"After all, my dear Anthony, this great love-affair of your master's hascome to an end?"

"It seems so, sir, since Master Jacques was going to marry MissDionysia. "

That reason was perhaps not quite as conclusive as the good old servantimagined; but the young advocate made no remark. 

"And when do you think it came to an end?"

"During the war, master and the lady must have been parted; for masterdid not stay in Paris. He commanded a volunteer company; and he was evenwounded in the head, which procured him the cross. "

"Does he still own the house in Vine Street?"

"I believe so. "

"Why?"

"Because, some time ago, when master and I went to Paris for a week, he said to me one day, 'The War and the commune have cost me dear. My cottage has had more than twenty shells, and it has been in turnoccupied by _Francs-tireurs_, Communists and Regulars. The walls arebroken; and there is not a piece of furniture uninjured. My architecttells me, that all in all, the repairs will cost me some ten thousanddollars. '"

"What? Repairs? Then he thought of going back there?"

"At that time, sir, master's marriage had not been settled. Yet"--

"Still that would go to prove that he had at that time met themysterious lady once more, and that the war had not broken off theirrelations. "

"That may be. "

"And has he never mentioned the lady again?"

"Never. "

At this moment M. De Chandore's cough was heard in the hall, --that coughwhich men affect when they wish to announce their coming. Immediatelyafterwards he reappeared; and M. Folgat said to him, to show that hispresence was no longer inconvenient, --

"Upon my word, sir, I was just on the point of going in search of you, for fear that you felt really unwell. "

"Thank you, " replied the old gentleman, "the fresh air has done megood. "

He sat down; and the young advocate turned again to Anthony, saying, --

"Well, let us go on. How was he the day before the fire?"

"Just as usual. "

"What did he do before he went out?"

"He dined as usual with a good appetite; then he went up stairs andremained there for an hour. When he came down, he had a letter in hishand, which he gave to Michael, our tenant's son, and told him to carryit to Sauveterre, to Miss Chandore. "

"Yes. In that letter, M. De Boiscoran told Miss Dionysia that he wasretained here by a matter of great importance. "

"Ah!"

"Have you any idea what that could have been?"

"Not at all, sir, I assure you. "

"Still let us see. M. De Boiscoran must have had powerful reasonsto deprive himself of the pleasure of spending the evening with MissDionysia?"

"Yes, indeed. "

"He must also have had his reasons for taking to the marshes, on his wayout, instead of going by the turnpike, and for coming back through thewoods. "

Old Anthony was literally tearing his hair, as he exclaimed, --

"Ah, sir! These are the very words M. Galpin said. "

"Unfortunately every man in his senses will say so. "

"I know, sir: I know it but too well. And Master Jacques himself knewit so well that at first he tried to find some pretext; but he hasnever told a falsehood. And he who is such a clever man could not finda pretext that had any sense in it. He said he had gone to Brechy to seehis wood-merchant"--

"And why should he not?"

Anthony shook his head, and said, --

"Because the wood-merchant at Brechy is a thief, and everybody knowsthat master has kicked him out of the house some three years ago. Wesell all our wood at Sauveterre. "

M. Folgat had taken out a note-book, and wrote down some of Anthony'sstatements, preparing thus the outline of his defence. This being done, he commenced again, --

"Now we come to Cocoleu. "

"Ah the wretch!" cried Anthony. 

"You know him?"

"How could I help knowing him, when I lived all my life here atBoiscoran in the service of master's uncle?"

"Then what kind of a man is he?"

"An idiot, sir or, as they here call it, an innocent, who has SaintVitus dance into the bargain, and epilepsy moreover. "

"Then it is perfectly notorious that he is imbecile?"

"Yes, sir, although I have heard people insist that he is not quiteso stupid as he looks, and that, as they say here, he plays the ass inorder to get his oats"--

M. De Chandore interrupted him, and said, --

"On this subject Dr. Seignebos can give you all the information you maywant: he kept Cocoleu for nearly two years at his own house. "

"I mean to see the doctor, " replied M. Folgat. "But first of all we mustfind this unfortunate idiot. "

"You heard what M. Seneschal said: he has put the gendarmes on histrack. "

Anthony made a face, and said, --

"If the gendarmes should take Cocoleu, Cocoleu must have given himselfup voluntarily. "

"Why so?"

"Because, gentlemen, there is no one who knows all the by-ways andout-of-the-way corners of the country so well as that idiot; for hehas been hiding all his life like a savage in all the holes andhiding-places that are about here; and, as he can live perfectly well onroots and berries, he may stay away three months without being seen byany one. "

"Is it possible?" exclaimed M. Folgat angrily. 

"I know only one man, " continued Anthony, "who could find out Cocoleu, and that is our tenant's son Michael, --the young man you saw downstairs. "

"Send for him, " said M. De Chandore. 

Michael appeared promptly, and, when he had heard what he was expectedto do, he replied, --

"The thing can be done, certainly; but it is not very easy. Cocoleuhas not the sense of a man; but he has all the instincts of a brute. However, I'll try. "

There was nothing to keep either M. De Chandore or M. Folgat any longerat Boiscoran; hence, after having warned Anthony to watch the sealswell, and get a glimpse, if possible, of Jacques's gun, when theofficers should come for the different articles, they left the chateau. It was five o'clock when they drove into town again. Dionysia waswaiting for them in the sitting-room. She rose as they entered, lookingquite pale, with dry, brilliant eyes. 

"What? You are alone here!" said M. De Chandore. "Why have they left youalone?"

"Don't be angry, grandpapa. I have just prevailed on the marchioness, who was exhausted with fatigue to lie down for an hour or so beforedinner. "

"And your aunts?"

"They have gone out, grandpapa. They are probably, by this time at M. Galpin's. "

M. Folgat started, and said, --

"Oh!"

"But that is foolish in them!" exclaimed the old gentleman. 

The young girl closed his lips by a single word. She said, --

"I asked them to go. "

V. 

Yes, the step taken by the Misses Lavarande was foolish. At the pointwhich things had reached now, their going to see M. Galpin was perhapsequivalent to furnishing him the means to crush Jacques. But whose faultwas it, but M. De Chandore's and M. Folgat's? Had they not committed anunpardonable blunder in leaving Sauveterre without any other precautionthan to send word through M. Seneschal's servant, that they would beback for dinner, and that they need not be troubled about them?

Not be troubled? And that to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and Dionysia, to Jacques's mother and Jacques's betrothed. 

Certainly, at first, the two wretched women preserved their self-controlin a manner, trying to set each other an example of courage andconfidence. But, as hour after hour passed by, their anxiety becameintolerable; and gradually, as they confided their apprehensions toeach other, their grief broke out openly. They thought of Jacques beinginnocent, and yet treated like one of the worst criminals, alone inthe depth of his prison, given up to the most horrible inspirations ofdespair. What could have been his feelings during the twenty-fourhours which had brought him no news from his friends? Must he not fancyhimself despised and abandoned. 

"That is an intolerable thought!" exclaimed Dionysia at lat. "We mustget to him at any price. "

"How?" asked the marchioness. 

"I do not know; but there must be some way. There are things which Iwould not have ventured upon as long as I was alone; but, with you by myside, I can risk any thing. Let us go to the prison. "

The old lady promptly put a shawl around her shoulders, and said, --

"I am ready; let us go. "

They had both heard repeatedly that Jacques was kept in closeconfinement; but neither of them realized fully what that meant. Theyhad no idea of this atrocious measure, which is, nevertheless, renderednecessary by the peculiar forms of French law-proceedings, --a measurewhich, so to say, immures a man alive, and leaves him in his cell alonewith the crime with which he is charged, and utterly at the mercy ofanother man, whose duty it is to extort the truth from him. The twoladies only saw the want of liberty, a cell with its dismal outfittings, the bars at the window, the bolts at the door, the jailer shaking hisbunch of keys at his belt, and the tramp of the solitary sentinel in thelong passages. 

"They cannot refuse me permission, " said the old lady, "to see my son. "

"They cannot, " repeated Dionysia. "And, besides, I know the jailer, Blangin: his wife was formerly in our service. "

When the young girl, therefore, raised the heavy knocker at theprison-door, she was full of cheerful confidence. Blangin himself cameto the door; and, at the sight of the two poor ladies, his broad facedisplayed the utmost astonishment. 

"We come to see M. De Boiscoran, " said Dionysia boldly. 

"Have you a permit, ladies?" asked the keeper. 

"From whom?"

"From M. Galpin. "

"We have no permit. "

"Then I am very sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that you cannotpossibly see M. De Boiscoran. He is kept in close confinement, and Ihave the strictest orders. "

Dionysia looked threatening, and said sharply, --

"Your orders cannot apply to this lady, who is the Marchioness deBoiscoran. "

"My orders apply to everybody, madam. "

"You would not, I am sure, keep a poor, distressed mother from seeingher son!"

"Ah! but--madam--it does not rest with me. I? Who am I? Nothing morethan one of the bolts, drawn or pushed at will. "

For the first time, it entered the poor girl's head that her effortmight fail: still she tried once more, with tears in her eyes, --

"But I, my dear M. Blangin, think of me! You would not refuse me? Don'tyou know who I am? Have you never heard your wife speak of me?"

The jailer was certainly touched. He replied, --

"I know how much my wife and myself are indebted to your kindness, madam. But--I have my orders, and you surely would not want me to losemy place, madam?"

"If you lose your place, M. Blangin, I, Dionysia de Chandore, promiseyou another place twice as good. "

"Madame!"

"You do not doubt my word, M. Blangin, do you?"

"God forbid, madam! But it is not my place only. If I did what you wantme to do, I should be severely punished. "

The marchioness judged from the jailer's tone that Dionysia was notlikely to prevail over him, and so she said, --

"Don't insist, my child. Let us go back. "

"What? Without finding out what is going on behind these pitiless walls;without knowing even whether Jacques is dead or alive?"

There was evidently a great struggle going on in the jailer's heart. Allof a sudden he cast a rapid glance around, and then said, speaking veryhurriedly, --

"I ought not to tell you--but never mind--I cannot let you go awaywithout telling you that M. De Boiscoran is quite well. "

"Ah!"

"Yesterday, when they brought him here, he was, so to say, overcome. Hethrew himself upon his bed, and he remained there without stirring forover two hours. I think he must have been crying. "

A sob, which Dionysia could not suppress, made Blangin start. 

"Oh, reassure yourself, madame!" he added quickly. "That state of thingsdid not last long. Soon M. De Boiscoran got up, and said, 'Why, I am afool to despair!'"

"Did you hear him say so?" asked the old lady. 

"Not I. It was Trumence who heard it. "

"Trumence?"

"Yes, one of our jail-birds. Oh! he is only a vagabond, not bad at all;and he has been ordered to stand guard at the door of M. De Boiscoran'scell, and not for a moment to lose sight of it. It was M. Galpin who hadthat idea, because the prisoners sometimes in their first despair, --amisfortune happens so easily, --they become weary of life--Trumence wouldbe there to prevent it. "

The old lady trembled with horror. This precautionary measure, more thanany thing else, gave her the full measure of her son's situation. 

"However, " M. Blangin went on, "there is nothing to fear. M. DeBoiscoran became quite calm again, and even cheerful, if I may sayso. When he got up this morning, after having slept all night like adormouse, he sent for me, and asked me for paper, ink, and pen. All theprisoners ask for that the second day. I had orders to let him have it, and so I gave it to him. When I carried him his breakfast, he handed mea letter for Miss Chandore. "

"What?" cried Dionysia, "you have a letter for me, and you don't give itto me?"

"I do not have it now, madam. I had to hand it, as is my duty, to M. Galpin, when he came accompanied by his clerk, Mechinet, to examine M. De Boiscoran. "

"And what did he say?"

"He opened the letter, read it, put it into his pocket, and said, 'Well. '"

Tears of anger this time sprang from Dionysia's eyes; and she cried, --

"What a shame? This man reads a letter written by Jacques to me! That isinfamous!"

And, without thinking of thanking Blangin, she drew off the old lady, and all the way home did not say a word. 

"Ah, poor child, you did not succeed, " exclaimed the two old aunts, whenthey saw their niece come back. 

But, when they had heard every thing, they said, --

"Well, we'll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the daybefore yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of ourcousin. And we'll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give usback Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take downhis pride. "

How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies, when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to herindignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?

"Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts, " she said. "Quick, don't lose anytime; go at once!"

Unable to resist her entreaties, they started instantly, withoutlistening to the timid objections made by the marchioness. But the goodladies were sadly mistaken as to the state of mind of M. Galpin. Theex-lover of one of their cousins was not bedded on roses by any means. At the beginning of this extraordinary affair he had taken hold of itwith eagerness, looking upon it as an admirable opportunity, long lookedfor, and likely to open wide the doors to his burning ambition. Thenhaving once begun, and the investigation being under way, he had beencarried away by the current, without having time to reflect. He had evenfelt a kind of unhealthy satisfaction at seeing the evidence increasing, until he felt justified and compelled to order his former friend tobe sent to prison. At that time he was fairly dazzled by the mostmagnificent expectations. This preliminary inquiry, which in a few hoursalready had led to the discovery of a culprit the most unlikely of allmen in the province, could not fail to establish his superior abilityand matchless skill. 

But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eyeupon these events. Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt hisability, and to ask himself, if he had not, after all, acted rashly. If Jacques was guilty, so much the better. He was sure, in that case, immediately after the verdict, to obtain brilliant promotion. Yes, butif Jacques should be innocent? When that thought occurred to M. Galpinfor the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones. Jacques innocent!--that was his own condemnation, his career ended, hishopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever. Jacques innocent!--thatwas certain disgrace. He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where hecould not remain after such a scandal. He would be banished to someout-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion. 

In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty. People wouldanswer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrantblunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; andthat for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it isbetter, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than topunish an innocent one. 

With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart ofan ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns. Hehad been up since six o'clock. At eleven, he had sent for his clerk, Mechinet; and they had gone together to the jail to recommence theexamination. It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner'sletter for Dionysia. It was a short note, such as a sensible man wouldwrite who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecyof his correspondence. It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blanginhad not noticed. 

"Dionysia, my darling, " wrote the prisoner, "the thought of the terriblegrief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow. Need Istoop to assure you that I am innocent? I am sure it is not needed. I amthe victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not butmislead justice. But be reassured, be hopeful. When the time comes, Ishall be able to set matters right. 

"JACQUES. "

"Well, " M. Galpin had really said after reading this letter. Nevertheless it had stung him to the quick. 

"What assurance!" he had said to himself. 

Still he had regained courage while ascending the steps of the prison. Jacques had evidently not thought it likely that his note would reachits destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that hehad written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love. Thefact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to thispresumption. 

"After all we shall see, " said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlockingthe door. 

But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau atBoiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thingout of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or saidthat he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home moretroubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, ifhe could have retraced his steps!

But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himselfto go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it washenceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It mustbe. It was a question of life or death for him. 

He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called athis house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instanthis over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. Whatcould the two old ladies want of him?

"Show them in, " he said at last. 

They came in, and haughtily declined the chairs that were offered. 

"I hardly expected to have the honor of a visit from you, ladies, " hecommenced. 

The older of the two, Miss Adelaide, cut him short, saying, --

"I suppose not, after what has passed. "

And thereupon, speaking with all the eloquence of a pious woman whois trying to wither an impious man, she poured upon him a stream ofreproaches for what she called his infamous treachery. What? How couldhe appear against Jacques, who was his friend, and who had actuallyaided him in obtaining the promise of a great match. By that one hopehe had become, so to say, a member of the family. Did he not know thatamong kinsmen it was a sacred duty to set aside all personal feelingsfor the purpose of protecting that sacred patrimony called family honor?

M. Galpin felt like a man upon whom a handful of stones falls from thefifth story of a house. Still he preserved his self-control, and evenasked himself what advantage he might obtain from this extraordinaryscene. Might it open a door for reconciliation?

As soon, therefore, as Miss Adelaide stopped, he began justifyinghimself, painting in hypocritical colors the grief it had given him, swearing that he was able to control the events, and that Jacques was asdear to him now as ever. 

"If he is so dear to you, " broke in Miss Adelaide, "why don't you sethim free?"

"Ah! how can I?"

"At least give his family and his friends leave to see him. "

"The law will not let me. If he is innocent, he has only to prove it. Ifhe is guilty, he must confess. In the first case, he will be set free;in the other case, he can see whom he wishes. "

"If he is so dear to you, how could you dare read the letter he hadwritten to Dionysia?"

"It is one of the most painful duties of my profession to do so. "

"Ah! And does that profession also prevent you from giving us thatletter after having read it?"

"Yes. But I may tell you what is in it. "

He took it out of a drawer, and the younger of the two sisters, MissElizabeth, copied it in pencil. Then they withdrew, almost withoutsaying good-by. 

M. Galpin was furious. He exclaimed, --

"Ah, old witches! I see clearly you do not believe in Jacques'sinnocence. Why else should his family be so very anxious to see him? Nodoubt they want to enable him to escape by suicide the punishment of hiscrime. But, by the great God, that shall not be, if I can help it!"

M. Folgat was, as we have seen, excessively annoyed at this step takenby the Misses Lavarande; but he did not let it be seen. It was verynecessary that he at least should retain perfect presence of mind andcalmness in this cruelly tried family. M. De Chandore, on the otherhand, could not conceal his dissatisfaction so well; and, in spite ofhis deference to his grandchild's wishes, he said, --

"I am sure, my dear child, I don't wish to blame you. But you know youraunts, and you know, also, how uncompromising they are. They are quitecapable of exasperating M. Galpin. "

"What does it matter?" asked the young girl haughtily. "Circumspectionis all very well for guilty people; but Jacques is innocent. "

"Miss Chandore is right, " said M. Folgat, who seemed to succumb toDionysia like the rest of the family. "Whatever the ladies may havedone, they cannot make matters worse. M. Galpin will be none the lessour bitter enemy. "

Grandpapa Chandore started. He said, --

"But"--

"Oh! I do not blame him, " broke in the young lawyer; "but I blamethe laws which make him act as he does. How can a magistrate remainperfectly impartial in certain very important cases, like this one, whenhis whole future career depends upon his success? A man may be a mostupright magistrate, incapable of unfairness, and conscientious infulfilling all his duties, and yet he is but a man. He has his interestat stake. He does not like the court to find that that there is no case. The great rewards are not always given to the lawyer who has taken mostpains to find out the truth. "

"But M. Galpin was a friend of ours, sir. "

"Yes; and that is what makes me fear. What will be his fate on the daywhen M. Jacques's innocence is established?"

They were just coming home, quite proud of their achievement, and wavingin triumph the copy of Jacques's letter. Dionysia seized upon it; and, while she read it aside, Miss Adelaide described the interview, statinghow haughty and disdainful she had been, and how humble and repentant M. Galpin had seemed to be. 

"He was completely undone, " said the two old ladies with one voice: "hewas crushed, annihilated. "

"Yes, you have done a nice thing, " growled the old baron; "and you havemuch reason to boast, forsooth. "

"My aunts have done well, " declared Dionysia. "Just see what Jacqueshas written! It is clear and precise. What can we fear when he says, 'Bereassured: when the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right'?"

M. Folgat took the letter, read it, and shook his head. Then he said, --

"There was no need of this letter to confirm my opinion. At the bottomof this affair there is a secret which none of us have found out yet. But M. De Boiscoran acts very rashly in playing in this way with acriminal prosecution. Why did he not explain at once? What was easyyesterday may be less easy to-morrow, and perhaps impossible in a week. "

"Jacques, sir, is a superior man, " cried Dionysia, "and whatever he saysis perfectly sure to be the right thing. "

His mother's entrance prevented the young lawyer from making any reply. Two hours' rest had restored to the old lady a part of her energy, andher usual presence of mind; and she now asked that a telegram should besent to her husband. 

"It is the least we can do, " said M. De Chandore in an undertone, "although it will be useless, I dare say. Boiscoran does not care thatmuch for his son. Pshaw! Ah! if it was a rare _faience_, or a plate thatis wanting in his collection, then would it be a very different story. "

Still the despatch was drawn up and sent, at the very moment when aservant came in, and announced that dinner was ready. The meal was lesssad than they had anticipated. Everybody, to be sure, felt a heavinessat heart as he thought that at the same hour a jailer probably broughtJacques his meal to his cell; nor could Dionysia keep from dropping atear when she saw M. Folgat sitting in her lover's place. But no one, except the young advocate, thought that Jacques was in real danger. 

M. Seneschal, however, who came in just as coffee was handed round, evidently shared M. Folgat's apprehensions. The good mayor came to hearthe news, and to tell his friends how he had spent the day. The funeralof the firemen had passed off quietly, although amid deep emotion. Nodisturbance had taken place, as was feared; and Dr. Seignebos had notspoken at the graveyard. Both a disturbance and a row would have beenbadly received, said M. Seneschal; for he was sorry to say, the immensemajority of the people of Sauveterre did not doubt M. De Boiscoran'sguilt. In several groups he had heard people say, "And still you willsee they will not condemn him. A poor devil who should commit such ahorrible crime would be hanged sure enough; but the son of the Marquisde Boiscoran--you will see, he'll come out of it as white as snow. "

The rolling of a carriage, which stopped at the door, fortunatelyinterrupted him at this point. 

"Who can that be?" asked Dionysia, half frightened. 

They heard in the passage the noise of steps and voices, something likea scuffle; and almost instantly the tenant's son Michael pushed open thedoor of the sitting-room, crying out, --

"I have gotten him! Here he is!"

And with these words he pushed in Cocoleu, all struggling, and lookingaround him, like a wild beast caught in a trap. 

"Upon my word, my good fellow, " said M. Seneschal, "you have done betterthan the gendarmes!"

The manner in which Michael winked with his eye showed that he had not avery exalted opinion of the cleverness of the gendarmes. 

"I promised the baron, " he said, "I would get hold of Cocoleu somehow orother. I knew that at certain times he went and buried himself, like thewild beast that he is, in a hole which he has scratched under a rock inthe densest part of the forest of Rochepommier. I had discovered thisden of his one day by accident; for a man might pass by a hundred times, and never dream of where it was. But, as soon as the baron told me thatthe innocent had disappeared, I said to myself, 'I am sure he is in hishole: let us go and see. ' So I gathered up my legs; I ran down to therocks: and there was Cocoleu. But it was not so easy to pull him out ofhis den. He would not come; and, while defending himself, he bit me inthe hand, like the mad dog that he is. "

And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece oflinen. 

"It was pretty hard work to get the madman here. I was compelled to tiehim hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father's house. Therewe put him into the little carriage, and here he is. Just look at thepretty fellow!"

He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over withred marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutishglances. 

"Why would you not come?" asked M. Seneschal. 

The idiot looked as if he did not hear. 

"Why did you bite Michael?" continued the mayor. 

Cocoleu made no reply. 

"Do you know that M. De Boiscoran is in prison because of what you havesaid?"

Still no reply. 

"Ah!" said Michael, "it is of no use to question him. You might beat himtill to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word. "

"I am--I am hungry, " stammered Cocoleu. 

M. Folgat looked indignant. 

"And to think, " he said, "that, upon the testimony of such a thing, acapital charge has been made!"

Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed. He said, --

"But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?"

"I am going to take him, " said M. Seneschal, "to the hospital. I willgo with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealthattorney. "

Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd storieswhich his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded. But he had, at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he calledit, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views, the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. Hewould, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues wereamazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say soin his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diplomawhich gives him the right over life and death, that man became in hiseyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, hethought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hencehis obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of hiscontradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the"gentlemen of the law" to leave the room in which _his_ patient waslying. 

"For these devils, " he said, "would kill one man in order to get themeans of cutting off another man's head. "

And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to workonce more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain thelead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o'clock thework was done. 

"Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out, " he said modestly, "but, if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to waitfor certain symptoms which will tell me where they are. "

As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His firstexcitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to beinsensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;and, considering the count's constitution, it was easily to be foreseenthat delirium would set in before the day was out. 

"Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger, " said the doctor tothe countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms, so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to letno one approach her husband's bed, and M. Galpin least of all. 

This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment apeasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the doorwho wished to see the count. 

"Show him in, " said the doctor; "I'll speak to him. "

It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up hisplace, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officerof justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was alsothe agent of a fire insurance company. It was in this capacity that hepresumed, as he told the countess, to present himself in person. He hadbeen informed that the farm buildings at Valpinson, which were insuredin his company, had been destroyed by fire; that they had been purposelyset on fire by M. De Boiscoran; and that he wished to confer withCount Claudieuse on the subject. Far from him, he added, to decline theresponsibility of his company: he only wished to establish the factswhich would enable him to fall back upon M. De Boiscoran, who was a manof fortune, and would certainly be condemned to make compensationfor the injury done. For this purpose, certain formalities had tobe attended to; and he had come to arrange with Count Claudieuse thenecessary measures. 

"And I, " said Dr. Seignebos, --"I request you to take to your heels. " Headded with a thundering voice, --

"I think you are very bold to dare to speak in that way of M. DeBoiscoran. "

M. Tetard disappeared without saying another word; and the doctor, very much excited by this scene, turned to the youngest daughter of thecountess, the one with whom she was sitting up when the fire broke out, and who was now decidedly better: after that nothing could keep him atValpinson. He carefully pocketed the pieces of lead which he had takenfrom the count's wounds, and then, drawing the countess out to the door, he said, --

"Before I go away, madam, I should like to know what you think of theseevents. "

The poor lady, who looked as pale as death itself, could hardly hold upany longer. There seemed to be nothing alive in her but her eyes, whichwere lighted up with unusual brilliancy. 

"Ah! I do not know, sir, " she replied in a feeble voice. "How can Icollect my thoughts after such terrible shocks?"

"Still you questioned Cocoleu. "

"Who would not have done so, when the truth was at stake?"

"And you were not surprised at the name he mentioned?"

"You must have seen, sir. "

"I saw; and that is exactly why I ask you, and why I want to know whatyou really think of the state of mind of the poor creature. "

"Don't you know that he is idiotic?"

"I know; and that is why I was so surprised to see you insist uponmaking him talk. Do you really think, that, in spite of his habitualimbecility, he may have glimpses of sense?"

"He had, a few moments before, saved my children from death. "

"That proves his devotion for you. "

"He is very much attached to me indeed, just like a poor animal that Imight have picked up and cared for. "

"Perhaps so. And still he showed more than mere animal instinct. "

"That may well be so. I have more than once noticed flashes ofintelligence in Cocoleu. "

The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously. 

"It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did notenlighten him when he saw M. De Boiscoran make a fire and get ready tomurder Count Claudieuse. "

The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint. 

"But it is exactly to his excitement at the sight of the flames, and athearing the shots fired, that I ascribe Cocoleu's return to reason. "

"May be, " said the doctor, "may be. "

Then putting on his spectacles again, he added, --

"That is a question to be decided by the professional men who will haveto examine the poor imbecile creature. "

"What! Is he going to be examined?"

"Yes, and very thoroughly, madam, I tell you. And now I have the honorof wishing you good-bye. However, I shall come back to-night, unlessyou should succeed during the day in finding lodgings in Sauveterre, --anarrangement which would be very desirable for myself, in the firstplace, and not less so for your husband and your daughter. They are notcomfortable in this cottage. "

Thereupon he lifted his hat, returned to town, and immediately askedM. Seneschal in the most imperious manner to have Cocoleu arrested. Unfortunately the gendarmes had been unsuccessful; and Dr. Seignebos, who saw how unfortunate all this was for Jacques, began to get terriblyimpatient, when on Saturday night, towards ten o'clock, M. Seneschalcame in, and said, --

"Cocoleu is found. "

The doctor jumped up, and in a moment his hat on his head, and stick inhand, asked, --

"Where is he?"

"At the hospital. I have seen him myself put into a separate room. "

"I am going there. "

"What, at this hour?"

"Am I not one of the hospital physicians? And is it not open to me bynight and by day?"

"The sisters will be in bed. "

The doctor shrugged his shoulders furiously; then he said, --

"To be sure, it would be a sacrilege to break the slumbers of these goodsisters, these dear sisters, as you say. Ah, my dear mayor! When shallwe have laymen for our hospitals? And when will you put good stoutnurses in the place of these holy damsels?"

M. Seneschal had too often discussed that subject with the doctor, toopen it anew. He kept silent, and that was wise; for Dr. Seignebos satdown, saying, --

"Well, I must wait till to-morrow. "

VI. 

"The hospital in Sauveterre, " says the guide book, "is, in spite ofits limited size, one of the best institutions of the kind in thedepartment. The chapel and the new additions were built at the expenseof the Countess de Maupaison, the widow of one of the ministers of LouisPhilippe. "

But what the guide book does not say is, that the hospital was endowedwith three free beds for pregnant women, by Mrs. Seneschal, or that thetwo wings on both sides of the great entrance-gate have also been builtby her liberality. One of these wings, the one on the right, is usedby the janitor, a fine-looking old man, who formerly was beadle at thecathedral, and who loves to think of the happy days when he added to thesplendor of the church by his magnificent presence, his red uniform, hisgold bandelaire, his halbert, and his gold-headed cane. 

This janitor was, on Sunday morning, a little before eight o'clock, smoking his pipe in the yard, when he saw Dr. Seignebos coming in. Thedoctor was walking faster than usual, his hat over his face, and hishands thrust deep into his pockets, evident signs of a storm. Instead ofcoming, as he did every day before making the rounds, into the officeof the sister-druggist, he went straight up to the room of the ladysuperior. There, after the usual salutations, he said, --

"They have no doubt brought you, my sister, last night, a patient, anidiot, called Cocoleu?"

"Yes, doctor. "

"Where has he been put?"

"The mayor saw him himself put into the little room opposite the linenroom. "

"And how did he behave?"

"Perfectly well: the sister who kept the watch did not hear him stir. "

"Thanks, my sister!" said Dr. Seignebos. 

He was already in the door, when the lady superior recalled him. 

"Are you going to see the poor man, doctor?" she asked. 

"Yes, my sister; why?"

"Because you cannot see him. "

"I cannot?"

"No. The commonwealth attorney has sent us orders not to let any one, except the sister who nurses him, come near Cocoleu, --no one, doctor, not even the physician, a case of urgency, of course, excepted. "

Dr. Seignebos smiled ironically. Then he said, laughing scornfully, --

"Ah, these are your orders, are they? Well, I tell you that I do notmind them in the least. Who can prevent me from seeing my patient?Tell me that! Let the commonwealth attorney give his orders in hiscourt-house as much as he chooses: that is all right. But in myhospital! My sister, I am going to Cocoleu's room. "

"Doctor, you cannot go there. There is a gendarme at the door. "

"A gendarme?"

"Yes, he came this morning with the strictest orders. "

For a moment the doctor was overcome. Then he suddenly broke out withunusual violence, and a voice that made the windows shake, --

"This is unheard of! This is an abominable abuse of power! I'll have myrights, and justice shall be done me, if I have to go to Thiers!"

Then he rushed out without ceremony, crossed the yard, and disappearedlike an arrow, in the direction of the court-house. At that very momentM. Daubigeon was getting up, feeling badly because he had had a bad, sleepless night, thanks to this unfortunate affair of M. De Boiscoran, which troubled him sorely; for he was almost of M. Galpin's opinion. Invain he recalled Jacques's noble character, his well-known uprightness, his keen sense of honor, the evidence was so strong, so overwhelming!He wanted to doubt; but experience told him that a man's past isno guarantee for his future. And, besides, like many great criminallawyers, he thought, what he would never have ventured to say openly, that some great criminals act while they are under the influence of akind of vertigo, and that this explains the stupidity of certain crimescommitted by men of superior intelligence. 

Since his return from Boiscoran, he had kept close in his house; and hehad just made up his mind not to leave the house that day, when some onerang his bell furiously. A moment later Dr. Seignebos fell into the roomlike a bombshell. 

"I know what brings you, doctor, " said M. Daubigeon. "You come aboutthat order I have given concerning Cocoleu. "

"Yes, indeed, sir! That order is an insult. "

"I have been asked to give it as a matter of necessity, by M. Galpin. "

"And why did you not refuse? You alone are responsible for it in myeyes. You are commonwealth attorney, consequently the head of the bar, and superior to M. Galpin. "

M. Daubigeon shook his head and said, --

"There you are mistaken, doctor. The magistrate in such a case isindependent of myself and of the court. He is not even bound to obey theattorney-general, who can make suggestions to him, but cannot give himorders. M. Galpin, in his capacity as examining magistrate, has hisindependent jurisdiction, and is armed with almost unlimited power. Noone in the world can say so well as an examining magistrate what thepoet calls, --

"'Such is my will, such are my orders, and my will is sufficient. '

"'Hoc volo, hoc jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas. '"

For once Dr. Seignebos seemed to be convinced by M. Daubigeon's words. He said, --

"Then, M. Galpin has even the right to deprive a sick man of hisphysician's assistance. "

"If he assumes the responsibility, yes. But he does not mean to go sofar. He was, on the contrary, about to ask you, although it is Sunday, to come and be present at a second examination of Cocoleu. I amsurprised that you have not received his note, and that you did not meethim at the hospital. "

"Well, I am going at once. "

And he went back hurriedly, and was glad he had done so; for at the doorof the hospital he came face to face against M. Galpin, who was justcoming in, accompanied by his faithful clerk, Mechinet. 

"You came just in time, doctor, " began the magistrate, with his usualsolemnity. 

But, short and rapid as the doctor's walk had been, it had givenhim time to reflect, and to grow cool. Instead of breaking out intorecriminations, he replied in a tone of mock politeness, --

"Yes, I know. It is that poor devil to whom you have given a gendarmefor a nurse. Let us go up: I am at your service. "

The room in which Cocoleu had been put was large, whitewashed, andempty, except that a bed, a table and two chairs, stood about. The bedwas no doubt a good one; but the idiot had taken off the mattress andthe blankets, and lain down in his clothes on the straw bed. Thus themagistrate and the physician found him as they entered. He rose at theirappearance; but, when he saw the gendarme, he uttered a cry, and triedto hide under the bed. M. Galpin ordered the gendarme to pull him outagain. Then he walked up to him, and said, --

"Don't be afraid, Cocoleu. We want to do you no harm; only you mustanswer our questions. Do you recollect what happened the other night atValpinson?"

Cocoleu laughed, --the laugh of an idiot, --but he made no reply. Andthen, for a whole hour, begging, threatening, and promising by turns, the magistrate tried in vain to obtain one word from him. Not eventhe name of the Countess Claudieuse had the slightest effect. At last, utterly out of patience, he said, --

"Let us go. The wretch is worse than a brute. "

"Was he any better, " asked the doctor, "when he denounced M. DeBoiscoran?"

But the magistrate pretended not to hear; and, when they were about toleave the room, he said to the doctor, --

"You know that I expect your report, doctor?"

"In forty-eight hours I shall have the honor to hand it to you, " repliedthe latter. 

But as he went off, he said half aloud, --

"And that report is going to give you some trouble, my good man. "

The report was ready then, and his reason for not giving it in, wasthat he thought, the longer he could delay it, the more chance he wouldprobably have to defeat the plan of the prosecution. 

"As I mean to keep it two days longer, " he thought on his way home, "whyshould I not show it to this Paris lawyer who has come down with themarchioness? Nothing can prevent me, as far as I see, since that poorGalpin, in his utter confusion, has forgotten to put me under oath. "

But he paused. According to the laws of medical jurisprudence, had hethe right, or not, to communicate a paper belonging to the case to thecounsel of the accused? This question troubled him; for, althoughhe boasted that he did not believe in God, he believed firmly inprofessional duty, and would have allowed himself to be cut in piecesrather than break its laws. 

"But I have clearly the right to do so, " he growled. "I can only bebound by my oath. The authorities are clear on that subject. I have inmy favor the decisions of the Court of Appeals of 27 November, and 27December, 1828; those of the 13th June, 1835; of the 3d May, 1844; ofthe 26th June, 1866. "

The result of this mediation was, that, as soon as he had breakfasted, he put his report in his pocket, and went by side streets to M. DeChandore's house. The marchioness and the two aunts were still atchurch, where they had thought it best to show themselves; and there wasno one in the sitting-room but Dionysia, the old baron, and M. Folgat. The old gentleman was very much surprised to see the doctor. The latterwas his family physician, it is true; but, except in cases of sickness, the two never saw each other, their political opinions were so verydifferent. 

"If you see me here, " said the physician, still in the door, "it issimply because, upon my honor and my conscience, I believe M. Boiscoranis innocent. "

Dionysia would have liked to embrace the doctor for these words of his;and with the greatest eagerness she pushed a large easy-chair towardshim, and said in her sweetest voice, --

"Pray sit down, my dear doctor. "

"Thanks, " he answered bruskly. "I am very much obliged to you. " Thenturning to M. Folgat, he said, according to his odd notion, --

"I am convinced that M. Boiscoran is the victim of his republicanopinions which he has so boldly professed; for, baron, your futureson-in-law is a republican. "

Grandpapa Chandore did not move. If they had come and told him Jacqueshad been a member of the Commune, he would not have been any more moved. Dionysia loved Jacques. That was enough for him. 

"Well, " the doctor went on, "I am a Radical, I, M. "--

"Folgat, " supplied the young lawyer. 

"Yes, M. Folgat, I am a Radical; and it is my duty to defend a man whosepolitical opinions so closely resemble mine. I come, therefore, to showyou my medical report, if you can make any use of it in your defence ofM. Boiscoran, or suggest to me any ideas. "

"Ah!" exclaimed the young man. "That is a very valuable service. "

"But let us understand each other, " said the physician earnestly. "If Ispeak of listening to your suggestions, I take it for granted that theyare based upon facts. If I had a son, and he was to die on the scaffoldI would not use the slightest falsehood to save him. "

He had, meanwhile, drawn the report from a pocket in his long coat, andnow put in on the table with these words, --

"I shall call for it again to-morrow morning. In the meantime you canthink it over. I should like, however, to point out to you the mainpoint, the culminating point, if I may say so. "

At all events he was "saying so" with much hesitation, and lookingfixedly at Dionysia as if to make her understand that he would like herto leave the room. Seeing that she did not take the hint, he added, --

"A medical and legal discussion would hardly interest the young lady. "

"Why, sir, why, should I not be deeply, passionately, interested in anything that regards the man who is to be my husband?"

"Because ladies are generally very sensational, " said the doctoruncivilly, "very sensitive. "

"Don't think so, doctor. For Jacques's sake, I promise you I will showyou quite masculine energy. "

The doctor knew Dionysia well enough to see that she did not mean to go:so he growled, --

"As you like it. "

Then, turning again to M. Folgat, he said, --

"You know there were two shots fired at Count Claudieuse. One, which hithim in the side, nearly missed him; the other, which struck his shoulderand his neck, hit well. "

"I know, " said the advocate. 

"The difference in the effect shows that the two shots were fired fromdifferent distances, the second much nearer than the first. "

"I know, I know!"

"Excuse me. If I refer to these details, it is because they areimportant. When I was sent for in the middle of the night to come andsee Count Claudieuse, I at once set to work extracting the particlesof lead that had lodged in his flesh. While I was thus busy, M. Galpinarrived. I expected he would ask me to show him the shot: but no, he didnot think of it; he was too full of his own ideas. He thought only ofthe culprit, of _his_ culprit. I did not recall to him the A B C of hisprofession: that was none of my business. The physician has to obey thedirections of justice, but not to anticipate them. "

"Well, then?"

"Then M. Galpin went off to Boiscoran, and I completed my work. I haveextracted fifty-seven shot from the count's wound in the side, and ahundred and nine from the wound on the shoulder and the neck; and, whenI had done that, do you know what I found out?"

He paused, waiting to see the effect of his words; and, when everybody'sattention seemed to him fully roused, he went on, --

"I found out that the shot in the two wounds was not alike. "

M. De Chandore and M. Folgat exclaimed at one time, --

"Oh!"

"The shot that was first fired, " continued Dr. Seignebos, "and whichhas touched the side, is the very smallest sized 'dust. ' That in theshoulder, on the other hand, is quite large sized, such as I think isused in shooting hares. However, I have some samples. "

And with these words, he opened a piece of white paper, in which wereten or twelve pieces of lead, stained with coagulated blood, and showingat once a considerable difference in size. M. Folgat looked puzzled. 

"Could there have been two murderers?" he asked half aloud. 

"I rather think, " said M. De Chandore, "that the murderer had, likemany sportsmen, one barrel ready for birds, and another for hares orrabbits. "

"At all events, this fact puts all premeditation out of question. A mandoes not load his gun with small-shot in order to commit murder. "

Dr. Seignebos thought he had said enough about it, and was rising totake leave, when M. De Chandore asked him how Count Claudieuse wasdoing. 

"He is not doing well, " replied the doctor. "The removal, in spite ofall possible precautions, has worn him out completely; for he is here inSauveterre since yesterday, in a house which M. Seneschal has rented forhim provisionally. He has been delirious all night through; and, when Icame to see him this morning, I do not think he knew me. "

"And the countess?" asked Dionysia. 

"The countess, madam, is quite as sick as her husband, and, if she hadlistened to me, she would have gone to bed, too. But she is a womanof uncommon energy, who derives from her affection for her husband analmost incomprehensible power of resistance. As to Cocoleu, " he added, standing already near the door, "an examination of his mental conditionmight produce results which no one seems to expect now. But we will talkof that hereafter. And now, I must bid you all good-by. "

"Well?" asked Dionysia and M. De Chandore, as soon as they had heard thestreet door close behind Dr. Seignebos. 

But M. Folgat's enthusiasm had cooled off very rapidly. 

"Before giving an opinion, " he said cautiously, "I must study the reportof this estimable doctor. "

Unfortunately, the report contained nothing that the doctor had notmentioned. In vain did the young advocate try all the afternoon tofind something in it that might be useful for the defence. There werearguments in it, to be sure, which might be very valuable when the trialshould come on, but nothing that could be used to make the prosecutiongive up the case. 

The whole house was, therefore, cruelly disappointed and dejected, when, about five o'clock, old Anthony came in from Boiscoran. He looked verysad, and said, --

"I have been relieved of my duties. At two o'clock M. Galpin cameto take off the seals. He was accompanied by his clerk Mechinet, andbrought Master Jacques with him, who was guarded by two gendarmes incitizen's clothes. When the room was opened, that unlucky man Galpinasked Master Jacques if those were the clothes which he wore the nightof the fire, his boots, his gun, and the water in which he washed hishands. When he had acknowledged every thing, the water was carefullypoured into a bottle, which they sealed, and handed to one of thegendarmes. Then they put master's clothes in a large trunk, his gun, several parcels of cartridge, and some other articles, which themagistrate said were needed for the trial. That trunk was sealed likethe bottle, and put on the carriage; then that man Galpin went off, andtold me that I was free. "

"And Jacques, " Dionysia asked eagerly, --"how did he look?"

"Master, madam, laughed contemptuously. "

"Did you speak to him?" asked M. Folgat. 

"Oh, no, sir! M. Galpin would not allow me. "

"And did you have time to look at the gun?"

"I could but just glance at the lock. "

"And what did you see?"

The brow of the old servant grew still darker, as he replied sadly, --

"I saw that I had done well to keep silent. The lock is black. Mastermust have used his gun since I cleaned it. "

Grandpapa Chandore and M. Folgat exchanged looks of distress. One morehope was lost. 

"Now, " said the young lawyer, "tell me how M. De Boiscoran usuallycharged his gun. "

"He used cartridges, sir, of course. They sent him, I think, twothousand with the gun, --some for balls, some with large shot, and otherswith shot of every size. At this season, when hunting is prohibited, master could shoot nothing but rabbits, or those little birds, you know, which come to our marshes: so he always loaded one barrel with tolerablylarge shot, and the other with small-shot. "

But he stopped suddenly, shocked at the impression which his statementseemed to produce. Dionysia cried, --

"That is terrible! Every thing is against us!"

M. Folgat did not give her time to say any more. He asked, --

"My dear Anthony, did M. Galpin take all of your master's cartridgesaway with him?"

"Oh, no! certainly not. "

"Well, you must instantly go back to Boiscoran, and bring me three orfour cartridges of every number of shot. "

"All right, " said the old man. "I'll be back in a short time. "

He started immediately; and, thanks to his great promptness, hereappeared at seven o'clock, at the moment when the family got up fromdinner, and put a large package of cartridges on the table. 

M. De Chandore and M. Folgat had quickly opened some of them; and, after a few failures, they found two numbers of shot which seemed tocorrespond exactly to the samples left them by the doctor. 

"There is an incomprehensible fatality in all this, " said the oldgentleman in an undertone. 

The young lawyer, also, looked discouraged. 

"It is madness, " he said, "to try to establish M. De Boiscoran'sinnocence without having first communicated with him. "

"And if you could do so to-morrow?" asked Dionysia. 

"Then, madam, he might give us the key to this mystery, which we are invain trying to solve; or, at least, he might tell us the way to find itall out. But that is not to be thought of. M. De Boiscoran is held inclose confinement, and you may rest assured M. Galpin will see to itthat no communication is held with his prisoner. "

"Who knows?" said the young girl. 

And immediately she drew M. De Chandore aside into one of the littlecard-rooms adjoining the parlor, and asked him, --

"Grandpapa, am I rich?"

Never in her life had she thought of that, and she was to a certainextent utterly ignorant of the value of money. 

"Yes, you are rich, my child, " replied the old gentleman. 

"How much do I have?"

"You have in your own right, as coming to you from your poor father andfrom your mother, twenty-five thousand francs a year, or a capital ofabout five hundred and fifty thousand francs. "

"And is that a good deal?"

"It is so much, that you are one of the richest heiresses of thedistrict; but you have, besides, considerable expectations. "

Dionysia was so preoccupied, that she did not even protest. She went onasking, --

"What do they call here to be well off?"

"That depends, my child. If you will tell me"--

She interrupted him, putting down her foot impatiently, saying, --

"Nothing. Please answer me!"

"Well, in our little town, an income of eight hundred or a thousandfrancs makes anybody very well off. "

"Let us say a thousand. "

"Well, a thousand would make a man very comfortable. "

"And what capital would produce such an income?"

"At five per cent, it would take twenty thousand francs. "

"That is to say, about the income of a year. "

"Exactly. "

"Never mind. I presume that is quite a large sum, and it would be ratherdifficult for you, grandpapa, to get it together by to-morrow morning?"

"Not at all. I have that much in railway coupon-bonds; and they are justas good as current money. "

"Ah! Do you mean to say, that, if I gave anybody twenty thousand francsin such bonds, it would be just the same to him as if I gave him twentythousand francs in bank-notes?"

"Just so. "

Dionysia smiled. She thought she saw light. Then she went on, --

"If that is so, I must beg you, grandpapa, to give me twenty thousandfrancs in coupon-bonds. "

The old gentleman started. 

"You are joking, " he said. "What do you want with so much money? You aresurely joking. "

"Not at all. I have never in my life been more serious, " replied theyoung girl in a tone of voice which could not be mistaken. "I beseechyou, grandpapa, if you love me, give me these twenty thousand francsthis evening, right now. You hesitate? O God! You may kill me if yourefuse. "

No, M. De Chandore was hesitating no longer. 

"Since you will have it so, " he said, "I am going up stairs to get it. "

She clapped her hands with joy. 

"That's it, " she said. "Make haste and dress; for I have to go out, andyou must go with me. "

Then going up to her aunts and the marchioness, she said to them, --

"I hope you will excuse me, if I leave you; but I must go out. "

"At this hour?" cried Aunt Elizabeth. "Where are you going?"

"To my dressmakers, the Misses Mechinet. I want a dress. "

"Great God!" cried Aunt Adelaide, "the child is losing her mind!"

"I assure you I am not, aunt. "

"Then let me go with you. "

"Thank you, no. I shall go alone; that is to say, alone with deargrandpapa. "

And as M. De Chandore came back, his pockets full of bonds, his hat onhis head, and his cane in his hand, she carried him off, saying, --

"Come, quick, dear grandpapa, we are in a great hurry. "

VII. 

Although M. De Chandore was literally worshipping his grandchild on hisknees, and had transferred all his hopes and his affections to her whoalone survived of his large family, he had still had his thoughts whenhe went up stairs to take from his money-box so large a sum of money. Assoon, therefore, as they were outside of the house, he said, --

"Now that we are alone, my dear child, will you tell me what you mean todo with all this money?"

"That is my secret, " she replied. 

"And you have not confidence enough in your old grandfather to tell himwhat it is, darling?"

He stopped a moment; but she drew him on, saying, --

"You shall know it all, and in less than an hour. But, oh! You must notbe angry, grandpapa. I have a plan, which is no doubt very foolish. If Itold you, I am afraid you would stop me; and if you succeeded, and thensomething happened to Jacques, I should not survive the misery. Andthink of it, what you would feel, if you were to think afterwards, 'If Ihad only let her have her way!'"

"Dionysia, you are cruel!"

"On the other hand, if you did not induce me to give up my project, youwould certainly take away all my courage; and I need it all, I tell you, grandpapa, for what I am going to risk. "

"You see, my dear child, and you must pardon me for repeating it oncemore, twenty thousand francs are a big sum of money; and there are manyexcellent and clever people who work hard, and deny themselves everything, a whole life long, without laying up that much. "

"Ah, so much the better!" cried the young girl. "So much the better. Ido hope there will be enough so as to meet with no refusal!"

Grandpapa Chandore began to comprehend. 

"After all, " he said, "you have not told me where we are going. "

"To my dressmakers. "

"To the Misses Mechinet?"

"Yes. "

M. De Chandore was sure now. 

"We shall not find them at home, " he said. "This is Sunday; and they areno doubt at church. "

"We shall find them, grandpapa; for they always take tea at half-pastseven, for their brother's, the clerk's sake. But we must make haste. "

The old gentleman did make haste; but it is a long way from theNew-Market Place to Hill Street; for the sisters Mechinet lived on theSquare, and, if you please, in a house of their own, --a house which wasto be the delight of their days, and which had become the trouble oftheir nights. 

They bought the house the year before the war, upon their brother'sadvice, and going halves with him, paying a sum of forty-seven thousandfrancs, every thing included. It was a capital bargain; for they rentedout the basement and the first story to the first grocer in Sauveterre. The sisters did not think they were imprudent in paying down tenthousand francs in cash, and in binding themselves to pay the rest inthree yearly instalments. The first year all went well; but then camethe war and numerous disasters. The income of the sisters and of thebrother was much reduced, and they had nothing to live upon but his payas clerk; so that they had to use the utmost economy, and even contractsome debts, in order to pay the second instalment. When peace came, their income increased again, and no one doubted in Sauveterre but thatthey would manage to get out of their difficulties, as the brother wasone of the hardest working men, and the sisters were patronized by "themost distinguished" ladies of the whole country. 

"Grandpapa, they are at home, " said Dionysia, when they reached theSquare. 

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure. I see light in their windows. "

M. De Chandore stopped. 

"What am I to do next?" he asked. 

"You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here, walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet. I wouldask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you. Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much aslong as it concerned only a little girl. "

The old gentleman's last doubts began to vanish. 

"You won't succeed, my poor girl, " he said. 

"O God!" she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, "why will youdiscourage me?"

He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of hispockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, intoher pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, shesaid, --

"Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won't be long. "

And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to herdressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing theirsupper, which consisted of a small piece of port and a light salad, withan abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandorethey all started up. 

"You, miss, " cried the elder of the two, --"you!"

Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple "you" meant. Itmeant, with the help of the tone of voice, "What? your betrothed ischarged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence againsthim; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will betried at the assizes, and he will be condemned--and you are here?"

But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered. 

"Yes, " she replied, "it is I. I must have two dresses for next week; andI come to ask you to show me some samples. "

The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother's advice, had madean arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they receivedsamples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever theysold. 

"I will do so with pleasure, " said the older sister. "Just allow me tolight a lamp. It is almost dark. "

While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked herbrother, --

"Are you not going to the Orpheon?"

"Not to-night, " he replied. 

"Are you not expected to be there?"

"No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two platesfor the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court. "

While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted acandle. 

"Good-night!" he said to his sisters. "I won't see you again to-night, "and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in hishand. 

"Where is your brother going?" Dionysia asked eagerly. 

"To his room, madam. His room is just opposite on the other side of thestaircase. "

Dionysia was as red as fire. Was she thus to let her opportunityslip, --an opportunity such as she had never dared hope for? Gathering upall her courage, she said, --

"But, now I think of it, I want to say a few words to your brother, mydear ladies. Wait for me a moment. I shall be back in a moment. " Andshe rushed out, leaving the dressmakers stupefied, gazing after her withopen mouths, and asking themselves if the grand calamity had bereft thepoor lady of reason. 

The clerk was still on the landing, fumbling in his pocket for the keyof his room. 

"I want to speak to you instantly, " said Dionysia. 

Mechinet was so utterly amazed, that he could not utter a word. He madea movement as if he wanted to go back to his sisters; but the young girlsaid, --

"No, in your room. We must not be overheard. Open sir, please. Open, somebody might come. "

The fact is, he was so completely overcome, that it took him half aminute to find the keyhole, and put the key in. At last, when the doorwas opened, he moved aside to let Dionysia pass: but she said, "No, goin!"

He obeyed. She followed him, and, as soon as she was in the room, sheshut the door again, pushing even a bolt which she had noticed. Mechinetthe clerk was famous in Sauveterre for his coolness. Dionysia wastimidity personified, and blushed for the smallest trifle, remainingspeechless for some time. At this moment, however, it was certainly notthe young girl who was embarrassed. 

"Sit down, M. Mechinet, " she said, "and listen to me. "

He put his candlestick on a table, and sat down. 

"You know me, don't you?" asked Dionysia. 

"Certainly I do, madam. "

"You have surely heard that I am to be married to M. De Boiscoran?"

The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat hisforehead furiously with his hand, and said, --

"Ah, what a fool I was! Now I see. "

"Yes, you are right, " replied the girl. "I come to talk to you abut M. De Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband. "

She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained thereface to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he askinghimself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far shemight venture. 

"You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M. De Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of allcrimes!"

"Oh, surely, I do!" replied Mechinet. 

And, carried away by his emotion, he added, --

"But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at allthe examinations, and who have no small experience in criminalmatters, --that I believe M. De Boiscoran innocent. I know M. Galpin doesnot think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, northe town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction. You see, I was therewhen they fell upon M. De Boiscoran, asleep in his bed. Well, the verytone of his voice, as he cried out, 'Oh, my dear Galpin!' told me thatthe man is not guilty. "

"Oh, sir, " stammered Dionysia, "thanks, thanks!"

"There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmedmy conviction. As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. De Boiscorandoes! You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to removethe seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that wereasked. I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought. He said I wasa fool. Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is. Ah! I beg yourpardon, I mean that he is mistaken. The more I see of M. De Boiscoran, the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say toclear up the whole matter. "

Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that shewell-nigh forgot why she had come. 

"Then, " she asked, "you think M. De Boiscoran is not much overcome?"

"I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam, " was the reply. "Buthe is not overcome. After the first astonishment, his presence of mindreturned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all hisingenuity and his cleverness"--

Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers hisconsciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too muchin his cups. He exclaimed, --

"Great God! what am I talking about? For Heaven's sake, madam, do notlet anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell youjust now. "

Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come. She said, --

"If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon mydiscretion. You need not regret having given me by your confidence somelittle comfort in my great sorrow. You need not; for"--

Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort shecould add, --

"For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, muchmore. "

Mechinet had turned painfully pale. He broke in vehemently, --

"Not another word, madam: your hope already is an insult to me. Youought surely to know that by my profession, as well as by my oath, I ambound to be as silent as the very cell in which the prisoners are kept. If I, the clerk, were to betray the secret of a criminal prosecution"--

Dionysia trembled like an aspen-leaf; but her mind remained clear anddecided. She said, --

"You would rather let an innocent man perish. "

"Madam!"

"You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word youcould remove the mistake of which he is the victim? You would say toyourself, 'It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak'? And you wouldsee him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold? No, I cannot believethat! No, that cannot be true!"

"I told you, madam, I believe in M. De Boiscoran's innocence. "

"And you refuse to aid me in establishing his innocence? O God! whatideas men form of their duty! How can I move you? How can I convinceyou? Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they chargewith being an assassin? Must I tell you what horrible anguish we suffer, we, his friends, his relatives?--how his mother weeps, how I weep, I, his betrothed! We know he is innocent; and yet we cannot establish hisinnocence for want of a friend who would aid us, who would pity us!"

In all his life the clerk had not heard such burning words. He was movedto the bottom of his heart. At last he asked, trembling, --

"What do you want me to do, madam?"

"Oh! very little, sir, very little, --just to send M. De Boiscoran tenlines, and to bring us his reply. "

The boldness of the request seemed to stun the clerk. He said, --

"Never!"

"You will not have pity?"

"I should forfeit my honor. "

"And, if you let an innocent one be condemned, what would that be?"

Mechinet was evidently suffering anguish. Amazed, overcome, he didnot know what to say, what to do. At last he thought of one reason forrefusing, and stammered out, --

"And if I were found out? I should lose my place, ruin my sisters, destroy my career for life. "

With trembling hands, Dionysia drew from her pocket the bonds which hergrandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table. Shebegan, --

"There are twenty thousand francs. "

The clerk drew back frightened. He cried, --

"Money! You offer me money!"

"Oh, don't be offended!" began the young girl again, with a voice thatwould have moved a stone. "How could I want to offend you, when I ask ofyou more than my life? There are services which can never be paid. But, if the enemies of M. De Boiscoran should find out that you have aidedus, their rage might turn against you. "

Instinctively the clerk unloosed his cravat. The struggle within him, nodoubt, was terrible. He was stifled. 

"Twenty thousand francs!" he said in a hoarse voice. 

"Is it not enough?" asked the young girl. "Yes, you are right: it isvery little. But I have as much again for you, twice as much. "

With haggard eyes, Mechinet had approached the table, and wasconvulsively handling the pile of papers, while he repeated, --

"Twenty thousand francs! A thousand a year!"

"No, double that much, and moreover, our gratitude, our devotedfriendship, all the influence of the two families of Boiscoran andChandore; in a word, fortune, position, respect. "

But by this time, thanks to a supreme effort of will, the clerk hadrecovered his self-control. 

"No more, madam, say no more!"

And with a determined, though still trembling voice, he went on, --

"Take your money back again, madam. If I were to do what you want me todo, if I were to betray my duty for money, I should be the meanest ofmen. If, on the other hand, I am actuated only by a sincere convictionand an interest in the truth, I may be looked upon as a fool; but Ishall always be worthy of the esteem of honorable men. Take back thatfortune, madam, which has made an honest man waver for a moment in hisconscience. I will do what you ask, but for nothing. "

If grandpapa was getting tired of walking up and down in the Square, thesisters of Mechinet found time pass still more slowly in their workroom. They asked each other, --

"What can Miss Dionysia have to say to brother?"

At the end of ten minutes, their curiosity, stimulated by the mostabsurd suppositions, had become such martyrdom to them, that they madeup their minds to knock at the clerk's door. 

"Ah, leave me alone!" he cried out, angry at being thus interrupted. Butthen he considered a moment, opened hastily, and said quite gently, --

"Go back to your room, my dear sisters, and, if you wish to spare me avery serious embarrassment, never tell anybody in this world that MissChandore has had a conversation with me. "

Trained to obey, the two sisters went back, but not so promptly thatthey should have not seen the bonds which Dionysia had thrown upon thetable, and which were quite familiar in their appearance to them, asthey had once owned some of them themselves. Their burning desire toknow was thus combined with vague terror; and, when they got back totheir room, the younger asked, --

"Did you see?"

"Yes, those bonds, " replied the other. 

"There must have been five or six hundred. "

"Even more, perhaps. "

"That is to say, a very big sum of money. "

"An enormous one. "

"What can that mean, Holy Virgin! And what have we to expect?"

"And brother asking us to keep his secret!"

"He looked as pale as his shirt, and terribly distressed. "

"Miss Dionysia was crying like a Magdalen. "

It was so. Dionysia, as long as she had been uncertain of the result, had felt in her heart that Jacques's safety depended on her courage andher presence of mind. But now, assured of success, she could no longercontrol her excitement; and, overcome by the effort, she had sunk downon a chair and burst out into tears. 

The clerk shut the door, and looked at her for some time; then, havingovercome his own emotions, he said to her, --

"Madame. "

But, as she heard his voice, she jumped up, and taking his hands intohers, she broke out, --

"O sir! How can I thank you! How can I ever make you aware of the depthof my gratitude!"

"Don't speak of that, " he said almost rudely, trying to conceal his deepfeeling. 

"I will say nothing more, " she replied very gently; "but I must tell youthat none of us will ever forget the debt of gratitude which we owe youfrom this day. You say the great service which you are about to renderus is not free from danger. Whatever may happen, you must remember, that, from this moment, you have in us devoted friends. "

The interruption caused by his sisters had had the good effect ofrestoring to Mechinet a good portion of his habitual self-possession. Hesaid, --

"I hope no harm will come of it; and yet I cannot conceal from you, madam, that the service which I am going to try to render you presentsmore difficulties than I thought. "

"Great God!" murmured Dionysia. 

"M. Galpin, " the clerk went on saying, "is, perhaps, not exactly asuperior man; but he understands his profession; he is cunning, andexceedingly suspicious. Only yesterday he told me that he knew theBoiscoran family would try every thing in the world to save M. DeBoiscoran from justice. Hence he is all the time on the watch, and takesall kinds of precautions. If he dared to it, he would have his bed putacross his cell in the prison. "

"That man hates me, M. Mechinet!"

"Oh, no, madam! But he is ambitious: he thinks his success in hisprofession depends upon his success in this case; and he is afraid theaccused might escape or be carried off. "

Mechinet was evidently in great perplexity, and scratched his ear. Thenhe added, --

"How am I to go about to let M. De Boiscoran have your note? If he knewbeforehand, it would be easy. But he is unprepared. And then he is justas suspicious as M. Galpin. He is always afraid lest they prepare him atrap; and he is on the lookout. If I make him a sign, I fear he willnot understand me; and, if I make him a sign, will not M. Galpin see it?That man is lynx-eyed. "

"Are you never alone with M. De Boiscoran?"

"Never for an instant, madam. I only go in with the magistrate, andI come out with him. You will say, perhaps, that in leaving, as I ambehind, I might drop the note cleverly. But, when we leave, the jaileris there, and he has good eyes. I should have to dread, besides, M. DeBoiscoran's own suspicions. If he saw a letter coming to him in thatway, from me, he is quite capable of handing it at once to M. Galpin. "

He paused, and after a moment's meditation he went on, --

"The safest way would probably be to win the confidence of M. Blangin, the keeper of the jail, or of some prisoner, whose duty it is to wait onM. De Boiscoran, and to watch him. "

"Trumence!" exclaimed Dionysia. 

The clerk's face expressed the most startled surprise. He said, --

"What! You know his name?"

"Yes, I do; for Blangin mentioned him to me; and the name struck me theday when M. De Boiscoran's mother and I went to the jail, not knowingwhat was meant by 'close confinement. '"

The clerk was disappointed. 

"Ah!" he said, "now I understand M. Galpin's great trouble. He has, nodoubt, heard of your visit, and imagined that you wanted to rob him ofhis prisoner. "

He murmured some words, which Dionysia could not hear; and then, comingto some decision, apparently, he said, --

"Well, never mind! I'll see what can be done. Write your letter, madam:here are pens and ink. "

The young girl made no reply, but sat down at Mechinet's table; but, atthe moment when she was putting pen to paper she asked, --

"Has M. De Boiscoran any books in his prison?"

"Yes, madam. At his request M. Galpin himself went and selected, in M. Daubigeon's library, some books of travels and some of Cooper's novelsfor him. "

Dionysia uttered a cry of delight. 

"O Jacques!" she said, "how glad I am you counted upon me!" and, withoutnoticing how utterly Mechinet seemed to be surprised, she wrote, --

"We are sure of your innocence, Jacques, and still we are in despair. Your mother is here, with a Paris lawyer, a M. Folgat, who is devotedto your interests. What must we do? Give us your instructions. You canreply without fear, as you have _our_ book. 

"DIONYSIA. "

"Read this, " she said to the clerk, when she had finished. But he didnot avail himself of the permission. He folded the paper, and slipped itinto an envelope, which he sealed. 

"Oh, you are very kind!" said the young girl, touched by his delicacy. 

"Not at all, madam. I only try to do a dishonest thing in the mosthonest way. To-morrow, madam, you shall have your answer. "

"I will call for it. "

Mechinet trembled. 

"Take care not to do so, " he said. "The good people of Sauveterre aretoo cunning not to know that just now you are not thinking much ofdress; and your calls here would look suspicious. Leave it to me to seeto it that you get M. De Boiscoran's answer. "

While Dionysia was writing, the clerk had made a parcel of the bondswhich she had brought. He handed it to her, and said, --

"Take it, madam. If I want money for Blangin, or for Trumence, I willask you for it. And now you must go: you need not go in to my sisters. Iwill explain your visit to them. "

VIII. 

"What can have happened to Dionysia, that she does not come back?"murmured Grandpapa Chandore, as he walked up and down the Square, andlooked, for the twentieth time, at his watch. For some time the fear ofdispleasing his grandchild, and of receiving a scolding, kept him atthe place where she had told him to wait for her; but at last it was toomuch for him, and he said, --

"Upon my word, this is too much! I'll risk it. "

And, crossing the road which separates the Square from the houses, heentered the long, narrow passage in the house of the sisters Mechinet. He was just putting his foot on the first step of the stairs, when hesaw a light above. He distinguished the voice of his granddaughter, andthen her light step. 

"At last!" he thought. 

And swiftly, like a schoolboy who hears his teacher coming, and fearsto be caught in the act, he slipped back into the Square. Dionysia wasthere almost at the same moment, and fell on his neck, saying, --

"Dear grandpapa, I bring you back your bonds, " and then she rained ashower of kisses upon the old gentleman's furrowed cheeks. 

If any thing could astonish M. De Chandore, it was the idea that thereshould exist in this world a man with a heart hard, cruel, and barbarousenough, to resist his Dionysia's prayers and tears, especially ifthey were backed by twenty thousand francs. Nevertheless, he saidmournfully, --

"Ah! I told you, my dear child, you would not succeed. "

"And you were mistaken, dear grandpapa, and you are still mistaken; forI have succeeded!"

"But--you bring back the money?"

"Because I have found an honest man, dearest grandpapa, --a mosthonorable man. Poor fellow, how I must have tempted his honesty! For heis very much embarrassed, I know it from good authority, ever since heand his sisters bought that house. It was more than comfort, it was areal fortune, I offered him. Ah! you ought to have seen how his eyesbrightened up, and how his hands trembled, when he took up the bonds!Well, he refused to take them, after all; and the only reward he asksfor the very good service which he is going to render us"--

M. De Chandore expressed his assent by a gesture, and then said, --

"You are right, darling: that clerk is a good man, and he has won oureternal gratitude. "

"I ought to add, " continued Dionysia, "that I was ever so brave. Ishould never have thought that I could be so bold. I wish you had beenhid in some corner, grandpapa, to see me and hear me. You would not haverecognized your grandchild. I cried a little, it is true, when I hadcarried my point. "

"Oh, dear, dear child!" murmured the old gentleman, deeply moved. 

"You see, grandpapa, I thought of nothing but of Jacques's danger, andof the glory of proving myself worthy of him, who is so brave himself. Ihope he will be satisfied with me. "

"He would be hard to please, indeed, if he were not!" exclaimed M. DeChandore. 

The grandfather and his child were standing all the while under thetrees in the great Square while they were thus talking to each other;and already a number of people had taken the opportunity of passingclose by them, with ears wide open, and all eagerness, to find outwhat was going on: it is a way people have in small towns. Dionysiaremembered the clerk's kindly warnings; and, as soon as she became awareof it, she said to her grandfather, --

"Come, grandpapa. People are listening. I will tell you the rest as weare going home. "

And so, on their way, she told him all the little details of herinterview; and the old gentleman declared, in all earnest, that he didnot know which to admire most, --her presence of mind, or Mechinet'sdisinterestedness. 

"All the more reason, " said the young girl, "why we should not add tothe dangers which the good man is going to run for us. I promised himto tell nobody, and I mean to keep my promise. If you believe me, deargrandpapa, we had better not speak of it to anybody, not even to myaunts. "

"You might just as well declare at once, little scamp, that you want tosave Jacques quite alone, without anybody's help. "

"Ah, if I could do that! Unfortunately, we must take M. Folgat into ourconfidence; for we cannot do without his advice. "

Thus it was done. The poor aunts, and even the marchioness, had to becontent with Dionysia's not very plausible explanation of her visit. And a few hours afterwards M. De Chandore, the young girl, and M. Folgatheld a council in the baron's study. The young lawyer was even moresurprised by Dionysia's idea, and her bold proceedings, then hergrandfather; he would never have imagined that she was capable of such astep, she looked so timid and innocent, like a mere child. He was aboutto compliment her; but she interrupted him eagerly, saying, --

"There is nothing to boast of. I ran no risk. "

"A very substantial risk, madam, I assure you. "

"Pshaw!" exclaimed M. De Chandore. 

"To bribe an official, " continued M. Folgat, "is a very grave offence. The Criminal Code has a certain paragraph, No. 179, which does nottrifle, and punishes the man who bribes, as well as the man who isbribed. "

"Well, so much the better!" cried Dionysia. "If poor M. Mechinet has togo to prison, I'll go with him!"

And, without noticing the dissatisfaction expressed in her grandfather'sfeatures, she added, turning to M. Folgat, --

"After all, sir, you see that your wishes have been fulfilled. Weshall be able to communicate with M. De Boiscoran: he will give us hisinstructions. "

"Perhaps so, madam. "

"How? Perhaps? You said yourself"--

"I told you, madam, it would be useless, perhaps even imprudent, to takeany steps before we know the truth. But will we know it? Do you thinkthat M. De Boiscoran, who has good reasons for being suspicious ofevery thing, will at once tell us all in a letter which must needs passthrough several hands before it can reach us?"

"He will tell us all, sir, without reserve, without fear, and withoutdanger. "

"Oh!"

"I have taken my precautions. You will see. "

"Then we have only to wait. "

Alas, yes! They had to wait, and that was what distressed Dionysia. Shehardly slept that night. The next day was one unbroken torment. At eachringing of the bell, she trembled, and ran to see. 

At last, towards five o'clock, when nothing had come, she said, --

"It is not to be to-day, provided, O God! that poor Mechinet has notbeen caught. "

And, perhaps in order to escape for a time the anguish of her fears, sheagreed to accompany Jacques's mother, who wanted to pay some visits. 

Ah, if she had but known! She had not left the house ten minutes, whenone of those street-boys, who abound at all hours of the day on thegreat Square, appeared, bringing a letter to her address. They took itto M. De Chandore, who, while waiting for dinner, was walking in thegarden with M. Folgat. 

"A letter for Dionysia!" exclaimed the old gentleman, as soon as theservant had disappeared. "Here is the answer we have been waiting for!"

He boldly tore it open. Alas! It was useless. The note within theenvelope ran thus, --

"31:9, 17, 19, 23, 25, 28, 32, 101, 102, 129, 137, 504, 515--37:2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 11, 13, 14, 24, 27, 52, 54, 118, 119, 120, 200, 201--41:7, 9, 17, 21, 22, 44, 45, 46"--

And so on, for two pages. 

"Look at this, and try to make it out, " said M. De Chandore, handing theletter to M. Folgat. 

The young man actually tried it; but, after five minutes' uselessefforts, he said, --

"I understand now why Miss Chandore promised us that we should knowthe truth. M. De Boiscoran and she have formerly corresponded with eachother in cipher. "

Grandpapa Chandore raised his hands to heaven. 

"Just think of these little girls! Here we are utterly helpless withouther, as she alone can translate those hieroglyphics for you. "

If Dionysia had hoped, by accompanying the marchioness on her visits, to escape from the sad presentiments that oppressed her, she was cruellydisappointed. They went to M. Seneschal's house first; but the mayor'swife was by no means calculated to give courage to others in an hour ofperil. She could do nothing but embrace alternately Jacques's mother andDionysia, and, amid a thousand sobs, tell them over and over again, thatshe looked upon one as the most unfortunate of mothers, and upon theother as the most unfortunate of betrothed maidens. 

"Does the woman think Jacques is guilty?" thought Dionysia, and feltalmost angry. 

And that was not all. As they returned home, and passed the house whichhad been provisionally taken for Count Claudieuse and his family, theyheard a little boy calling out, --

"O mamma, come quick! Here are the murderer's mother and hissweetheart. "

Thus the poor girl came home more downcast than before. Immediately, however, her maid, who had evidently been on the lookout for her return, told her that her grandfather and the lawyer from Paris were waiting forher in the baron's study. She hastened there without stopping to takeoff her bonnet; and, as soon as she came in, M. De Chandore handed herJacques's letter, saying, --

"Here is your answer. "

She could not repress a little cry of delight, and rapidly touched theletter with her lips, repeating, --

"Now we are safe, we are safe!"

M. De Chandore smiled at the happiness of his granddaughter. 

"But, Miss Hypocrite, " he said, "it seems you had great secrets tocommunicate to M. De Boiscoran, since you resorted to cipher, like archconspirators. M. Folgat and I tried to read it; but it was all Greek tous. "

Now only the young lady remembered M. Folgat's presence, and, blushingdeeply, she said, --

"Latterly Jacques and I had been discussing the various methods to whichpeople resort who wish to carry on a secret correspondence: this ledhim to teach me one of the ways. Two correspondents choose any book theylike, and each takes a copy of the same edition. The writer looks in hisvolume for the words he wants, and numbers them; his correspondentfinds them by the aid of these numbers. Thus, in Jacques's letters, thenumbers followed by a colon refer to the pages, and the others to theorder in which the words come. "

"Ah, ah!" said Grandpapa Chandore, "I might have looked a long time. "

"It is a very simple method, " replied Dionysia, "very well known, and still quite safe. How could an outsider guess what book thecorrespondents have chosen? Then there are other means to misleadindiscreet people. It may be agreed upon, for instance, that the numbersshall never have their apparent value, or that they shall vary accordingto the day of the month or the week. Thus, to-day is Monday, the secondday of the week. Well, I have to deduct one from each number of a page, and add one to each number of a word. "

"And you will be able to make it all out?" asked M. De Chandore. 

"Certainly, dear grandpapa. Ever since Jacques explained it to me, Ihave tried to learn it as a matter of course. We have chose a book whichI am very fond of, Cooper's 'Spy;' and we amused ourselves by writingendless letters. Oh! it is very amusing, and it takes time, because onedoes not always find the words that are needed, and then they have to bespelled letter by letter. "

"And M. De Boiscoran has a copy of Cooper's novels in his prison?" askedM. Folgat. 

"Yes, sir. M. Mechinet told me so. As soon as Jacques found he was to bekept in close confinement, he asked for some of Cooper's novels, and M. Galpin, who is so cunning, so smart, and so suspicious, went himself andgot them for him. Jacques was counting upon me. "

"Then, dear child, go and read your letter, and solve the riddle, " saidM. De Chandore. 

When she had left, he said to his companion, --

"How she loves him! How she loves this man Jacques! Sir, if any thingshould happen to him, she would die. "

M. Folgat made no reply; and nearly an hour passed, before Dionysia, shut up in her room, had succeeded in finding all the words of whichJacques's letter was composed. But when she had finished, and cameback to her grandfather's study, her youthful face expressed the mostprofound despair. 

"This is horrible!" she said. 

The same idea crossed, like a sharp arrow, the minds of M. De Chandoreand M. Folgat. Had Jacques confessed?

"Look, read yourself!" said Dionysia, handing them the translation. 

Jacques wrote, --

"Thanks for your letter, my darling. A presentiment had warned me, and Ihad asked for a copy of Cooper. 

"I understand but too well how grieved you must be at seeing me keptin prison without my making an effort to establish my innocence. Ikept silence, because I hoped the proof of my innocence would come fromoutside. I see that it would be madness to hope so any longer, and thatI must speak. I shall speak. But what I have to say is so very serious, that I shall keep silence until I shall have had an opportunity ofconsulting with some one in whom I can feel perfect confidence. Prudencealone is not enough now: skill also is required. Until now I feltsecure, relying on my innocence. But the last examination has opened myeyes, and I now see the danger to which I am exposed. 

"I shall suffer terribly until the day when I can see a lawyer. Thankmy mother for having brought one. I hope he will pardon me, if I addressmyself first to another man. I want a man who knows the country and itscustoms. 

"That is why I have chosen M. Magloire; and I beg you will tell himto hold himself ready for the day on which, the examination beingcompleted, I shall be relieved from close confinement. 

"Until then, nothing can be done, nothing, unless you can obtain thatthe case be taken out of M. G-----'s hands, and be given to some oneelse. That man acts infamously. He wants me to be guilty. He wouldhimself commit a crime in order to charge me with it, and there is nokind of trap he does not lay for me. I have the greatest difficulty incontrolling myself every time I see this man enter my cell, who was myfriend, and now is my accuser. 

"Ah, my dear ones! I pay a heavy price for a fault of which I have been, until now, almost unconscious. 

"And you, my only friend, will you ever be able to forgive me theterrible anxiety I cause you?

"I should like to say much more; but the prisoner who has handed me yournote says I must be quick, and it takes so much time to pick out thewords!

"J. "

When the letter had been read, M. Folgat and M. De Chandore sadly turnedtheir heads aside, fearing lest Dionysia should read in their eyes thesecret of their thoughts. But she felt only too well what it meant. 

"You cannot doubt Jacques, grandpapa!" she cried. 

"No, " murmured the old gentleman feebly, "no. "

"And you, M. Folgat--are you so much hurt by Jacques's desire to consultanother lawyer?"

"I should have been the first, madam, to advise him to consult anative. "

Dionysia had to summon all her energy to check her tears. 

"Yes, " she said, "this letter is terrible; but how can it be otherwise?Don't you see that Jacques is in despair, that his mind wanders afterall these fearful shocks?"

Somebody knocked gently at the door. 

"It is I, " said the marchioness. 

Grandpapa Chandore, M. Folgat, and Dionysia looked at each other for amoment; and then the advocate said, --

"The situation is too serious: we must consult the marchioness. " He roseto open the door. Since the three friends had been holding the councilin the baron's study, a servant had come five times in succession toknock at the door, and tell them that the soup was on the table. 

"Very well, " they had replied each time. 

At last, as they did not come down yet, Jacques's mother had come to theconclusion that something extraordinary had occurred. 

"Now, what could this be, that they should keep it from her?" shethought. If it were something good, they would not have concealed itfrom her. She had come up stairs, therefore, with the firm resolution toforce them to let her come in. When M. Folgat opened the door, she saidinstantly, --

"I mean to know all!"

Dionysia replied to her, --

"Whatever you may hear, my dear mother, pray remember, that if you allowa single word to be torn from you, by joy or by sorrow, you cause theruin of an honest man, who has put us all under such obligations as cannever be fully discharged. I have been fortunate enough to establish acorrespondence between Jacques and us. "

"O Dionysia!"

"I have written to him, and I have received his answer. Here it is. "

The marchioness was almost beside herself, and eagerly snatched at theletter. But, as she read on, it was fearful to see how the blood recededfrom her face, how her eyes grew dim, her lips turned pale, and at lasther breath failed to come. The letter slipped from her trembling hands;she sank into a chair, and said, stammering, --

"It is no use to struggle any longer: we are lost!"

There was something grand in Dionysia's gesture and the admirable accentof her voice, as she said, --

"Why don't you say at once, my mother, that Jacques is an incendiary andan assassin?"

Raising her head with an air of dauntless energy, with trembling lips, and fierce glances full of wrath and disdain, she added, --

"And do I really remain the only one to defend him, --him, who, in hisdays of prosperity, had so many friends? Well, so be it!"

Naturally, M. Folgat had been less deeply moved than either themarchioness or M. De Chandore; and hence he was also the first torecover his calmness. 

"We shall be two, madam, at all events, " he said; "for I should neverforgive myself, if I allowed myself to be influenced by that letter. It would be inexcusable, since I know by experience what your hearthas told you instinctively. Imprisonment has horrors which affect thestrongest and stoutest of minds. The days in prison are interminable, and the nights have nameless terrors. The innocent man in his lonelycell feels as if he were becoming guilty, as the man of soundestintellect would begin to doubt himself in a madhouse"--

Dionysia did not let him conclude. She cried, --

"That is exactly what I felt, sir; but I could not express it as clearlyas you do. "

Ashamed at their lack of courage, M. De Chandore and the marchionessmade an effort to recover from the doubts which, for a moment, hadwell-nigh overcome them. 

"But what is to be done?" asked the old lady. 

"Your son tells us, madam, we have only to wait for the end of thepreliminary examination. "

"I beg your pardon, " said M. De Chandore, "we have to try to get thecase handed over to another magistrate. "

M. Folgat shook his head. 

"Unfortunately, that is not to be dreamt of. A magistrate acting in hisofficial capacity cannot be rejected like a simple juryman. "

"However"--

"Article 542 of the Criminal Code is positive on the subject. "

"Ah! What does it say?" asked Dionysia. 

"It says, in substance, madam, that a demand for a change of magistrate, on the score of well-founded suspicion, can only be entertained by acourt of appeals, because the magistrate, within his legitimate sphere, is a court in himself. I do not know if I express myself clearly?"

"Oh, very clearly!" said M. De Chandore. "Only, since Jacques wishesit"--

"To be sure; but M. De Boiscoran does not know"--

"I beg your pardon. He knows that the magistrate is his mortal enemy. "

"Be it so. But how would that help us? Do you think that a demand fora change of venue would prevent M. Galpin from carrying on theproceedings? Not at all. He would go on until the decision comes fromthe Court of Appeals. He could, it is true, issue no final order; butthat is the very thing M. De Boiscoran ought to desire, since such anorder would make an end to his close confinement, and enable him to seean advocate. "

"That is atrocious!" murmured M. De Chandore. 

"It is atrocious, indeed; but such are the laws of France. "

In the meantime Dionysia had been meditating; and now she said to theyoung advocate, --

"I have understood you perfectly, and to-morrow your objections shall beknown to M. De Boiscoran. "

"Above all, " said the lawyer, "explain to him clearly that any suchsteps as he proposes to take will turn to his disadvantage. M. Galpinis our enemy; but we can make no specific charge against him. They wouldalways reply, 'If M. De Boiscoran is innocent, why does he not speak?'"

This is what Grandpapa Chandore would not admit. 

"Still, " he said, "if we could bring influential men to help us?"

"Can you?"

"Certainly. Boiscoran has old friends, who, no doubt, are all-powerfulstill under the present government. He was, in former years, veryintimate with M. De Margeril. "

M. Folgat's expression was very encouraging. 

"Ah!" he said, "if M. De Margeril could give us a lift! But he is noteasily approached. "

"We might send Boiscoran to see him, at least. Since he remainedin Paris for the purpose of assisting us there, now he will have anopportunity. I will write to him to-night. "

Since the name of Margeril had been mentioned, the marchioness hadbecome, if possible, paler than ever. At the old gentleman's last wordsshe rose, and said anxiously, --

"Do not write, sir: it would be useless. I do not wish it. "

Her embarrassment was so evident, that the others were quite surprised. 

"Have Boiscoran and M. De Margeril had any difficulty?" asked M. DeChandore. 

"Yes. "

"But, " cried Dionysia, "it is a matter of life and death for Jacques. "

Alas! The poor woman could not speak of the suspicions which haddarkened the whole life of the Marquis de Boiscoran, nor of thecruel penalty which the wife was now called upon to pay for a slightimprudence. 

"If it is absolutely necessary, " she said with a half-stifled voice, "if that is our very last hope, then I will go and see M. De Margerilmyself. "

M. Folgat was the only one who suspected what painful antecedents theremight be in the life of the marchioness, and how she was harassed bytheir memory now. He interposed, therefore, saying, --

"At all events, my advice is to await the end of the preliminaryinvestigation. I may be mistaken, however, and, before any answer issent to M. Jacques, I desire that the lawyer to whom he alludes shouldbe consulted. "

"That is certainly the wisest plan, " said M. De Chandore. And, ringingfor a servant, he sent him at once to M. Magloire, to ask him to callafter dinner. Jacques de Boiscoran had chosen wisely. M. Magloire waslooked upon in Sauveterre as the most eloquent and most skilful lawyer, not only of the district, but of the whole province. And what is rarerstill, and far more glorious, he had, besides, the reputation of beingunsurpassed in integrity and a high sense of honor. It was well knownthat he would never have consented to plead a doubtful cause; and theytold of him a number of heroic stories, in which he had thrown clientsout of the window, who had been so ill-advised to come to him, money inhand, to ask him to undertake an unclean case. He was naturally nota rich man, and preserved, at fifty-four or five, all the habits of afrugal and thrifty young man. 

After having married quite young, M. Magloire had lost his wife after afew months, and had never recovered from the loss. Although thirty yearsold, the wound had never healed; and regularly, on certain days, he wasseen wending his way to the cemetery, to place flowers on a modest gravethere. Any other man would have been laughed at for such a thing atSauveterre; but with him they dared not do so, for they all respectedhim highly. Young and old knew and reverenced the tall man with thecalm, serene face, the clear, bright eyes, and the eloquent lips, which, in their well-cut, delicate lines, by turns glowed with scorn, withtenderness, or with disdain. 

Like Dr. Seignebos, M. Magloire also was a Republican; and, at the lastImperial elections, the Bonapartists had had the greatest trouble, aidedthough they were by the whole influence of the government, and shrinkingfrom no unfair means, to keep him out of the Chamber. Nor wouldthey have been successful after all, but for the influence of CountClaudieuse, who had prevailed upon a number of electors to abstain fromvoting. 

This was the man, who, towards nine o'clock, presented himself, uponthe invitation of M. De Chandore, at his house, where he was anxiouslyexpected by all the inmates. His greeting was affectionate, but at thesame time so sad, that it touched Dionysia's heart most painfully. Shethought she saw that M. Magloire was not far from believing Jacquesguilty. 

And she was not mistaken; for M. Magloire let them see it clearly, inthe most delicate manner, to be sure, but still so as to leave no doubt. He had spent the day in court, and there had heard the opinions of themembers of the court, which was by no means favorable to the accused. Under such circumstances, it would have evidently been a grave blunderto yield to Jacques's wishes, and to apply for a change of venue from M. Galpin to some other magistrate. 

"The investigation will last a year, " cried Dionysia, "since M. Galpinis determined to obtain from Jacques the confession of a crime which hehas not committed. "

M. Magloire shook his head, and replied, --

"I believe, on the contrary, madam, that the investigation will be verysoon concluded. "

"But if Jacques keeps silent?"

"Neither the silence of an accused, nor any other caprice or obstinacyof his, can interfere with the regular process. Called upon to producehis justification, if he refuses to do so, the law proceeds withouthim. "

"Still, sir, if an accused person has reasons"--

"There are no reasons which can force a man to let himself be accusedunjustly. But even that case has been foreseen. The accused is atliberty not to answer a question which may inculpate him. _Nemo teneturprodere se ipsum_. But you must admit that such a refusal to answerjustifies a judge in believing that the charges are true which theaccused does not refute. "

The great calmness of the distinguished lawyer of Sauveterre terrifiedhis listeners more and more, except M. Folgat. When they heard him useall those technical terms, they felt chilled through and through likethe friends of a wounded man who hear the grating noise of the surgeon'sknife. 

"My son's situation appears to you very serious, sir?" asked themarchioness in a feeble voice. 

"I said it was dangerous, madam. "

"You think, as M. Folgat does, that every day adds to the danger towhich he is exposed?"

"I am but too sure of that. And if M. De Boiscoran is really innocent"--

"Ah, M. Magloire!" broke in Dionysia, "how can you, who are a friend ofJacques's, say so?"

M. Magloire looked at the young girl with an air of deep and sincerepity, and then said, --

"It is precisely because I am his friend, madam, that I am bound totell you the truth. Yes, I know and I appreciate all the noble qualitieswhich distinguish M. De Boiscoran. I have loved him, and I love himstill. But this is a matter which we have to look at with the mind, and not with the heart. Jacques is a man; and he will be judged by men. There is clear, public, and absolute evidence of his guilt on hand. Whatevidence has he to offer of his innocence? Moral evidence only. "

"O God!" murmured Dionysia. 

"I think, therefore, with my honorable brother"--

And M. Magloire bowed to M. Folgat. 

"I think, that, if M. De Boiscoran is innocent, he has adopted anunfortunate system. Ah! if luckily there should be an _alibi_. He oughtto make haste, great haste, to establish it. He ought not to allowmatters to go on till he is sent up into court. Once there, an accusedis three-fourths condemned already. "

For once it looked as if the crimson in M. De Chandore's cheeks wasgrowing pale. 

"And yet, " he exclaimed, "Jacques will not change his system: any onewho knows his mulish obstinacy might be quite sure of that. "

"And unfortunately he has made up his mind, " said Dionysia, "as M. Magloire, who knows him so well, will see from this letter of his. "

Until now nothing had been said to let the Sauveterre lawyer suspectthat communications had been opened with the prisoner. Now that theletter had been alluded to, it became necessary to take him intoconfidence. At first he was astonished, then he looked displeased; and, when he had been told every thing, he said, --

"This is great imprudence! This is too daring!"

Then looking at M. Folgat, he added, --

"Our profession has certain rules which cannot be broken without causingtrouble. To bribe a clerk, to profit by his weakness and his sympathy"--

The Paris lawyer had blushed imperceptibly. He said, --

"I should never have advised such imprudence; but, when it was oncecommitted, I did not feel bound to insist upon its being abandoned: andeven if I should be blamed for it, or more, I mean to profit by it. "

M. Magloire did not reply; but, after having read Jacques's letter, hesaid, --

"I am at M. De Boiscoran's disposal; and I shall go to him as soon as heis no longer in close confinement. I think, as Miss Dionysia does, thathe will insist upon saying nothing. However, as we have the means ofreaching him by letter, --well, here I am myself ready to profit by theimprudence that has been committed!--beseech him, in the name of his owninterest, in the name of all that is dear to him, to speak, to explain, to prove his innocence. "

Thereupon M. Magloire bowed, and withdrew suddenly, leaving his audiencein consternation, so very evident was it, that he left so suddenlyin order to conceal the painful impression which Jacques's letter hadproduced upon him. 

"Certainly, " said M. De Chandore, "we will write to him; but we mightjust as well whistle. He will wait for the end of the investigation. "

"Who knows?" murmured Dionysia. 

And, after a moment's reflection, she added, --

"We can try, however. "

And, without vouchsafing any further explanation, she left the room, andhastened to her chamber to write the following letter:--

"I must speak to you. There is a little gate in our garden which opensupon Charity Lane, I will wait for you there. However late it may bewhen you get these lines, come!

"DIONYSIA. "

Then having put the note into an envelope, she called the old nurse, who had brought her up, and, with all the recommendations which extremeprudence could suggest, she said to her, --

"You must see to it that M. Mechinet the clerk gets this note to-night. Go! make haste!"

IX. 

During the last twenty-four hours, Mechinet had changed so much, thathis sisters recognized him no longer. Immediately after Dionysia'sdeparture, they had come to him, hoping to hear at last what was meantby that mysterious interview; but at the first word he had cried outwith a tone of voice which frightened his sisters to death, --

"That is none of your business! That is nobody's business!" and he hadremained alone, quite overcome by his adventure, and dreaming of themeans to make good his promise without ruining himself. That was no easymatter. 

When the decisive moment arrived, he discovered that he would never beable to get the note into M. De Boiscoran's hands, without being caughtby that lynx-eyed M. Galpin: as the letter was burning in his pocket, hesaw himself compelled, after long hesitation, to appeal for help to theman who waited on Jacques, --to Trumence, in fine. The latter was, afterall, a good enough fellow; his only besetting sin being unconquerablelaziness, and his only crime in the eyes of the law perpetual vagrancy. He was attached to Mechinet, who upon former occasions, when he was injail, had given him some tobacco, or a little money to buy a glass ofwine. He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to givea letter to M. De Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer. He acquittedhimself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission. But, because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinetfelt quite at peace. Besides being tormented by the thought that hehad betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of anaccomplice. How easily might he not be betrayed! A slight indiscretion, an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it. What would becomeof him then?

He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one. He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitiousdreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage. And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he haddone, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state ofmind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia's letter. 

"What, again?" he exclaimed. 

And when he had read the few lines, he replied, --

"Tell your mistress I will be there!" But in his heart he thought someuntoward event must have happened. 

The little garden-gate was half-open: he had only to push it to enter. There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance fromhim, under the trees, he recognized Dionysia, and went towards her. 

"Pardon me, sir, " she said, "for having dared to send for you. "

Mechinet's anxiety vanished instantly. He thought no longer of hisstrange position. His vanity was flattered by the confidence which thisyoung lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the mostbeautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country. 

"You were quite right to send for me, madam, " he replied, "if I can beof any service to you. "

In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, hereplied, --

"I am entirely of M. Folgat's opinion, and think that grief andisolation begin to have their effect upon M. De Boiscoran's mind. "

"Oh, that thought is maddening!" murmured the poor girl. 

"I think, as M. Magloire does, that M. De Boiscoran, by his silence, only makes his situation much worse. I have a proof of that. M. Galpin, who, at first, was all doubt and anxiety, is now quite reassured. Theattorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments hisenergy. "

"And then. "

"Then we must induce M. De Boiscoran to speak. I know very well that heis firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, sinceyou can write to him"--

"A letter would be useless. "

"But"--

"Useless, I tell you. But I know a means. "

"You must use it promptly, madam: don't lose a moment. There is notime. "

The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how verypale Dionysia was. 

"Well, then, I must see M. De Boiscoran: I must speak to him. "

She expected the clerk to start, to cry out, to protest. Far from it: hesaid in the quietest tone, --

"To be sure; but how?"

"Blangin the keeper, and his wife, keep their places only becausethey give them a support. Why might I not offer them, in return foran interview with M. De Boiscoran, the means to go and live in thecountry?"

"Why not?" said the clerk. 

And in a lower voice, replying to the voice of his conscience, he wenton, --

"The jail in Sauveterre is not at all like the police-stations andprisons of larger towns. The prisoners are few in number; they arehardly guarded. When the doors are shut, Blangin is master within. "

"I will go and see him to-morrow, " declared Dionysia. 

There are certain slopes on which you must glide down. Having onceyielded to Dionysia's suggestions, Mechinet had, unconsciously, boundhimself to her forever. 

"No: do not go there, madam, " he said. "You could not make Blanginbelieve that he runs no danger; nor could you sufficiently arouse hiscupidity. I will speak to him myself. "

"O sir!" exclaimed Dionysia, "how can I ever?"--

"How much may I offer him?" asked the clerk. 

"Whatever you think proper--any thing. "

"Then, madam, I will bring you an answer to-morrow, here, and at thesame hour. "

And he went away, leaving Dionysia so buoyed up by hope, that all theevening, and the next day, the two aunts and the marchioness, neither ofwhom was in the secret, asked each other incessantly, --

"What is the matter with the child?"

She was thinking, that, if the answer was favorable, ere twenty-fourhours had gone by, she would see Jacques; and she kept saying toherself, --

"If only Mechinet is punctual!"

He was so. At ten o'clock precisely, he pushed open the little gate, just as the night before, and said at once, --

"It is all right!"

Dionysia was so terribly excited, that she had to lean against a tree. 

"Blangin agrees, " the clerk went on. "I promised him sixteen thousandfrancs. Perhaps that is rather much?"

"It is very little. "

"He insists upon having them in gold. "

"He shall have it. "

"Finally, he makes certain conditions with regard to the interview, which will appear rather hard to you. "

The young girl had quite recovered by this time. 

"What are they?"

"Blangin is taking all possible precautions against detection, althoughhe is quite prepared for the worst. He has arranged it this way:To-morrow evening, at six o'clock, you will pass by the jail. The doorwill stand open, and Blangin's wife, whom you know very well, as she hasformerly been in your service, will be standing in the door. If she doesnot speak to you, you keep on: something has happened. If she does speakto you, go up to her, you, quite alone, and she will show you into asmall room which adjoins her own. There you will stay till Blangin, perhaps at a late hour, thinks he can safely take you to M. DeBoiscoran's cell. When the interview is over, you come back into thelittle room, where a bed will be ready for you, and you spend the nightthere; for this is the hardest part of it: you cannot leave the prisontill next day. "

This was certainly terrible; still, after a moment's reflection, Dionysia said, --

"Never mind! I accept. Tell Blangin, M. Mechinet, that it is all right. "

That Dionysia should accept all the conditions of Blangin the jailerwas perfectly natural; but to obtain M. De Chandore's consent was a muchmore difficult task. The poor girl understood this so well, that, forthe first time in her life, she felt embarrassed in her grandfather'spresence. She hesitated, she prepared her little speech, and sheselected carefully her words. But in spite of all her skill, in spite ofall the art with which she managed to present her strange request, M. DeChandore had no sooner understood her project than he exclaimed, --

"Never, never, never!"

Perhaps in his whole life the old gentleman had never expressed himselfin so positive a manner. His brow had never looked so dark. Usually, when his granddaughter had a petition, his lips might say, "No;" but hiseyes always said, "Yes. "

"Impossible!" he repeated, and in a tone of voice which seemed to admitof no reply. 

Surely, in all these painful events, he had not spared himself, and hehad so far done for Dionysia all that she could possibly expect of him. Her will had been his will. As she had prompted, he had said, "Yes, " or"No. " What more could he have said or done?

Without telling him what she was going to do with it, Dionysia had askedhim for twenty thousand francs, and he had given them to her, howeverbig the sum might be everywhere, however immense in a small town likeSauveterre. He was quite ready to give her as much again, or twice asmuch, without asking any more questions. 

But for Dionysia to leave her home one evening at six o'clock, and notto return to it till the next morning--

"That I cannot permit, " he repeated. 

But for Dionysia to spend a night in the Sauveterre jail, in order tohave an interview with her betrothed, who was accused of incendiarismand murder; to remain there all night, alone, absolutely at the mercy ofthe jailer, a hard, coarse, covetous man--

"That I will never permit, " exclaimed the old gentleman once more. 

Dionysia remained calm, and let the storm pass. When her grandfatherbecame silent, she said, --

"But if I must?"

M. De Chandore shrugged his shoulders. She repeated in a louder tone, --

"If I must, in order to decide Jacques to abandon this system that willruin him, to induce him to speak before the investigation is completed?"

"That is not your business, my child, " said the old gentleman. 

"Oh!"

"That is the business of his mother, the Marchioness of Boiscoran. Whatever Blangin agrees to venture for your sake, he will do as wellfor her sake. Let the marchioness go and spend the night at the jail. Iagree to that. Let her see her son. That is her duty. "

"But surely she will never shake Jacques's resolution. "

"And you think you have more influence over him than his mother?"

"It is not the same thing, dear papa. "

"Never mind!"

This "never mind" of Grandpapa Chandore was as positive as his"impossible;" but he had begun to discuss the question, and to discussmeans to listen to arguments on the other side. 

"Do not insist, my dear child, " he said again. "My mind is made up; andI assure you"--

"Don't say so, papa, " said the young girl. 

And her attitude was so determined, and her voice so firm, that the oldgentleman was quite overwhelmed for a moment. 

"But, if I am not willing, " he said. 

"You will consent, dear papa, you will certainly not force your littlegranddaughter, who loves you so dearly, to the painful necessity ofdisobeying you for the first time in her life. "

"Because, for the first time in her life I am not doing what mygranddaughter wants me to do?"

"Dear papa, let me tell you. "

"Rather listen to me, poor child, and let me show you to what dangers, to what misfortunes, you expose yourself. To go and spend a night atthis prison would be risking, understand me well, your honor, --thattender, delicate honor which is tarnished by a breath, which involvesthe happiness and the peace of your whole life. "

"But Jacques's honor and life are at stake. "

"Poor imprudent girl! How do you know but he would be the very first toblame you cruelly for such a step?"

"He?"

"Men are made so: the most perfect devotion irritates them at times. "

"Be it so. I would rather endure Jacques's unjust reproaches than theidea of not having done my duty. "

M. De Chandore began to despair. 

"And if I were to beg you, Dionysia, instead of commanding. If yourold grandfather were to beseech you on his knees to abandon your fatalproject. "

"You would cause me fearful pain, dear papa: but it would be all invain; for I must resist your prayers, as I must resist your orders. "

"Inexorable!" cried the old gentleman. "She is immovable!" And suddenlychanging his tone, he cried, --

"But, after all, I am master here. "

"Dear papa, pray!"

"And since nothing can move you, I will speak to Mechinet, I will letBlangin know my will. "

Dionysia, turning as pale as death, but with burning eyes, drew back astep, and said, --

"If you do that, grandpapa, if you destroy my last hope"--

"Well?"

"I swear to you by the sacred memory of my mother, I will be in aconvent to-morrow, and you will never see me again in your life, noteven if I should die, which would certainly soon"--

M. De Chandore, raising his hands to heaven, and with an accent ofgenuine despair, exclaimed, --

"Ah, my God! Are these our children? And is this what is in store forus old people? We have spent a lifetime in watching over them; we havesubmissively gratified all their fancies; they have been our greatestanxiety, and our sweetest hope; we have given them our life day by day, and we would not hesitate to give them our life's blood drop by drop;they are every thing to us, and we imagine they love us--poor fools thatwe are! One fine day, a man goes by, a careless, thoughtless man, witha bright eye and a ready tongue, and it is all over. Our child is nolonger our own; our child no longer knows us. Go, old man, and die inyour corner. "

Overwhelmed by his grief, the old man staggered and sank into a chair, as an old oak, cut by the woodman's axe, trembles and falls. 

"Ah, this is fearful!" murmured Dionysia. "What you say, grandpapa, istoo fearful. How can you doubt me?"

She had knelt down. She was weeping; and her hot tears fell upon the oldgentleman's hands. He started up as he felt them on his icy-cold hand;and, making one more effort, he said, --

"Poor, poor child! And suppose Jacques is guilty, and, when he sees you, confesses his crime, what then?"

Dionysia shook her head. 

"That is impossible, " she said; "and still, even if it were so, I oughtto be punished as much as he is; for I know, if he had asked me, Ishould have acted in concert with him. "

"She is mad!" exclaimed M. De Chandore, falling back into his chair. "She is mad!"

But he was overcome; and the next day, at five in the afternoon, hisheart torn by unspeakable grief, he went down the steep street withhis daughter on his arm. Dionysia had chosen her simplest and plainestdress; and the little bag she carried on her arm contained not sixteenbut twenty thousand francs. As a matter of course, it had been necessaryto take the marchioness into their confidence; but neither she, nor theMisses Lavarande, nor M. Folgat, had raised an objection. Down to theprison, grandfather and grandchild had not exchanged a word; but, whenthey reached it, Dionysia said, --

"I see Mrs. Blangin at the door: let us be careful. "

They came nearer. Mrs. Blangin saluted them. 

"Come, it is time, " said the young girl. "Till to-morrow, dear papa! Gohome quickly, and be not troubled about me. "

Then joining the keeper's wife, she disappeared inside the prison. 

X. 

The prison of Sauveterre is in the castle at the upper end of town, in apoor and almost deserted suburb. This castle, once upon a time of greatimportance, had been dismantled at the time of the siege of Rochelle;and all that remains are a few badly-repaired ruins, ramparts withfosses that have been filled up, a gate surmounted by a small belfry, achapel converted into a magazine, and finally two huge towers connectedby an immense building, the lower rooms in which are vaulted. 

Nothing can be more mournful than these ruins, enclosed within anivy-covered wall; and nothing would indicate the use that is madeof them, except the sentinel which stands day and night at the gate. Ancient elm-trees overshadow the vast courts; and on the old walls, aswell as in every crevice, there grow and bloom enough flowers to rejoicea hundred prisoners. But this romantic prison is without prisoners. 

"It is a cage without birds, " says the jailer often in his mostmelancholy voice. 

He takes advantage of this to raise his vegetables all along theslopes; and the exposure is so excellent, that he is always the first inSauveterre who had young peas. He has also taken advantage of this--withleave granted by the authorities--to fit up very comfortable lodgingsfor himself in one of the towers. He has two rooms below, and a chamberup stairs, which you reach by a narrow staircase in the thickness of thewall. It was to this chamber that the keeper's wife took Dionysia withall the promptness of fear. The poor girl was out of breath. Her heartwas beating violently; and, as soon as she was in the room, she sankinto a chair. 

"Great God!" cried the woman. "You are not sick, my dear young lady?Wait, I'll run for some vinegar. "

"Never mind, " replied Dionysia in a feeble voice. "Stay here, my dearColette: don't go away!"

For Colette was her name, though she was as dark as gingerbread, nearlyforty-five years old, and boasted of a decided mustache on her upperlip. 

"Poor young lady!" she said. "You feel badly at being here. "

"Yes, " replied Dionysia. "But where is your husband?"

"Down stairs, on the lookout, madam. He will come up directly. " Verysoon afterwards, a heavy step was heard on the stairs; and Blangin camein, looking pale and anxious, like a man who feels that he is running agreat risk. 

"Neither seen nor known, " he cried. "No one is aware of your presencehere. I was only afraid of that dog of a sentinel; and, just as you cameby, I had managed to get him round the corner, offering him a drop ofsomething to drink. I begin to hope I shall not lose my place. "

Dionysia accepted these words as a summons to speak out. 

"Ah!" she said, "don't mind your place: don't you know I have promisedyou a better one?"

And, with a gayety which was very far from being real, she opened herlittle bag, and put upon the table the rolls which it contained. 

"Ah, that is gold!" said Blangin with eager eyes. 

"Yes. Each one of these rolls contains a thousand francs; and here aresixteen. "

An irresistible temptation seized the jailer. 

"May I see?" he asked. 

"Certainly!" replied the young girl. "Look for yourself and count. "

She was mistaken. Blangin did not think of counting, not he. What hewanted was only to gratify his eye by the sight of the gold, to hear itssound, to handle it. 

With feverish eagerness he tore open the wrappings, and let the piecesfall in cascades upon the table; and, as the heap increased, his lipsturned white, and perspiration broke out on his temples. 

"And all that is for me?" he said with a stupid laugh. 

"Yes, it is yours, " replied Dionysia. 

"I did not know how sixteen thousand francs would look. How beautifulgold is! Just look, wife. "

But Colette turned her head away. She was quite as covetous as herhusband, and perhaps even more excited; but she was a woman, and sheknew how to dissemble. 

"Ah, my dear young lady!" she said, "never would my old man and myselfhave asked you for money, if we had only ourselves to think of. But wehave children. "

"Your duty is to think of your children, " replied Dionysia. 

"I know sixteen thousand francs is a big sum. Perhaps you will be sorryto give us so much money. "

"I am not sorry at all: I would even add to it willingly. " And sheshowed them one of the other four rolls in her bag. 

"Then, to be sure, what do I care for my place!" cried Blangin. And, intoxicated by the sight and the touch of the gold, he added, --

"You are at home here, madam; and the jail and the jailer are at yourdisposal. What do you desire? Just speak. I have nine prisoners, notcounting M. De Boiscoran and Trumence. Do you want me to set them allfree?"

"Blangin!" said his wife reprovingly. 

"What? Am I not free to let the prisoners go?"

"Before you play the master, wait, at least, till you have rendered ouryoung lady the service which she expects from you. "

"Certainly. "

"Then go and conceal this money, " said the prudent woman; "or it mightbetray us. "

And, drawing from her cupboard a woollen stocking, she handed it toher husband, who slipped the sixteen thousand francs into it, retainingabout a dozen gold-pieces, which he kept in his pocket so as always tohave in his hands some tangible evidence of his new fortune. When thiswas done, and the stocking, full to overflowing, had been put back inthe cupboard under a pile of linen, she ordered her husband, --

"Now, you go down. Somebody might be coming; and, if you were not thereto open when they knock, that might look suspicious. "

Like a well-trained husband, Blangin obeyed without saying a word; andthen his wife bethought herself how to entertain Dionysia. She hoped, she said, her dear young lady would do her the honor to take something. That would strengthen her, and, besides, help her to pass the time;for it was only seven o'clock, and Blangin could not take her to M. DeBoiscoran's cell before ten, without great danger. 

"But I have dined, " Dionysia objected. "I do not want any thing. "

The woman insisted only the more. She remembered (God be thanked!) herdear young lady's taste; and she had made her an admirable broth, andsome beautiful dessert. And, while thus talking, she set the table, having made up her mind that Dionysia must eat at all hazards; at least, so says the tradition of the place. 

The eager zeal of the woman had, at least, this advantage, --that itprevented Dionysia from giving way to her painful thoughts. 

Night had come. It was nine o'clock; then it struck ten. At last, thewatch came round to relieve the sentinels. A quarter of an hour afterthat, Blangin reappeared, holding a lantern and an enormous bunch ofkeys in his hands. 

"I have seen Trumence to bed, " he said. "You can come now, madam. "

Dionysia was all ready. 

"Let us go, " she said simply. 

Then she followed the jailer along interminable passages, through avast vaulted hall, in which their steps resounded as in a church, thenthrough a long gallery. At last, pointing at a massive door, through thecracks of which the light was piercing, he said, --

"Here we are. "

But Dionysia seized his arm, and said in an almost inaudible voice, --

"Wait a moment. "

She was almost overcome by so many successive emotions. She felt herlegs give way under her, and her eyes become dim. In her heart shepreserved all her usual energy; but the flesh escaped from her will andfailed her at the last moment. 

"Are you sick?" asked the jailer. "What is the matter?"

She prayed to God for courage and strength: when her prayer wasfinished, she said, --

"Now, let us go in. "

And, making a great noise with the keys and the bolts, Blangin openedthe door to Jacques de Boiscoran's cell. 

Jacques counted no longer the days, but the hours. He had beenimprisoned on Friday morning, June 23, and this was Wednesday night, June 28, He had been a hundred and thirty-two hours, according to thegraphic description of a great writer, "living, but struck from the rollof the living, and buried alive. "

Each one of these hundred and thirty-two hours had weighed upon himlike a month. Seeing him pale and haggard, with his hair and beardin disorder, and his eyes shining brightly with fever, likehalf-extinguished coals, one would hardly have recognized in him thehappy lord of Boiscoran, free from care and trouble, upon whom fortunehad ever smiled, --that haughty sceptical young man, who from the heightof the past defied the future. 

The fact is, that society, obliged to defend itself against criminals, has invented no more fearful suffering than what is called "closeconfinement. " There is nothing that will sooner demoralize a man, crushhis will, and utterly conquer the most powerful energy. There is nostruggle more distressing than the struggle between an innocent manaccused of some crime, and the magistrate, --a helpless being in thehands of a man armed with unlimited power. 

If great sorrow was not sacred, to a certain degree, Dionysia might haveheard all about Jacques. Nothing would have been easier. She would havebeen told by Blangin, who was watching M. De Boiscoran like a spy, andby his wife, who prepared his meals, through what anguish he had passedsince his imprisonment. 

Stunned at first, he had soon recovered; and on Friday and Saturday hehad been quiet and confident, talkative, and almost cheerful. But Sundayhad been a fatal day. Two gendarmes had carried him to Boiscoran to takeoff the seals; and on his way out he had been overwhelmed with insultsand curses by the people who had recognized him. He had come backterribly distressed. 

On Tuesday, he had received Dionysia's letter, and answered it. Thishad excited him fearfully, and, during a part of the night, Trumencehad seen him walk up and down in his cell with all the gestures andincoherent imprecations of a madman. 

He had hoped for a letter on Wednesday. When none came, he had sunk intoa kind of stupor, during which M. Galpin had been unable to draw a wordfrom him. He had taken nothing all day long but a little broth and a cupof coffee. When the magistrate left him, he had sat down, leaning hishead on his elbows, facing the window; and there he had remained, nevermoving, and so deeply absorbed in his reveries, that he had taken nonotice when they brought him light. He was still in this state, when, alittle after ten o'clock, he heard the grating of the bolts of his cell. He had become so well acquainted with the prison that he knew all itsregulations. He knew at what hours his meals were brought, at whattime Trumence came to clean up his room, and when he might expectthe magistrate. After night, he knew he was his own master till nextmorning. So late a visit therefore, must needs bring him some unexpectednews, his liberty, perhaps, --that visitor for whom all prisoners look soanxiously. 

He started up. As soon as he distinguished in the darkness the jailer'srugged face, he asked eagerly, --

"Who wants me?"

Blangin bowed. He was a polite jailer. Then he replied, --

"Sir, I bring you a visitor. "

And, moving aside, he made way for Dionysia, or, rather, he pushed herinto the room; for she seemed to have lost all power to move. 

"A visitor?" repeated M. De Boiscoran. 

But the jailer had raised his lantern, and the poor man could recognizehis betrothed. 

"You, " he cried, "you here!"

And he drew back, afraid of being deceived by a dream, or one of thosefearful hallucinations which announce the coming of insanity, and takehold of the brains of sick people in times of over-excitement. 

"Dionysia!" he barely whispered, "Dionysia!"

If not her own life (for she cared nothing for that), but Jacques'slife, had at that moment depended on a single word, Dionysia could nothave uttered it. Her throat was parched, and her lips refused to move. The jailer took it upon himself to answer, --

"Yes, " he said, "Miss Chandore. "

"At this hour, in my prison!"

"She had something important to communicate to you. She came to me"--

"O Dionysia!" stammered Jacques, "what a precious friend"--

"And I agreed, " said Blangin in a paternal tone of voice, "to bring herin secretly. It is a great sin I commit; and if it ever should becomeknown--But one may be ever so much a jailer, one has a heart, after all. I tell you so merely because the young lady might not think of it. Ifthe secret is not kept carefully, I should lose my place, and I am apoor man, with wife and children. "

"You are the best of men!" exclaimed M. De Boiscoran, far fromsuspecting the price that had been paid for Blangin's sympathy, "and, onthe day on which I regain my liberty, I will prove to you that we whomyou have obliged are not ungrateful. "

"Quite at your service, " replied the jailer modestly. 

Gradually, however, Dionysia had recovered her self-possession. She saidgently to Blangin, --

"Leave us now, my good friend. "

As soon as he had disappeared, and without allowing M. De Boiscoran tosay a word, she said, speaking very low, --

"Jacques, grandpapa has told me, that by coming thus to you at night, alone, and in secret, I run the risk of losing your affection, and ofdiminishing your respect. "

"Ah, you did not think so!"

"Grandpapa has more experience than I have, Jacques. Still I did nothesitate. Here I am; and I should have run much greater risks; for yourhonor is at stake, and your honor is my honor, as your life is my life. Your future is at stake, _our_ future, our happiness, all our hopes herebelow. "

Inexpressible joy had illumined the prisoner's face. 

"O God!" he cried, "one such moment pays for years of torture. "

But Dionysia had sworn to herself, as she came, that nothing should turnher aside from her purpose. So she went on, --

"By the sacred memory of my mother, I assure you, Jacques, that I havenever for a moment doubted your innocence. "

The unhappy man looked distressed. 

"You, " he said; "but the others? But M. De Chandore?"

"Do you think I would be here, if he thought you were guilty? My auntsand your mother are as sure of it as I am. "

"And my father? You said nothing about him in your letter. "

"Your father remained in Paris in case some influence in high quartersshould have to be appealed to. "

Jacque shook his head, and said, --

"I am in prison at Sauveterre, accused of a fearful crime, and my fatherremains in Paris! It must be true that he never really loved me. And yetI have always been a good son to him down to this terrible catastrophe. He has never had to complain of me. No, my father does not love me. "

Dionysia could not allow him to go off in this way. 

"Listen to me, Jacques, " she said: "let me tell you why I ran the riskof taking this serious step, that may cost me so dear. I come to youin the name of all your friends, in the name of M. Folgat, the greatadvocate whom your mother has brought down from Paris and in the name ofM. Magloire, in whom you put so much confidence. They all agree you haveadopted an abominable system. By refusing obstinately to speak, you rushvoluntarily into the gravest danger. Listen well to what I tell you. If you wait till the examination is over, you are lost. If you are oncehanded over to the court, it is too late for you to speak. You willonly, innocent as you are, make one more on the list of judicialmurders. "

Jacques de Boiscoran had listened to Dionysia in silence, his head bowedto the ground, as if to conceal its pallor from her. As soon as shestopped, all out of breath, he murmured, --

"Alas! Every thing you tell me I have told myself more than once. "

"And you did not speak?"

"I did not. "

"Ah, Jacques, you are not aware of the danger you run! You do notknow"--

"I know, " he said, interrupting her in a harsh, hoarse voice, --"I knowthat the scaffold, or the galleys, are at the end. "

Dionysia was petrified with horror. 

Poor girl! She had imagined that she would only have to show herselfto triumph over Jacques's obstinacy, and that, as soon as she had heardwhat he had to say, she would feel reassured. And instead of that--

"What a misfortune!" she cried. "You have taken up these fearfulnotions, and you will not abandon them!"

"I must keep silent. "

"You cannot. You have not considered!--"

"Not considered, " he repeated. 

And in a lower tone he added, --

"And what do you think I have been doing these hundred and thirty mortalhours since I have been alone in this prison, --alone to confront aterrible accusation, and a still more terrible emergency?"

"That is the difficulty, Jacques: you are the victim of your ownimagination. And who could help it in your place? M. Folgat said soonly yesterday. There is no man living, who, after four days' closeconfinement, can keep his mind cool. Grief and solitude are badcounsellors. Jacques, come to yourself; listen to your dearest friendswho speak to you through me. Jacques, your Dionysia beseeches you. Speak!"

"I cannot. "

"Why not?"

She waited for some seconds; and, as he did not reply, she said, notwithout a slight accent of bitterness in her voice, --

"Is it not the first duty of an innocent man to establish hisinnocence?"

The prisoner, with a movement of despair, clasped his hands over hisbrow. Then bending over Dionysia, so that she felt his breath in herhair, he said, --

"And when he cannot, when he cannot, establish his innocence?"

She drew back, pale unto death, tottering so that she had to leanagainst the wall, and cast upon Jacques de Boiscoran glances in whichthe whole horror of her soul was clearly expressed. 

"What do you say?" she stammered. "O God!"

He laughed, the wretched man! with that laugh which is the lastutterance of despair. And then he replied, --

"I say that there are circumstances which upset our reason; unheard-ofcircumstances, which could make one doubt of one's self. I say thatevery thing accuses me, that every thing overwhelms me, that every thingturns against me. I say, that if I were in M. Galpin's place, and if hewere in mine, I should act just as he does. "

"That is insanity!" cried Dionysia. 

But Jacques de Boiscoran did not hear her. All the bitterness of thelast days rose within him: he turned red, and became excited. At last, with gasping vice, he broke forth, --

"Establish my innocence! Ah! that is easily said. But how? No, I am notguilty: but a crime has been committed; and for this crime justice willhave a culprit. If it is not I who fired at Count Claudieuse, and setValpinson on fire, who is it? 'Where were you, ' they ask me, 'at thetime of the murder?' Where was I? Can I tell it? To clear myself is toaccuse others. And if I should be mistaken? Or if, not being mistaken, I should be unable to prove the truthfulness of my accusation? Themurderer and the incendiary, of course, took all possible precautions toescape detection, and to let the punishment fall upon me. I was warnedbeforehand. Ah, if we could always foresee, could know beforehand! Howcan I defend myself? On the first day I said, 'Such a charge cannotreach me: it is a cloud that a breath will scatter. ' Madman that I was!The cloud has become an avalanche, and I may be crushed. I am neither achild nor a coward; and I have always met phantoms face to face. I havemeasured the danger, and I know it is fearful. "

Dionysia shuddered. She cried, --

"What will become of us?"

This time M. De Boiscoran heard her, and was ashamed of his weakness. But, before he could master his feelings, the young girl went on, saying, --

"But never mind. These are idle thoughts. Truth soars invincible, unchangeable, high above all the ablest calculations and the mostskilful combinations. Jacques, you must tell the truth, the whole truth, without subterfuge or concealment. "

"I can do so no longer, " murmured he. 

"Is it such a terrible secret?"

"It is improbable. "

Dionysia looked at him almost with fear. She did not recognize his oldface, nor his eye, nor the tone of his voice. She drew nearer to him, and taking his hand between her own small white hands, she said, --

"But you can tell it to me, your friend, your"--

He trembled, and, drawing back, he said, --

"To you less than anybody else. "

And, feeling how mortifying such an answer must be, he added, --

"Your mind is too pure for such wretched intrigues. I do not want yourwedding-dress to be stained by a speck of that mud into which they havethrown me. "

Was she deceived? No; but she had the courage to seem to be deceived. She went on quietly, --

"Very well, then. But the truth will have to be told sooner or later. "

"Yes, to M. Magloire. "

"Well, then, Jacques, write down at once what you mean to tell him. Hereare pen and ink: I will carry it to him faithfully. "

"There are things, Dionysia, which cannot be written. "

She felt she was beaten; she understood that nothing would ever bendthat iron will, and yet she said once more, --

"But if I were to beseech you, Jacques, by our past and our future, bythat great and eternal love which you have sworn?"

"Do you really wish to make my prison hours a thousand times harder thanthey are? Do you want to deprive me of my last remnant of strength andof courage? Have you really no confidence in me any longer? Could younot believe me a few days more?"

He paused. Somebody knocked at the door; and almost at the same timeBlangin the jailer called out through the wicket, --

"Time is passing. I want to be down stairs when they relieve guard. I amrunning a great risk. I am a father of a family. "

"Go home now, Dionysia, " said Jacques eagerly, "go home. I cannot thinkof your being seen here. "

Dionysia had paid dear enough to know that she was quite safe; still shedid not object. She offered her brow to Jacques, who touched it withhis lips; and half dead, holding on to the walls, she went back to thejailer's little room. They had made up a bed for her, and she threwherself on it, dressed as she was, and remained there, immovable, as ifshe had been dead, overcome by a kind of stupor which deprived her evenof the faculty of suffering. 

It was bright daylight, it was eight o'clock, when she felt somebodypulling her sleeve. The jailer's wife said to her, --

"My dear young lady, this would be a good time for you to slip away. Perhaps they will wonder to see you alone in the street; but they willthink you are coming home from seven o'clock mass. "

Without saying a word, Dionysia jumped down, and in a moment she hadarranged her hair and her dress. Then Blangin came, rather troubled atnot seeing her leave the house; and she said to him, giving him one ofthe thousand-franc rolls that were still in her bag, --

"This is for you: I want you to remember me, if I should need youagain. "

And, dropping her veil over her face, she went away. 

XI. 

Baron Chandore had had one terrible night in his life, every minute ofwhich he had counted by the ebbing pulse of his only son. 

The evening before, the physicians had said, --

"If he lives this night, he may be saved. "

At daybreak he had expired. 

Well, the old gentleman had hardly suffered more during that fatal nightthan he did this night, during which Dionysia was away from the house. He knew very well that Blangin and his wife were honest people, inspite of their avarice and their covetousness; he knew that Jacques deBoiscoran was an honourable man. 

But still, during the whole night, his old servant heard him walk up anddown his room; and at seven o'clock in the morning he was at the door, looking anxiously up and down the street. Towards half-past seven, M. Folgat came up; but he hardly wished him good-morning, and he certainlydid not hear a word of what the lawyer told him to reassure him. Atlast, however, the old man cried, --

"Ah, there she is!"

He was not mistaken. Dionysia was coming round the corner. She came upto the house in feverish haste, as if she had known that her strengthwas at an end, and would barely suffice to carry her to the door. 

Grandpapa Chandore met her with a kind of fierce joy, pressed her in hisarms, and said over and over again, --

"O Dionysia! Oh, my darling child, how I have suffered! How long youhave been! But it is all over now. Come, come, come!"

And he almost carried her into the parlor, and put her down tenderlyinto a large easy-chair. He knelt down by her, smiling with happiness;but, when he had taken her hands in his, he said, --

"Your hands are burning. You have a fever!"

He looked at her: she had raised her veil. 

"You are pale as death!" he went on. "Your eyes are red and swollen!"

"I have cried, dear papa, " she replied gently. 

"Cried! Why?"

"Alas, I have failed!"

As if moved by a sudden shock, M. De Chandore started up, and cried, --

"By God's holy name the like has not been heard since the world wasmade! What! you went, you Dionysia de Chandore, to him in his prison;you begged him"--

"And he remained inflexible. Yes, dear papa. He will say nothing tillafter the preliminary investigation is over. "

"We were mistaken in the man: he has no courage and no feeling. "

Dionysia had risen painfully, and said feebly, --

"Ah, dear papa! Do not blame him, do not accuse him! he is so unhappy!"

"But what reasons does he give?"

"He says the facts are so very improbable that he should certainly notbe believed; and that he should ruin himself if he were to speak as longas he is kept in close confinement, and has no advocate. He says hisposition is the result of a wicked conspiracy. He says he thinks heknows the guilty one, and that he will denounce the person, since he isforced to do so in self-defence. "

M. Folgat, who had until now remained a silent witness of the scene, came up, and asked, --

"Are you quite sure, madam, that that was what M. De Boiscoran said?"

"Oh, quite sure, sir! And, if I lived a thousand years, I should neverforget the look of his eyes, or the tone of his voice. "

M. De Chandore did not allow her to be interrupted again. 

"But surely, my dear child, Jacques told you--you--something moreprecise?"

"No. "

"You did not ask him even what those improbable facts were?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Well?"

"He said that I was the very last person who could be told. "

"That man ought to be burnt over a slow fire, " said M. De Chandore tohimself. Then he added in a louder voice, --

"And you do not think all this very strange, very extraordinary?"

"It seems to me horrible!"

"I understand. But what do you think of Jacques?"

"I think, dear papa, that he cannot act otherwise, or he would not doit. Jacques is too intelligent and too courageous to deceive himselfeasily. As he alone knows every thing, he alone can judge. I, of course, am bound to respect his will more than anybody else. "

But the old gentleman did not think himself bound to respect it; and, exasperated as he was by this resignation of his grandchild, he wason the point of telling her his mind fully, when she got up with someeffort, and said, in an almost inaudible voice, --

"I am broken to pieces! Excuse me, grandpapa, if I go to my room. " Sheleft the parlor. M. De Chandore accompanied her to the door, remainedthere till he had seen her get up stairs, where her maid was waiting forher, and then came back to M. Folgat. 

"They are going to kill me, sir!" he cried, with an explosion of wrathand despair which was almost frightful in a man of his age. "She had inher eyes the same look that her mother had when she told me, after herhusband's death, 'I shall not survive him. ' And she did not survive mypoor son. And then I, old man, was left alone with that child; and whoknows but she may have in her the germ of the same disease which killedher mother? Alone! And for these twenty years I have held my breath tolisten if she is still breathing as naturally and regularly"--

"You are needlessly alarmed, " began the advocate. 

But Grandpapa Chandore shook his head, and said, --

"No, no. I fear my child has been hurt in her heart's heart. Did you notsee how white she looked, and how faint her voice was? Great God! wiltthou leave me all alone here upon earth? O God! for which of my sinsdost thou punish me in my children? For mercy's sake, call me homebefore she also leaves me, who is the joy of my life. And I can donothing to turn aside this fatality--stupid inane old man that I am! Andthis Jacques de Boiscoran--if he were guilty, after all? Ah the wretch!I would hang him with my own hands!"

Deeply moved, M. Folgat had watched the old gentleman's grief. Now hesaid, --

"Do not blame M. De Boiscoran, sir, now that every thing is against him!Of all of us, he suffers, after all, most; for he is innocent. "

"Do you still think so?"

"More than ever. Little as he has said, he has told Miss Dionysia enoughto confirm me in my conjecture, and to prove to me that I have guessedright. "

"When?"

"The day we went to Boiscoran. "

The baron tried to remember. 

"I do not recollect, " he said. 

"Don't you remember, " said the lawyer, "that you left us, so as topermit Anthony to answer my questions more freely?"

"To be sure!" cried M. De Chandore, "to be sure! And then you thought"--

"I thought I had guessed right, yes, sir; but I am not going to do anything now. M. De Boiscoran tells us that the facts are improbable. Ishould, therefore, in all probability, soon be astray; but, since weare now bound to be passive till the investigation is completed, I shallemploy the time in examining the country people, who will, probably, tell me more than Anthony did. You have, no doubt, among your friends, some who must be well informed, --M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos. "

The latter did not keep M. Folgat waiting long; for his name had hardlybeen mentioned, when he himself repeated it in the passage, telling aservant, --

"Say it is I, Dr. Seignebos, Dr. Seignebos. "

He fell like a bombshell into the room. It was four days now since hehad last presented himself there; for he had not come himself for hisreport and the shot he had left in M. Folgat's hands. He had sent forthem, excusing himself on the score of his many engagements. The factwas, however, that he had spent nearly the whole of these four days atthe hospital, in company with one of his brother-practitioners, who hadbeen sent for by the court to proceed, "jointly with Dr. Seignebos, " toan examination of Cocoleu's mental condition. 

"And this is what brings me here, " he cried, still in the door; "forthis opinion, if it is not put into proper order, will deprive M. DeBoiscoran of his best and surest chance of escape. "

After what Dionysia had told them, neither M. De Chandore nor M. Folgatattached much importance to the state of Cocoleu's mind: still this word"escape" attracted their attention. There is nothing unimportant in acriminal trial. 

"Is there any thing new?" asked the advocate. 

The doctor first went to close the doors carefully, and then, puttinghis cane and broad-brimmed hat upon the table, he said, --

"No, there is nothing new. They still insist, as before, upon ruining M. De Boiscoran; and, in order to do that, they shrink from nothing. "

"They! Who are they?" asked M. De Chandore. 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. 

"Are you really in doubt, sir?" he replied. "And yet the facts speakclearly enough. In this department, there is a certain number ofphysicians who are not very keenly alive to the honor of theirprofession, and who are, to tell the truth, consummate apes. "

Grave as the situation was, M. Folgat could hardly suppress a smile, thedoctor's manner was so very extraordinary. 

"But there is one of these apes, " he went on, "who, in length of earsand thickness of skin, surpasses all the others. Well, he is the veryone whom the court has chosen and associated with me. "

Upon this subject it was desirable to put a check upon the doctor. M. DeChandore therefore interrupted him, saying, --

"In fine"--

"In fine, my learned brother is fully persuaded that his mission as aphysician employed by a court of justice is to say 'Amen' to all thestories of the prosecution. 'Cocoleu is an idiot, ' says M. Galpinperemptorily. 'He is an idiot, or ought to be one, ' reechoes my learnedbrother. 'He spoke on the occasion of the crime by an inspiration fromon high, ' the magistrate goes on to say. 'Evidently, ' adds the brother, 'there was an inspiration from on high. ' For this is the conclusion atwhich my learned brother arrives in his report: 'Cocoleu is an idiot whohad been providentially inspired by a flash of reason. ' He does not sayit in these words; but it amounts to the same thing. "

He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them industriously. 

"But what do you think, doctor?" asked M. Folgat. 

Dr. Seignebos solemnly put on again his spectacles, and repliedcoldly, --

"My opinion, which I have fully developed in my report, is, that Cocoleuis not idiotic at all. "

M. Chandore started: the proposition seemed to him monstrous. Heknew Cocoleu very well; he had seen him wander through the streets ofSauveterre during the eighteen months which the poor creature had spentunder the doctor's treatment. 

"What! Cocoleu not idiotic?" he repeated. 

"No!" Dr. Seignebos declared peremptorily; "and you have only to look athim to be convinced. Has he a large flat face, disproportionate mouth, a yellow, tanned complexion, thick lips, defective teeth, and squintingeyes? Does his deformed head sway from side to side, being too heavy tobe supported by his neck? Is his body deformed, and his spine crooked?Do you find that his stomach is big and pendent, that his hands dropupon his thighs, that his legs are awkward, and the joints unusuallylarge? These are the symptoms of idiocy, gentleman, and you do not findthem in Cocoleu. I, for my part, see in him a scamp, who has an ironconstitution, who uses his hands very cleverly, climbs trees like amonkey, and leaps ditches ten feet wide. To be sure, I do not pretendthat his intellect is normal; but I maintain that he is one of thoseimbeciles who have certain faculties very fully developed, while others, more essential, are missing. "

While M. Folgat listened with the most intense interest, M. De Chandorebecame impatient, and said, --

"The difference between an idiot and an imbecile"--

"There is a world between them, " cried the doctor. 

And at once he went on with overwhelming volubility, --

"The imbecile preserves some fragments of intelligence. He can speak, make known his wants, and express his feelings. He associates ideas, compares impressions, remembers things, and acquires experience. He iscapable of cunning and dissimulation. He hates and likes and fears. If he is not always sociable, he is susceptible of being influencedby others. You can easily obtain perfect control over him. Hisinconsistency is remarkable; and still he shows, at times, invincibleobstinacy. Finally, imbeciles are, on account of this semi-lucidity, often very dangerous. You find among them almost all those monomaniacswhom society is compelled to shut up in asylums, because they cannotmaster their instincts. "

"Very well said, " repeated M. Folgat, who found here some elements of aplea, --"very well said. "

The doctor bowed. 

"Such a creature is Cocoleu. Does it follow that I hold him responsiblefor his actions? By no means! But it follows that I look upon him as afalse witness brought forth to ruin an honest man. "

It was evident that such views did not please M. De Chandore. 

"Formerly, " he said, "you did not think so. "

"No, I even said the contrary, " replied Dr. Seignebos, not withoutdignity. "I had not studied Cocoleu sufficiently, and I was taken in byhim: I confess it openly. But this avowal of mine is an evidence of thecunning and the astute obstinacy of these wretched creatures, and oftheir capacity to carry out a design. After a year's experience, I sentCocoleu away, declaring, and certainly believing, that he was incurable. The fact is, he did not want to be cured. The country-people, whoobserve carefully and shrewdly, were not taken in; they will tell you, almost to a man, that Cocoleu is bad, but not an idiot. That is thetruth. He has found out, that, by exaggerating his imbecility, he couldlive without work; and he has done it. When he was taken in by CountClaudieuse, he was clever enough to show just so much intelligence aswas necessary to make him endurable, without being compelled to do anywork. "

"In a word, " said M. De Chandore incredulously, "Cocoleu is a greatactor. "

"Great enough to have deceived me, " replied the doctor: "yes, sir. "

Then turning to M. Folgat, he went on, --

"All this I had told my learned brother, before taking him to thehospital. There we found Cocoleu more obstinate than ever in hissilence, which even M. Galpin had not induced him to break. All ourefforts to obtain a word from him were fruitless, although it was veryevident to me that he understood very well. I proposed to resort toquite legitimate means, which are employed to discover feigned defectsand diseases; but my learned brother refused and was encouraged in hisresistance by M. Galpin: I do not know upon what ground. Then I askedthat the Countess Claudieuse should be sent for, as she has a talent ofmaking him talk. M. Galpin would not permit it--and there we are. "

It happens almost daily, that two physicians employed as experts differin their opinions. The courts would have a great deal to do, if theyhad to force them to agree. They appoint simply a third expert, whoseopinion is decisive. This was necessarily to be done in Cocoleu's case. 

"And as necessarily, " continued Dr. Seignebos, "the court, havingappointed a first ass, will associate with me a second ass. They willagree with each other, and I shall be accused and convicted of ignoranceand presumption. "

He came, therefore, as he now said, to ask M. De Chandore to render hima little service. He wanted the two families, Chandore and Boiscoran, to employ all their influence to obtain that a commission of physiciansfrom outside--if possible, from Paris--should be appointed to examineCocoleu, and to report on his mental condition. 

"I undertake, " he said, "to prove to really enlightened men, thatthis poor creature is partly pretending to be imbecile, and that hisobstinate speechlessness is only adopted in order to avoid answers whichwould compromise him. "

At first, however, neither M. De Chandore nor M. Folgat gave any answer. They were considering the question. 

"Mind, " said the doctor again, shocked at their silence, "mind, I pray, that if my view is adopted, as I have every reason to hope, a new turnwill be given to the whole case. "

Why yes! The ground of the accusation might be taken from under theprosecution; and that was what kept M. Folgat thinking. 

"And that is exactly, " he commenced at last, "what makes me ask myselfwhether the discovery of Cocoleu's rascality would not be ratherinjurious than beneficial to M. De Boiscoran. "

The doctor was furious. He cried, --

"I should like to know"--

"Nothing can be more simple, " replied the advocate. "Cocoleu's idiocyis, perhaps the most serious difficulty in the way of the prosecution, and the most powerful argument for the defence. What can M. Galpin say, if M. De Boiscoran charges him with basing a capital charge upon theincoherent words of a creature void of intelligence, and, consequently, irresponsible. "

"Ah! permit me, " said Dr. Seignebos. 

But M. De Chandore heard every syllable. 

"Permit yourself, doctor, " he said. "This argument of Cocoleu'simbecility is one which you have pleaded from the beginning, and whichappeared to you, you said, so conclusive, that there was no need oflooking for any other. "

Before the doctor could find an answer, M. Folgat went on, --

"Let it be, on the contrary, established that Cocoleu really knows whathe says, and all is changed. The prosecution is justified, by an opinionof the faculty, in saying to M. De Boiscoran, 'You need not deny anylonger. You have been seen; here is a witness. '"

These arguments must have struck Dr. Seignebos very forcibly; forhe remained silent for at least ten long seconds, wiping his goldspectacles with a pensive air. Had he really done harm to Jacques deBoiscoran, while he meant to help him? But he was not the man to be longin doubt. He replied in a dry tone, --

"I will not discuss that, gentlemen. I will ask you, only one question:'Yes or no, do you believe in M. De Boiscoran's innocence?'"

"We believe in it fully, " replied the two men. 

"Then, gentlemen, it seems to me we are running no risk in trying tounmask an impostor. "

That was not the young lawyer's opinion. 

"To prove that Cocoleu knows what he says, " he replied, "would be fatal, unless we can prove at the same time that he has told a falsehood, andthat his evidence has been prompted by others. Can we prove that?Have we any means to prove that his obstinacy in not replying to anyquestions arises from his fear that his answers might convict him ofperjury?"

The doctor would hear nothing more. He said rather uncourteously, --

"Lawyer's quibbles! I know only one thing; and that is truth. "

"It will not always do to tell it, " murmured the lawyer. 

"Yes, sir, always, " replied the physician, --"always, and at all hazards, and whatever may happen. I am M. De Boiscoran's friend; but I am stillmore the friend of truth. If Cocoleu is a wretched impostor, as I amfirmly convinced, our duty is to unmask him. "

Dr. Seignebos did not say--and he probably did not confess it tohimself--that it was a personal matter between Cocoleu and himself. Hethought Cocoleu had taken him in, and been the cause of a host of smallwitticisms, under which he had suffered cruelly, though he had allowedno one to see it. To unmask Cocoleu would have given him his revenge, and return upon his enemies the ridicule with which they had overwhelmedhim. 

"I have made up my mind, " he said, "and, whatever you may resolve, I mean to go to work at once, and try to obtain the appointment of acommission. "

"It might be prudent, " M. Folgat said, "to consider before doing anything, to consult with M. Magloire. "

"I do not want to consult with Magloire when duty calls. "

"You will grant us twenty-four hours, I hope. "

Dr. Seignebos frowned till he looked formidable. 

"Not an hour, " he replied; "and I go from here to M. Daubigeon, thecommonwealth attorney. "

Thereupon, taking his hat and cane, he bowed and left, as dissatisfiedas possible, without stopping even to answer M. De Chandore, who askedhim how Count Claudieuse was, who was, according to reports in town, getting worse and worse. 

"Hang the old original!" cried M. De Chandore before the doctor had leftthe passage. 

Then turning to M. Folgat, he added, --

"I must, however, confess that you received the great news which hebrought rather coldly. "

"The very fact of the news being so very grave, " replied the advocate, "made me wish for time to consider. If Cocoleu pretends to be imbecile, or, at least, exaggerates his incapacity, then we have a confirmationof what M. De Boiscoran last night told Miss Dionysia. It would be theproof of an odious trap of a long-premeditated vengeance. Here is theturning-point of the affair evidently. "

M. De Chandore was bitterly undeceived. 

"What!" he said, "you think so, and you refuse to support Dr. Seignebos, who is certainly an honest man?"

The young lawyer shook his head. 

"I wanted to have twenty-four hours' delay, because we must absolutelyconsult M. De Boiscoran. Could I tell the doctor so? Had I a right totake him into Miss Dionysia's secret?"

"You are right, " murmured M. De Chandore, "you are right. "

But, in order to write to M. De Boiscoran, Dionysia's assistance wasnecessary; and she did not reappear till the afternoon, looking verypale, but evidently armed with new courage. 

M. Folgat dictated to her certain questions to ask the prisoner. 

She hastened to write them in cipher; and about four o'clock the letterwas sent to Mechinet, the clerk. 

The next evening the answer came. 

"Dr. Seignebos is no doubt right, my dear friends, " wrote Jacques. "Ihave but too good reasons to be sure that Cocoleu's imbecility is partlyassumed, and that his evidence has been prompted by others. Still Imust beg you will take no steps that would lead to another medicalinvestigation. The slightest imprudence may ruin me. For Heaven's sakewait till the end of the preliminary investigation, which is now near athand, from what M. Galpin tells me. "

The letter was read in the family circle; and the poor mother uttered acry of despair as she heard those words of resignation. 

"Are we going to obey him, " she said, "when we all know that he isruining himself by his obstinacy?"

Dionysia rose, and said, --

"Jacques alone can judge his situation, and he alone, therefore, has theright to command. Our duty is to obey. I appeal to M. Folgat. "

The young advocate nodded his head. 

"Every thing has been done that could be done, " he said. "Now we canonly wait. "

XII. 

The famous night of the fire at Valpinson had been a godsend to thegood people of Sauveterre. They had henceforth an inexhaustible topicof discussion, ever new and ever rich in unexpected conjectures, --theBoiscoran case. When people met in the streets, they simply asked, --

"What are they doing now?"

Whenever, therefore, M. Galpin went from the court-house to the prison, or came striding up National Street with his stiff, slow step, twentygood housewives peeped from behind their curtains to read in his facesome of the secrets of the trial. They saw, however, nothing there buttraces of intense anxiety, and a pallor which became daily more marked. They said to each other, --

"You will see poor M. Galpin will catch the jaundice from it. "

The expression was commonplace; but it conveyed exactly the feelings ofthe ambitious lawyer. This Boiscoran case had become like a festeringwound to him, which irritated him incessantly and intolerably. 

"I have lost my sleep by it, " he told the commonwealth attorney. Excellent M. Daubigeon, who had great trouble in moderating his zeal, did not pity him particularly. He would say in reply, --

"Whose fault is it? But you want to rise in the world; and increasingfortune is always followed by increasing care. 

"Ah!" said the magistrate. "I have only done my duty, and, if I had tobegin again, I would do just the same. "

Still every day he saw more clearly that he was in a false position. Public opinion, strongly arrayed against M. De Boiscoran, was not, onthat account, very favorable to him. Everybody believed Jacques guilty, and wanted him to be punished with all the rigor of the law; but, on theother hand, everybody was astonished that M. Galpin should choose toact as magistrate in such a case. There was a touch of treachery in thisproceeding against a former friend, in looking everywhere for evidenceagainst him, in driving him into court, that is to say, towards thegalleys or the scaffold; and this revolted people's consciences. 

The very way in which people returned his greeting, or avoided himaltogether, made the magistrate aware of the feelings they entertainedfor him. This only increased his wrath against Jacques, and, with it histrouble. He had been congratulated, it is true, by the attorney-general;but there is no certainty in a trial, as long as the accused refuses toconfess. The charges against Jacques, to be sure, were so overwhelming, that his being sent before the court was out of question. But by theside of the court there is still the jury. 

"And in fine, my dear, " said the commonwealth attorney, "you have nota single eye-witness. And from time immemorial an eye-witness has beenlooked upon as worth a hundred hearsays. "

"I have Cocoleu, " said M. Galpin, who was rather impatient of all theseobjections. 

"Have the doctors decided that he is not an idiot?"

"No: Dr. Seignebos alone maintains that doctrine. "

"Well, at least Cocoleu is willing to repeat his evidence?"

"No. "

"Why, then you have virtually no witness!"

Yes, M. Galpin understood it but too well, and hence his anxiety. Themore he studied _his_ accused, the more he found him in an enigmatic andthreatening position, which was ominous of evil. 

"Can he have an _alibi_?" he thought. "Or does he hold in reserve one ofthose unforeseen revelations, which at the last moment destroy the wholeedifice of the prosecution, and cover the prosecuting attorney withridicule?"

Whenever these thoughts occurred to him, they made big drops ofperspiration run down his temples; and then he treated his poor clerkMechinet like a slave. And that was not all. Although he lived moreretired than ever, since this case had begun, many a report reached himfrom the Chandore family. 

To be sure, he was a thousand miles from imagining that they hadactually opened communications with the prisoner, and, what is more, that this intercourse was carried on by Mechinet, his own clerk. Hewould have laughed if one had come and told him that Dionysia had spenta night in prison, and paid Jacques a visit. But he heard continuallyof the hopes and the plans of the friends and relations of his prisoner;and he remembered, not without secret fear and trembling that they wererich and powerful, supported by relations in high places, beloved andesteemed by everybody. He knew that Dionysia was surrounded by devotedand intelligent men, by M. De Chandore, M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, M. Magloire, and, finally, that advocate whom the Marchioness de Boiscoranhad brought down with her from Paris, M. Folgat. 

"And Heaven knows what they would not try, " he thought, "to rescue theguilty man from the hands of justice!"

It may well be said, therefore, that never was prosecution carried onwith as much passionate zeal or as much minute assiduity. Every one ofthe points upon which the prosecution relied became, for M. Galpin, a subject of special study. In less than a fortnight he examinedsixty-seven witnesses in his office. He summoned the fourth part of thepopulation of Brechy. He would have summoned the whole country, if hehad dared. 

But all his efforts were fruitless. After weeks of furiousinvestigations, the inquiry was still at the same point, the mystery wasstill impenetrable. The prisoner had not refuted any of the chargesmade against him; but the magistrate had, also, not obtained a singleadditional piece of evidence after those he had secured on the firstday. 

There must be an end of this, however. 

One warm afternoon in July, the good ladies in National Street thoughtthey noticed that M. Galpin looked even more anxious than usual. Theywere right. After a long conference with the commonwealth attorneyand the presiding judge, the magistrate had made up his mind. When hereached the prison, he went to Jacques's cell and there, concealing hisembarrassment under the greatest stiffness, he said, --

"My painful duty draws to an end, sir: the inquiry with which I havebeen charged will be closed. To-morrow the papers, with a list of theobjects to be used as evidence, will be sent to the attorney-general, tobe submitted to the court. "

Jacques de Boiscoran did not move. 

"Well, " he said simply. 

"Have you nothing to add, sir?" asked M. Galpin. 

"Nothing, except that I am innocent. "

M. Galpin found it difficult to repress his impatience. He said, --

"Well, then, prove it. Refute the charges which have been broughtagainst you, which overwhelm you, which induce me, the court, andeverybody else, to consider you guilty. Speak, and explain yourconduct. "

Jacques kept obstinately silent. 

"Your resolution is fixed, " said the magistrate once more, "you refuseto say any thing?"

"I am innocent. "

M. Galpin saw clearly that it was useless to insist any longer. 

"From this moment, " he said, "you are no longer in close confinement. You can receive the visits of your family in the prison parlor. Theadvocate whom you will choose will be admitted to your cell to consultwith you. "

"At last!" exclaimed Jacques with explosive delight; and then headded, --

"Am I at liberty to write to M. De Chandore?"

"Yes, " replied M. Galpin, "and, if you choose to write at once, my clerkwill be happy to carry your letter this evening to its destination. "

Jacques de Boiscoran availed himself on the spot of this permission;and he had done very soon, for the note which he wrote, and handed to M. Mechinet, contained only the few words, --

"I shall expect M. Magloire to-morrow morning at nine. 

"J. "

Ever since the day on which they had come to the conclusion that a falsestep might have the most fatal consequences, Jacques de Boiscoran'sfriends had abstained from doing anything. Besides, what would have beenthe use of any efforts? Dr. Seignebos's request, though unsupported, hadbeen at least partially granted; and the court had summoned a physicianfrom Paris, a great authority on insanity, to determine Cocoleu's mentalcondition. It was on a Saturday that Dr. Seignebos came triumphantlyto announce the good news. It was the following Tuesday that he had toreport his discomfiture. In a furious passion he said, --

"There are asses in Paris as well as elsewhere! Or, rather, in thesedays of trembling egotism and eager servility, an independent man isas difficult to find in Paris as in the provinces. I was looking fora _savant_ who would be inaccessible to petty considerations; and theysend me a trifling fellow, who does not dare to be disagreeable to thegentlemen of the bar. Ah, it was a cruel disappointment!"

And all the time worrying his spectacles, he went on, --

"I had been informed of the arrival of my learned brother; and I wentto receive him myself at the railway station. The train comes in; andat once I make out my man in the crowd: a fine head, well set in grizzlyhair, a noble eye, eloquent lips. 'There he is!' I say to myself. 'Hm!'He looked rather dandyish, to be sure, a lot of decorations in hisbuttonhole, whiskers trimmed as carefully as the box in my garden, and, instead of honest spectacles, a pair of eye-glasses. But no man isperfect. I go up to him, I give him my name, we shake hands, I ask himto breakfast, he accepts; and here we are at table, he doing justice tomy Bordeaux, and I explaining to him the case systematically. When wehave done, he wishes to see Cocoleu. We go to the hospital; and there, after merely glancing at the creature, he says, 'That man is simply themost complete idiot I have ever seen in my life!' I was a little takenaback, and tried to explain the matter to him; but he refuses to listento me. I beseech him to see Cocoleu once more: he laughs at me. I feelhurt, and ask him how he explains the evidence which this idiot gaveon the night of the fire. He laughs again, and replies that he doesnot explain it. I begin to discuss the question; and he marches off tocourt. And do you know where he dined that day? At the hotel with myother learned brother of the commission; and there they drew up a reportwhich makes of Cocoleu the most perfect imbecile that was ever dreamedof. "

He was walking up and down in the room with long strides, and, unwillingto listen, he went on, --

"But Master Galpin need not think of crowing over us yet. The end is notyet; they will not get rid of Dr. Seignebos so easily. I have said thatCocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, andI shall prove it. Boiscoran can count upon me. "

He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added, --

"And I say M. De Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons. I have formed very singular suspicions, sir, --very singular. "

M. Folgat, Dionysia, and the marchioness urged him to explain; but hedeclared that the moment had not come yet, that he was not perfectlysure yet. 

And he left again, vowing that he was overworked, that he had forsakenhis patients for forty-eight hours, and that the Countess Claudieuse waswaiting for him, as her husband was getting worse and worse. 

"What can the old man suspect?" Grandpapa Chandore asked again, an hourafter the doctor had left. 

M. Folgat might have replied that these probable suspicions were nodoubt his own suspicions, only better founded, and more fully developed. But why should he say so, since all inquiry was prohibited, and a singleimprudent word might ruin every thing? Why, also, should he excite newhopes, when they must needs wait patiently till it should seem good toM. Galpin to make an end to this melancholy suspense?

They heard very little nowadays of Jacques de Boiscoran. Theexaminations took place only at long intervals; and it was sometimesfour or five days before Mechinet brought another letter. 

"This is intolerable agony, " repeated the marchioness over and overagain. 

The end was, however, approaching. 

Dionysia was alone one afternoon in the sitting-room, when she thoughtshe heard the clerk's voice in the hall. She went out at once and foundhim there. 

"Ah!" she cried, "the investigation is ended!" For she knew very wellthat nothing less would have emboldened Mechinet to show himself openlyat their house. 

"Yes, indeed, madam!" replied the good man; "and upon M. Galpin's ownorder I bring you this letter from M. De Boiscoran. "

She took it, read it at a single glance, and forgetting every thing, half delirious with joy, she ran to her grandfather and M. Folgat, calling upon a servant at the same time to run and fetch M. Magloire. 

In less than an hour, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre arrived;and when Jacques's letter had been handed to him, he said with someembarrassment, --

"I have promised M. De Boiscoran my assistance, and he shall certainlyhave it. I shall be at the prison to-morrow morning as soon as the doorsopen, and I will tell you the result of our interview. "

He would say nothing more. It was very evident that he did not believein the innocence of his client, and, as soon as he had left, M. DeChandore exclaimed, --

"Jacques is mad to intrust his defence to a man who doubts him. "

"M. Magloire is an honorable man, papa, " said Dionysia; "and, if hethought he could compromise Jacques, he would resign. "

Yes, indeed, M. Magloire was an honorable man, and quite accessibleto tender sentiments; for he felt very reluctant to go and see theprisoner, charged as he was with an odious crime, and, as he thought, justly charged, --a man who had been his friend, and whom, in spite ofall, he could not help loving still. 

He could not sleep for it that night; and noticed his anxious air ashe crossed the street next morning on his way to the jail. Blangin thekeeper was on the lookout for him, and cried, --

"Ah, come quick, sir! The accused is devoured with impatience. "

Slowly, and his heart beating furiously, the famous advocate went up thenarrow stairs. He crossed the long passage; Blangin opened a door; hewas in Jacques de Boiscoran's cell. 

"At last you are coming, " exclaimed the unhappy young man, throwinghimself on the lawyer's neck. "At last I see an honest face, and holda trusty hand. Ah! I have suffered cruelly, so cruelly, that I amsurprised my mind has not given way. But now you are here, you are by myside, I am safe. "

The lawyer could not speak. He was terrified by the havoc which griefhad made of the noble and intelligent face of his friend. He was shockedat the distortion of his features, the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes, and the convulsive laugh on his lips. 

"Poor man!" he murmured at last. 

Jacques misunderstood him: he stepped back, as white as the walls of hiscell. 

"You do not think me guilty?" he exclaimed. 

An inexpressibly sad expression convulsed his features. 

"To be sure, " he went on with his terrible convulsive laughter, "thecharges must be overwhelming indeed, if they have convinced my bestfriends. Alas! why did I refuse to speak that first day? My honor!--whata phantom! And still, victimized as I am by an infamous conspiracy, Ishould still refuse to speak, if my life alone were at stake. But myhonor is at stake. Dionysia's honor, the honor of the Boiscorans. Ishall speak. You, M. Magloire, shall know the truth, you shall see myinnocence in a word. "

And, seizing M. Magloire's hand, he pressed it almost painfully, as headded in a hoarse voice, --

"One word will explain the whole thing to you: I was the lover of theCountess Claudieuse!"

XIII. 

If he had been less distressed, Jacques de Boiscoran would have seen howwisely he had acted in choosing for his defender the great advocate ofSauveterre. A stranger, M. Folgat, for instance, would have heard himsilently, and would have seen in the revelation nothing but the factwithout giving it a personal value. In M. Magloire, on the contrary, hesaw what the whole country would feel. And M. Magloire, when he heardhim declare that the Countess Claudieuse had been his mistress, lookedindignant, and exclaimed, --

"That is impossible. "

At least Jacques was not surprised. He had been the first to saythat they would refuse to believe him when he should speak; and thisconviction had largely influenced him in keeping silence so long. 

"It is impossible, I know, " he said; "and still it is so. "

"Give me proofs!" said M. Magloire. 

"I have no proofs. "

The melancholy and sympathizing expression of the great lawyer changedinstantly. He sternly glanced at the prisoner, and his eye spoke ofamazement and indignation. 

"There are things, " he said, "which it is rash to affirm when one is notable to support them with proof. Consider"--

"My situation forces me to tell all. "

"Why, then, did you wait so long?"

"I hoped I should be spared such a fearful extremity. "

"By whom?"

"By the countess. "

M. Magloire's face became darker and darker. 

"I am not often accused of partiality, " he said. "Count Claudieuse is, perhaps, the only enemy I have in this country; but he is a bitter, fierce enemy. To keep me out of the chamber, and to prevent my obtainingmany votes, he stooped to acts unworthy of a gentleman. I do not likehim. But in justice I must say that I look upon the countess as theloftiest, the purest, and noblest type of the woman, the wife, and themother. "

A bitter smile played on Jacques's lips. 

"And still I have been her lover, " he said. 

"When? How? The countess lived at Valpinson: you lived in Paris. "

"Yes; but every year the countess came and spent the month of Septemberin Paris; and I came occasionally to Boiscoran. "

"It is very singular that such an intrigue should never have beensuspected even. "

"We managed to take our precautions. "

"And no one ever suspected any thing?"

"No one. "

But Jacques was at last becoming impatient at the attitude assumed by M. Magloire. He forgot that he had foreseen all the suspicions to which hefound now he was exposed. 

"Why do you ask all these questions?" he said. "You do not believe me. Well, be it so! Let me at least try to convince you. Will you listen tome?"

M. Magloire drew up a chair, and sitting down, not as usually, butacross the chair, and resting his arms on the back, he said, --

"I listen. "

Jacques de Boiscoran, who had been almost livid, became crimson withanger. His eyes flashed wrath. That he, he should be treated thus! Neverhad all the haughtiness of M. Galpin offended him half as much as thiscool, disdainful condescension on the part of M. Magloire. It occurredto him to order him out of his room. But what then? He was condemnedto drain the bitter cup to the very dregs: for he must save himself; hemust get out of this abyss. 

"You are cruel, Magloire, " he said in a voice of ill-suppressedindignation, "and you make me feel all the horrors of my situation tothe full. Ah, do not apologize! It does not matter. Let me speak. "

He walked up and down a few times in his cell, passing his handrepeatedly over his brow, as if to recall his memory. Then he began, ina calmer tone of voice, --

"It was in the first days of the month of August, in 1866, and atBoiscoran, where I was on a visit to my uncle, that I saw the CountessClaudieuse for the first time. Count Claudieuse and my uncle were, atthat time, on very bad terms with each other, thanks to that unluckylittle stream which crosses our estates; and a common friend, M. DeBesson, had undertaken to reconcile them at a dinner to which he hadinvited both. My uncle had taken me with him. The countess had come withher husband. I was just twenty years old; she was twenty-six. When I sawher, I was overcome. It seemed to me that I had never in all my life meta woman so perfectly beautiful and graceful; that I had never seen socharming a face, such beautiful eyes, and such a sweet smile. 

"She did not seem to notice me. I did not speak to her; and still I feltwithin me a kind of presentiment that this woman would play a great, afatal part in my life. 

"This impression was so strong, that, as we left the house, I could notkeep from mentioning it to my uncle. He only laughed, and said thatI was a fool, and that, if my existence should ever be troubled by awoman, it would certainly not be by the Countess Claudieuse. 

"He was apparently right. It was hard to imagine that any thing shouldever again bring me in contact with the countess. M. De Besson's attemptat reconciliation had utterly failed; the countess lived at Valpinson;and I went back to Paris. 

"Still I was unable to shake off the impression; and the memory of thedinner at M. De Besson's house was still in my mind, when a monthlater, at a party at my mother's brother's, M. De Chalusse, I thoughtI recognized the Countess Claudieuse. It was she. I bowed, and, seeingthat she recognized me, I went up to her, trembling, and she allowed meto sit down by her. 

"She told me then that she had come up to Paris for a month, as she didevery year, and that she was staying at her father's, the Marquis deTassar. She had come to this party much against her inclination, as shedisliked going out. She did not dance; and thus I talked to her till themoment when she left. 

"I was madly in love when we parted; and still I made no effort to seeher again. It was mere chance again which brought us together. 

"One day I had business at Melun, and, reaching the station rather late, I had but just time to jump into the nearest car. In the compartmentwas the countess. She told me--and that is all I ever recollected of theconversation--that she was on her way to Fontainebleau to see a friend, with whom she spent every Tuesday and Saturday. Usually she took thenine o'clock train. 

"This was on a Tuesday; and during the next three days a great strugglewent on in my heart. I was desperately in love with the countess, andstill I was afraid of her. But my evil star conquered; and the nextSaturday, at nine o'clock, I was at the station again. 

"The countess has since confessed to me that she expected me. When shesaw me, she made a sign; and, when they opened the doors, I managed tofind a place by her side. "

M. Magloire had for some minutes given signs of great impatience; now hebroke forth, --

"This is too improbable!"

At first Jacques de Boiscoran made no reply. It was no easy task fora man, tried as he had been of late, to stir up thus the ashes of thepast; and it made him shudder. He was amazed at seeing on his lips thissecret which he had so long buried in his innermost heart. Besides, hehad loved, loved in good earnest; and his love had been returned. Andthere are certain sensations which come to us only once in life, andwhich can never again be effaced. He was moved to tears. But as theeminent advocate of Sauveterre repeated his words, and even added, --

"No, it is not credible!"

"I do not ask you to believe me, " he said gently: "I only ask you tohear me. "

And, overcoming with all his energy the kind of torpor which wasmastering him, he continued, --

"This trip to Fontainebleau decided our fate. Other trips followed. Thecountess spent her days with her friend, and I passed the long hoursin roaming through the woods. But in the evening we met again at thestation. We took a _coupe_, which I had engaged beforehand, and Iaccompanied her in a carriage to her father's house. 

"Finally, one evening, she left her friend's house at the usual hour;but she did not return to her father's house till the day after. "

"Jacques!" broke in M. Magloire, shocked, as if he had heard acurse, --"Jacques!"

M. De Boiscoran remained unmoved. 

"Oh!" he said, "I know you must think it strange. You fancy that thereis no excuse for the man who betrays the confidence of a woman who hasonce given herself to him. Wait, before you judge me. "

And he went on, in a firmer tone of voice, --

"At that time I thought I was the happiest man on earth; and my heartwas full of the most absurd vanity at the thought that she was mine, this beautiful woman, whose purity was high above all calumny. I hadtied around my neck one of those fatal ropes which death alone cansever, and, fool that I was, I considered myself happy. 

"Perhaps she really loved me at that time. At least she did nothesitate, and, overcome by the only real great passion of her life, shetold me all that was in her innermost heart. At that time she did notthink yet of protecting herself against me, and of making me her slave. She told me the secret of her marriage, which had at one time createdsuch a sensation in the whole country. 

"When her father, the Marquis de Brissac, had given up his place, he hadsoon begun to feel his inactivity weigh upon him, and at the same timehe had become impatient at the narrowness of his means. He had venturedupon hazardous speculations. He had lost every thing he had; and evenhis honor was at stake. In his despair he was thinking of suicide, whenchance brought to his house a former comrade, Count Claudieuse. In amoment of confidence, the marquis confessed every thing; and the otherhad promised to rescue him, and save him from disgrace. That was nobleand grand. It must have cost an immense sum. And the friends of ouryouth who are capable of rendering us such services are rare in our day. Unfortunately, Count Claudieuse could not all the time be the hero hehad been at first. He saw Genevieve de Tassar. He was struck withher beauty; and overcome by a sudden passion--forgetting that she wastwenty, while he was nearly fifty--he made his friend aware that he wasstill willing to render him all the services in his power, but that hedesired to obtain Genevieve's hand in return. 

"That very evening the ruined nobleman entered his daughter's room, and, with tears in his eyes, explained to her his terrible situation. She didnot hesitate a moment. 

"'Above all, ' she said to her father, 'let us save our honor, whicheven your death would not restore. Count Claudieuse is cruel to forgetthat he is thirty years older than I am. From this moment I hate anddespise him. Tell him I am willing to be his wife. '

"And when her father, overcome with grief, told her that the count wouldnever accept her hand in this form, she replied, --

"'Oh, do not trouble yourself about that! I shall do the thinghandsomely, and your friend shall have no right to complain. But I knowwhat I am worth; and you must remember hereafter, that, whatever servicehe may render you, you owe him nothing. '

"Less than a fortnight after this scene, Genevieve had allowed the countto perceive that he was not indifferent to her and a month later shebecame his wife. 

"The count, on his side, had acted with the utmost delicacy and tact;so that no one suspected the cruel position of the Marquis de Tassar. Hehad placed two hundred thousand francs in his hands to settle his mostpressing debts. In his marriage-contract he had acknowledged havingreceived with his wife a dower of the same amount; and finally, he hadbound himself to pay to his father-in-law and his wife an annual incomeof ten thousand francs. This had absorbed more than half of all hepossessed. "

M. Magloire no longer thought of protesting. Sitting stiffly on hischair, his eyes wide open, like a man who asks himself whether he isasleep or awake, he murmured, --

"That is incomprehensible! That is unheard of!"

Jacques was becoming gradually excited. He went on, --

"This is, at least, what the countess told me in her first hours ofenthusiasm. But she told it to me calmly, coldly, like a thing that wasperfectly natural. 'Certainly, ' she said, 'Count Claudieuse has neverhad to regret the bargain he made. If he has been generous, I have beenfaithful. My father owes his life to him; but I have given him years ofhappiness to which he was not entitled. If he has received no love, hehas had all the appearance of it, and an appearance far more pleasantthan the reality. '

"When I could not conceal my astonishment, she added, laughingheartily, --

"'Only I brought to the bargain a mental reservation. I reserved tomyself the right to claim my share of earthly happiness whenever itshould come within my reach. That share is yours, Jacques; and do notfancy that I am troubled by remorse. As long as my husband thinks he ishappy, I am within the terms of the contract. '

"That was the way she spoke at that time, Magloire; and a man of moreexperience would have been frightened. But I was a child; I loved herwith all my heart. I admired her genius; I was overcome by her sophisms. 

"A letter from Count Claudieuse aroused us from our dreams. 

"The countess had committed the only and the last imprudence of herwhole life: she had remained three weeks longer in Paris than was agreedupon; and her impatient husband threatened to come for her. 

"'I must go back to Valpinson, ' she said; 'for there is nothing I wouldnot do to keep up the reputation I have managed to make for myself. My life, your life, my daughter's life--I would give them all, withouthesitation, to protect my reputation. "

"This happened--ah! the dates have remained fixed in my mind as ifengraven on bronze--on the 12th October. 

"'I cannot remain longer than a month, ' she said to me, 'without seeingyou. A month from to-day, that is to say, on 12th November, at threeo'clock precisely, you must be in the forest of Rochepommier, at the RedMen's Cross-roads. I will be there. '

"And she left Paris. I was in such a state of depression, that Iscarcely felt the pain of parting. The thought of being loved by such awoman filled me with extreme pride, and, no doubt, saved me from manyan excess. Ambition was rising within me whenever I thought of her. Iwanted to work, to distinguish myself, to become eminent in some way. 

"'I want her to be proud of me, ' I said to myself, ashamed at beingnothing at my age but the son of a rich father. "

Ten times, at least, M. Magloire had risen from his chair, and moved hislips, as if about to make some objection. But he had pledged himself, inhis own mind, not to interrupt Jacques, and he did his best to keep hispledge. 

"In the meantime, " Jacques went on, "the day fixed by the countess wasdrawing near. I went down to Boiscoran; and on the appointed day, at theprecise hour, I was in the forest at the Red Men's Cross-roads. I wassomewhat behind time, and I was extremely sorry for it: but I did notknow the forest very well, and the place chosen by the countess for therendezvous is in the very thickest part of the old wood. The weatherwas unusually severe for the season. The night before, a heavy snow hadfallen: the paths were all white; and a sharp wind blew the flakesfrom the heavily-loaded branches. From afar off, I distinguishedthe countess, as she was walking, up and down in a kind of feverishexcitement, confining herself to a narrow space, where the ground wasdry, and where she was sheltered from the wind by enormous masses ofstone. She wore a dress of dark-red silk, very long, a cloak trimmedwith fur, and a velvet hat to match her dress. In three minutes I was byher side. But she did not draw her hand from her muff to offer it to me;and, without giving me time to apologize for the delay, she said in adry tone, --

"'When did you reach Boiscoran?'

"'Last night. '

"'How childish you are!' she exclaimed, stamping her foot. 'Last night!And on what pretext?'

"'I need no pretext to visit my uncle. '

"'And was he not surprised to see you drop from the clouds at this timeof the year?'

"'Why, yes, a little, ' I answered foolishly, incapable as I was ofconcealing the truth. 

"Her dissatisfaction increased visibly. 

"'And how did you get here?' she commenced again. 'Did you know thiscross-road?'

"'No, I inquired about it. '

"'From whom?'

"'From one of my uncle's servants; but his information was soimperfect, that I lost my way. '

"She looked at me with such a bitter, ironical smile, that I stopped. 

"'And all that, you think, is very simple, ' she broke in. 'Do youreally imagine people will think it very natural that you should thusfall like a bombshell upon Boiscoran, and immediately set out forthe Red Men's Cross-roads in the forest? Who knows but you have beenfollowed? Who knows but behind one of these trees there may be eyes evennow watching us?'

"And as she looked around with all the signs of genuine fear, Ianswered, --

"'And what do you fear? Am I not here?'

"I think I can even now see the look in her eyes as she said, --

"'I fear nothing in the world--do you hear me? nothing in the world, except being suspected; for I cannot be compromised. I like to do as Ido; I like to have a lover. But I do not want it to be known; because, if it became known, there would be mischief. Between my reputation andmy life I have no choice. If I were to be surprised here by any one, Iwould rather it should be my husband than a stranger. I have no love forthe count, and I shall never forgive him for having married me; buthe has saved my father's honor, and I owe it to him to keep his honorunimpaired. He is my husband, besides, and the father of my child: Ibear his name, and I want it to be respected. I should die with griefand shame and rage, if I had to give my arm to a man at whom peoplemight look and smile. Wives are absurdly stupid when they do not feelthat all the scorn with which their unfortunate husbands are receivedin the great world falls back upon them. No. I do not love the count, Jacques, and I love you. But remember, that, between him and you, Ishould not hesitate a moment, and that I should sacrifice your life andyour honor, with a smile on my lips, even though my heart should break, if I could, by doing so, spare him the shadow of a suspicion. '

"I was about to reply; but she said, --

"'No more! Every minute we stay here increases the danger. What pretextwill you plead for your sudden appearance at Boiscoran?'

"'I do not know, ' I replied. 

"'You must borrow some money from your uncle, a considerable sum, topay your debts. He will be angry, perhaps; but that will explain yoursudden fancy for travelling in the month of November. Good-by, good-by!'

"All amazed, I cried, --

"'What! You will not let me see you again, at least from afar?'

"'During this visit that would be the height of imprudence. But, stop!Stay at Boiscoran till Sunday. Your uncle never stays away from highmass: go with him to church. But be careful, control yourself. A singleimprudence, one blunder, and I should despise you. Now we must part. Youwill find in Paris a letter from me. '"

Jacques paused here, looking to read in M. Magloire's face whatimpression his recital had produced so far. But the famous lawyerremained impassive. He sighed, and continued, --

"I have entered into all these details, Magloire, because I want you toknow what kind of a woman the countess is, so that you may understandher conduct. You see that she did not treat me like a traitor: she hadgiven me fair warning, and shown me the abyss into which I was goingto fall. Alas! so far from being terrified, these dark sides of hercharacter only attracted me the more. I admired her imperious air, her courage, and her prudence, even her total lack of principle, whichcontrasted so strangely with her fear of public opinion. I said tomyself with foolish pride, --

"'She certainly is a superior woman!'

"She must have been pleased with my obedience at church; for I managedto check even a slight trembling which seized me when I saw her andbowed to her as she passed so close to me that my hand touched herdress. I obeyed her in other ways also. I asked my uncle for sixthousand francs, and he gave them to me, laughing; for he was the mostgenerous man on earth: but he said at the same time, --

"'I thought you had not come to Boiscoran merely for the purpose ofexploring the forest of Rochepommier. '

"This trifling circumstance increased my admiration for the CountessClaudieuse. How well she had foreseen my uncle's astonishment, when Ihad not even dreamed of it!

"'She has a genius for prudence, ' I thought. 

"Yes, indeed she had a genius for it, and a genius for calculation also, as I soon found out. When I reached Paris, I found a letter from herwaiting for me; but it was nothing more than a repetition of all shehad told me at our meeting. This letter was followed by several others, which she begged me to keep for her sake, and which all had a number inthe upper corner. 

"The first time I saw her again, I asked her, --

"'What are these numbers?'

"'My dear Jacques, ' she replied, 'a woman ought always to know howmany letters she has written to her lover. Up to now, you must have hadnine. '

"This occurred in May, 1867, at Rochefort, where she had gone to bepresent at the launching of a frigate, and where I had followed her, at her suggestion, with a view to spending a few hours in eachother's company. Like a fool, I laughed at the idea of this epistolaryresponsibility, and then I thought no more of it. I was at that time toobusy otherwise. She had recalled to me the fact that time was passing, in spite of the sadness of our separation, and that the month ofSeptember, the month of her freedom, was drawing near. Should we becompelled again, like the year before, to resort to these perilous tripsto Fontainebleau? Why not get a house in a remote quarter of town?

"Every wish of hers was an order for me. My uncle's liberality knew noend. I bought a house. "

At last in the midst of all of Jacques's perplexities, there appeared acircumstance which might furnish tangible evidence. 

M. Magloire started, and asked eagerly, --

"Ah, you bought a house?"

"Yes, a nice house with a large garden, in Vine Street, Passy. "

"And you own it still?"

"Yes. "

"Of course you have the title-papers?"

Jacques looked in despair. 

"Here, again, fate is against me. There is quite a tale connected withthat house. "

The features of the Sauveterre lawyer grew dark again, much quicker thanthey had brightened up just now. 

"Ah!" he said, --"a tale, ah!"

"I was scarcely of age, " resumed Jacques, "when I wanted to purchasethis house. I dreaded difficulties. I was afraid my father might hearof it; in fine, I wanted to be as prudent as the countess was. I asked, therefore, one of my English friends, Sir Francis Burnett, to purchaseit in his name. He agreed; and he handed me, with the necessary bills ofsale, also a paper in which he acknowledged my right as proprietor. "

"But then"--

"Oh! wait a moment. I did not take these papers to my rooms in myfather's house. I put them into a drawer of a bureau in my house atPassy. When the war broke out, I forgot them. I had left Paris beforethe siege began, you know, being in command of a company of volunteersfrom this department. During the two sieges, my house was successivelyoccupied by the National Guards, the soldiers of the Commune, and theregular troops. When I got back there, I found the four walls piercedwith holes by the shells; but all the furniture had disappeared, andwith it the papers. "

"And Sir Francis Burnett?"

"He left France at the beginning of the invasion; and I do not knowwhat has become of him. Two friends of his in England, to whom I wrote, replied, --the one that he was probably in Australia; the other that hewas dead. "

"And you have taken no other steps to secure your rights to a piece ofproperty which legally belongs to you?"

"No, not till now. "

"You mean to say virtually that there is in Paris a house which has noowner, is forgotten by everybody, and unknown even to the tax-gatherer?"

"I beg your pardon! The taxes have always been regularly paid; and thewhole neighborhood knows that I am the owner. But the individuality isnot the same. I have unceremoniously assumed the identity of my friend. In the eyes of the neighbors, the small dealers near by, the workmen andcontractors whom I have employed, for the servants and the gardener, Iam Sir Francis Burnett. Ask them about Jacques de Boiscoran, and theywill tell you, 'Don't know. ' Ask them about Sir Francis Burnett, andthey will answer, 'Oh, very well!' and they will give you my portrait. "

M. Magloire shook his head as if he were not fully convinced. 

"Then, " he asked again, "you declare that the Countess Claudieuse hasbeen at this house?"

"More than fifty times in three years. "

"If that is so, she must be known there. "

"No. "

"But"--

"Paris is not like Sauveterre, my dear friend; and people are not solelyoccupied with their neighbors' doings. Vine Street is quite a desertedstreet; and the countess took the greatest precautions in coming andgoing. "

"Well, granted, as far as the outside world is concerned. But within?You must have had somebody to stay in the house and keep it in orderwhen you were away, and to wait upon you when you were there?"

"I had an English maid-servant. "

"Well, this girl must know the countess?"

"She has never caught a glimpse of her even. "

"Oh!"

"When the countess was coming down, or when she was going away, or whenwe wanted to walk in the garden, I sent the girl on some errand. I havesent her as far as Orleans to get rid of her for twenty-four hours. Therest of the time we staid up stairs, and waited upon ourselves. "

Evidently M. Magloire was suffering. He said, --

"You must be under a mistake. Servants are curious, and to hide fromthem is only to make them mad with curiosity. That girl has watched you. That girl has found means to see the countess when she came there. Shemust be examined. Is she still in your service?"

"No, she left me when the war broke out. "

"Why?"

"She wanted to return to England. "

"Then we cannot hope to find her again?"

"I believe not. "

"We must give it up, then. But your man-servant? Old Anthony was in yourconfidence. Did you never tell him any thing about it?"

"Never. Only once I sent for him to come to Vine Street when I hadsprained my foot in coming down stairs. "

"So that it is impossible for you to prove that the Countess Claudieuseever came to your house in Passy? You have no evidence of it, and noeye-witness?"

"I used to have evidence. She had brought a number of small articles forher private use; but they have disappeared during the war. "

"Ah, yes!" said M. Magloire, "always the war! It has to answer for everything. "

Never had any of M. Galpin's examinations been half as painful toJacques de Boiscoran as this series of quick questions, which betrayedsuch distressing incredulity. 

"Did I not tell you, Magloire, " he resumed, "that the countess had agenius for prudence? You can easily conceal yourself when you can spendmoney without counting it. Would you blame me for not having any proofsto furnish? Is it not the duty of every man of honor to do all he can tokeep even a shadow of suspicion from her who has confided herself tohis hands? I have done my duty, and whatever may come of it, I shall notregret it. Could I foresee such unheard-of emergencies? Could I foreseethat a day might come when I, Jacques de Boiscoran, should have todenounce the Countess Claudieuse, and should be compelled to look forevidence and witnesses against her?"

The eminent advocate of Sauveterre looked aside; and, instead ofreplying, he said in a somewhat changed voice, --

"Go on, Jacques, go on!"

Jacques de Boiscoran tried to overcome the discouragement whichwell-nigh mastered him, and said, --

"It was on the 2d September, 1867, that the Countess Claudieuse forthe first time entered this house in Passy, which I had purchased andfurnished for her; and during the five weeks which she spent in Paris, she came almost every day, and spent several hours there. 

"At her father's house she enjoyed absolute and almost uncontrolledindependence. She left her daughter--for she had at that time but onechild--with her mother, the Marchioness de Tassar; and she was free togo and to come as she liked. 

"When she wanted still greater freedom, she went to see her friend inFontainebleau; and every time she did this she secured twenty-four orforty-eight hours over and above the time for the journey. I, for mypart, was as perfectly free from all control. Ostensibly, I had gone toIreland; in reality, I lived in Vine Street. 

"These five weeks passed like a dream; and yet I must confess, theparting was not as painful as might have been supposed. Not that thebright prism was broken; but I always felt humiliated by the necessityof being concealed. I began to be tired of these incessant precautions;and I was quite ready to give up being Sir Francis Burnett, and toresume my identity. 

"We had, besides, promised each other never to remain a month withoutseeing each other, at least for a few hours; and she had invented anumber of expedients by which we could meet without danger. 

"A family misfortune came just then to our assistance. My father'seldest brother, that kind uncle who had furnished me the means topurchase my house in Passy, died, and left me his entire fortune. Asowner of Boiscoran, I could, henceforth, live as much as I chose inthe province; and at all events come there whenever I liked, withoutanybody's inquiring for my reasons. "

XIV. 

Jacques de Boiscoran was evidently anxious to have done with hisrecital, to come to that night of the fire at Valpinson, and to learn atlast from the eminent advocate of Sauveterre what he had to fear or tohope. After a moment's silence, for his breath was giving out, and aftera few steps across his cell, he went on in a bitter tone of voice, --

"But why trouble you with all these details, Magloire? Would you believeme any more than you do now, if I were to enumerate to you all mymeetings with the Countess Claudieuse, or if I were to repeat all hermost trifling words?

"We had gradually learnt to calculate all our movements, and madeour preparations so accurately, that we met constantly, and feared nodanger. We said to each other at parting, or she wrote to me, 'On such aday, at such an hour, at such a place;' and however distant the day, orthe hour, or the place, we were sure to meet. I had soon learned to knowthe country as well as the cleverest of poachers; and nothing was souseful to us as this familiarity with all the unknown hiding-places. The countess, on her side, never let three months pass by withoutdiscovering some urgent motive which carried her to Rochelle, toAngouleme, or to Paris; and I was there to meet her. Nothing kept herfrom these excursions; even when indisposed, she braved the fatigues ofthe journey. It is true, my life was well-nigh spent in travelling; andat any moment, when least expected, I disappeared for whole weeks. Thiswill explain to you that restlessness at which my father sneered, andfor which you, yourself, Magloire, used to blame me. "

"That is true, " replied the latter. "I remember. "

Jacques de Boiscoran did not seem to notice the encouragement. 

"I should not tell the truth if I were to say that this kind of life wasunpleasant to me. Mystery and danger always add to the charms of love. The difficulties only increased my passion. I saw something sublimein this success with which two superior beings devoted all theirintelligence and cleverness to the carrying-on of a secret intrigue. Themore fully I became aware of the veneration with which the countess waslooked up to by the whole country, the more I learned to appreciate herability in dissembling and her profound perversity; and I was all themore proud of her. I felt the pride setting my cheeks aglow when I sawher at Brechy; for I came there every Sunday for her sake alone, tosee her pass calm and serene in the imposing security of her loftyreputation. I laughed at the simplicity of all these honest, goodpeople, who bowed so low to her, thinking they saluted a saint; and Icongratulated myself with idiotic delight at being the only one who knewthe true Countess Claudieuse, --she who took her revenge so bravely inour house in Passy!

"But such delights never last long. 

"It had not taken me long to find out that I had given myself a master, and the most imperious and exacting master that ever lived. I had almostceased to belong to myself. I had become her property; and I lived andbreathed and thought and acted for her alone. She did not mind my tastesand my dislikes. She wished a thing, and that was enough. She wrote tome, 'Come!' and I had to be instantly on the spot: she said to me, 'Go!'an I had to leave at once. At first I accepted these evidences of herdespotism with joy; but gradually I became tired of this perpetualabdication of my own will. I disliked to have no control over myself, to be unable to dispose of twenty-four hours in advance. I began to feelthe pressure of the halter around my neck. I thought of flight. One ofmy friends was to set out on a voyage around the world, which was tolast eighteen months or two years, and I had an idea of accompanyinghim. There was nothing to retain me. I was, by fortune and position, perfectly independent. Why should I not carry out my plan?

"Ah, why? The prism was not broken yet. I cursed the tyranny of thecountess; but I still trembled when I heard her name mentioned. Ithought of escaping from her; but a single glance moved me to the bottomof my heart. I was bound to her by the thousand tender threads of habitand of complicity, --those threads which seem to be more delicate thangossamer, but which are harder to break than a ship's cable. 

"Still, this idea which had occurred to me brought it about that Iuttered for the first time the word 'separation' in her presence, askingher what she would do if I should leave her. She looked at me with astrange air and asked me, after a moment's hesitation, --

"'Are you serious? Is it a warning?'

"I dared not carry matters any farther, and, making an effort to smile, I said, --

"'It is only a joke. '

"'Then, ' she said, 'let us not say any thing more about it. If youshould ever come to that, you would soon see what I would do. '

"I did not insist; but that look remained long in my memory, and made mefeel that I was far more closely bound than I had thought. From that dayit became my fixed idea to break with her. "

"Well, you ought to have made an end of it, " said Magloire. 

Jacques de Boiscoran shook his head. 

"That is easily said, " he replied. "I tried it; but I could not doit. Ten times I went to her, determined to say, 'Let us part;' and tentimes, at the last moment, my courage failed me. She irritated me. Ialmost began to hate her; but I could not forget how much I had lovedher, and how much she had risked for my sake. Then--why should I notconfess it?--I was afraid of her. 

"This inflexible character, which I had so much admired, terrified me;and I shuddered, seized with vague and sombre apprehensions, whenI thought what she was capable of doing. I was thus in the utmostperplexity, when my mother spoke to me of a match which she had longhoped for. This might be the pretext which I had so far failed to find. At all events, I asked for time to consider; and, the first time I sawthe countess again, I gathered all my courage, and said to her, --

"'Do you know what has happened? My mother wants me to marry. '

"She turned as pale as death; and looking me fixedly in the eyes, as ifwanting to read my innermost thoughts, she asked, --

"'And you, what do you want?'

"'I, ' I replied with a forced laugh, --'I want nothing just now. Butthe thing will have to be done sooner or later. A man must have a home, affections which the world acknowledges'--

"'And I, ' she broke in; 'what am I to you?'

"'You, ' I exclaimed, 'you, Genevieve! I love you with all the strengthof my heart. But we are separated by a gulf: you are married. '

"She was still looking at me fixedly. 

"'In other words, ' she said, 'you have loved me as a pastime. I havebeen the amusement of your youth, the poetry of twenty years, thatlove-romance which every man wants to have. But you are becomingserious; you want sober affections, and you leave me. Well, be it so. But what is to become of me when you are married?'

"I was suffering terribly. 

"'You have your husband, ' I stammered, 'your children'--

"She stopped me. 

"'Yes, ' she said. 'I shall go back go live at Valpinson, in thatcountry full of associations, where every place recalls a rendezvous. Ishall live with my husband, whom I have betrayed; with daughters, one ofwhom--That cannot be, Jacques. '

"I had a fit of courage. 

"'Still, ' I said, 'I may have to marry. What would you do?'

"'Oh! very little, ' she replied. 'I should hand all your letters toCount Claudieuse. '"

During the thirty years which he had spent at the bar, M. Magloire hadheard many a strange confession; but never in his life had all his ideasbeen overthrown as in this case. 

"That is utterly confounding, " he murmured. 

But Jacques went on, --

"Was this threat of the countess meant in earnest? I did not doubt it;but affecting great composure, I said, --

"'You would not do that. '

"'By all that I hold dear and sacred in this world, ' she replied, 'Iwould do it. '

"Many months have passed by since that scene, Magloire, many events havehappened; and still I feel as if it had taken place yesterday. I see thecountess still, whiter than a ghost. I still hear her trembling voice;and I can repeat to you her words almost literally, --

"'Ah! you are surprised at my determination, Jacques. I understandthat. Wives who have betrayed their husbands have not accustomed theirlovers to be held responsible by them. When they are betrayed, theydare not cry out; when they are abandoned, they submit; when they aresacrificed, they hide their tears, for to cry would be to avow theirwrong. Who would pity them, besides? Have they not received theirwell-known punishment? Hence it is that all men agree, and there aresome of them cynical enough to confess it, that a married woman is aconvenient lady-love, because she can never be jealous, and she may beabandoned at any time. Ah! we women are great cowards. If we had morecourage, you men would look twice before you would dare speak of love toa married woman. But what no one dares I will dare. It shall not be saidthat in our common fault there are two parts, and that you shall havehad all the benefit of it, and that I must bear all the punishment. What? You might be free to-morrow to console yourself with a new love;and I--I should have to sink under my shame and remorse. No, no! Suchbonds as those that bind us, riveted by long years of complicity, arenot broken so easily. 

"'You belong to me; you are mine; and I shall defend you against alland every one, with such arms as I possess. I told you that I valued myreputation more than my life; but I never told you that I valued life. On the eve of your wedding-day, my husband shall know all. I shall notsurvive the loss of my honor; but at least I shall have my revenge. Ifyou escape the hatred of Count Claudieuse, your name will be bound upwith such a tragic affair that your life will be ruined forever. '

"That was the way she spoke, Magloire, and with a passion of which I cangive you no idea. It was absurd, it was insane, I admit. But is notall passion absurd and insane? Besides, it was by no means a suddeninspiration of her pride, which made her threaten me with suchvengeance. The precision of her phrases, the accuracy of her words, all made me feel that she had long meditated such a blow, and carefullycalculated the effect of every word. 

"I was thunderstruck. 

"And as I kept silence for some time, she asked me coldly, --

"'Well?'

"I had to gain time, first of all. 

"'Well, ' I said, 'I cannot understand your passion. This marriagewhich I mentioned has never existed as yet, except in my mother'simagination. '

"'True?' she asked. 

"'I assure you. '

"She examined me with suspicious eyes. At last she said, --

"'Well, I believe you. But now you are warned: let us think no more ofsuch horrors. '

"She might think no more of them, but I could not. 

"I left her with fury in my heart. 

"She had evidently settled it all. I had for lifetime this halter aroundmy neck, which held me tighter day by day and, at the slightest effortto free myself, I must be prepared for a terrible scandal; for one ofthose overwhelming adventures which destroy a man's whole life. CouldI ever hope to make her listen to reason? No, I was quite sure I couldnot. 

"I knew but too well that I should lose my time, if I were to recall toher that I was not quite as guilty as she would make me out; if I wereto show her that her vengeance would fall less upon myself than upon herhusband and her children; and that, although she might blame the countfor the conditions of their marriage, her daughters, at least, wereinnocent. 

"I looked in vain for an opening out of this horrible difficulty. Uponmy honor, Magloire, there were moments when I thought I would pretendgetting married, for the purpose of inducing the countess to act, and ofbringing upon myself these threats which were hanging over me. I fear nodanger; but I cannot bear to know it to exist, and to wait for it withfolded hands: I must go forth and meet it. 

"The thought that the countess should use her husband for the purpose ofkeeping me bound shocked me. It seemed to me ridiculous and ignoble thatshe should make her husband the guardian of her love. Did she think Iwas afraid of her?

"In the meantime, my mother had asked me what was the result of myreflections on the subject of marriage; and I blushed with shame as Itold her that I was not disposed to marry as yet, as I felt too youngto accept the responsibility of a family. It was so; but, under othercircumstances, I should hardly have put in that plea. I was thushesitating, and thinking how and when I should be able to make an end ofit, when the war broke out. I felt naturally bound to offer my services. I hastened to Boiscoran. They had just organized the volunteers of thedistrict; and they made me their captain. With them I joined the armyof the Loire. In my state of mind, war had nothing fearful for me:every excitement was welcome that made me forget the past. There was, consequently, no merit in my courage. Nevertheless, as the weeks passed, and then the months, without my hearing a word about the CountessClaudieuse, I began secretly to hope that she had forgotten me; andthat, time and absence doing their work, she was giving me up. 

"When peace was made, I returned to Boiscoran; and the countess gave nomore signs of life now than before. I began to feel reassured, and torecover possession of myself, when one day M. De Chandore invited me todinner. I went. I saw Miss Dionysia. 

"I had known her already for some time; and the recollection of her had, perhaps, had its influence upon my desire to quit the countess. Still Ihad always had self-control enough to avoid her lest I should draw somefatal vengeance upon her. When I was brought in contact with her by hergrandfather, I had no longer the heart to avoid her; and, on the day onwhich I thought I read in her eyes that she loved me I made up my mind, and I resolved to risk every thing. 

"But how shall I tell you what I suffered, Magloire, and with whatanxiety I asked every evening when I returned to Boiscoran, --

"'No letter yet?'

"None came; and still it was impossible that the Countess Claudieuseshould not have heard of my marriage. My father had called on M. DeChandore, and asked him for the hand of his grand-daughter for me. I hadbeen publicly acknowledged as her betrothed; and nothing was now to bedone but to fix the wedding-day. 

"This silence frightened me. "

Exhausted and out of breath, Jacque de Boiscoran paused here, pressingboth of his hands on his chest, as if to check the irregular beating ofhis heart. 

He was approaching the catastrophe. 

And yet he looked in vain to the advocate for a word or a sign ofencouragement. M. Magloire remained impenetrable: his face remained asimpassive as an iron mask. 

At last, with a great effort, Jacques resumed, --

"Yes, this calm frightened me more than a storm would have done. Towin Dionysia's love was too great happiness. I expected a catastrophe, something terrible. I expected it with such absolute certainty, that Ihad actually made up my mind to confess every thing to M. De Chandore. You know him, Magloire. The old gentleman is the purest and brightesttype of honor itself. I could intrust my secrets to him with as perfectsafety as I formerly intrusted Genevieve's name to the night winds. 

"Alas! why did I hesitate? why did I delay?

"One word might have saved me; and I should not be here, charged withan atrocious crime, innocent, and yet condemned to see how you doubt thetruth of my words. 

"But fate was against me. 

"After having for a week postponed my confession every day to the next, one evening, after Dionysia and I had been talking of presentiments, Isaid to myself, 'To-morrow it shall be done. '

"The next morning, I went to Boiscoran much earlier than usual, and onfoot, because I wanted to give some orders to a dozen workmen whom Iemployed in my vineyards. I took a short cut through the fields. Alas!not a single detail has escaped from my memory. When I had given myorders, I returned to the high road, and there met the priest fromBrechy, who is a friend of mine. 

"'You must, ' he said, 'keep me company for a little distance. As youare on your way to Sauveterre, it will not delay you much to take thecross-road which passes by Valpinson and the forest of Rochepommier. '

"On what trifles our fate depends!

"I accompanied the priest, and only left him at the point where thehigh-road and the cross-road intersect. As soon as I was alone, Ihastened on; and I was almost through the wood, when, all of a sudden, some twenty yards before me, I saw the Countess Claudieuse comingtowards me. In spite of my emotion, I kept on my way, determined to bowto her, but to pass her without speaking. I did so, and had gone on alittle distance, when I heard her call me, --

"'Jacques!'

"I stopped; or, rather, I was nailed to the spot by that voice which fora long time had held such entire control over my heart. She came up tome, looking even more excited than I was. Her lips trembled, and hereyes wandered to and fro. 

"'Well, ' she said, 'it is no longer a fancy: this time you marry MissChandore. '

"The time for half-measures had passed. 

"'Yes, ' I replied. 

"'Then it is really true, ' she said again. 'It is all over now. Isuppose it would be in vain to remind you of those vows of eternal lovewhich you used to repeat over and over again. Look down there under thatold oak. They are the same trees, this is the same landscape, and I amstill the same woman; but your heart has changed. '

"I made no reply. 

"'You love her very much, do you?' she asked me. 

"I kept obstinately silent. 

"'I understand, ' she said, 'I understand you but too well. AndDionysia? She loves you so much she cannot keep it to herself. She stopsher friends to tell them all about her marriage, and to assure themof her happiness. Oh, yes, indeed, very happy! That love which was mydisgrace is her honor. I was forced to conceal it like a crime: she candisplay it as a virtue. Social forms are, after all, very absurd andunjust; but a fool is he who tries to defy them. '

"Tears, the very first tears I had ever seen her shed, glittered in herlong silky eyelashes. 

"'And to be nothing more to you, --nothing at all! Ah, I was toocautious! Do you recollect the morning after your uncle's death, whenyou, now a rich man, proposed that we should flee? I refused; I clung tomy reputation. I wanted to be respected. I thought it possible to dividelife into two parts, --one to be devoted to pleasure; the other, to thehypocrisy of duty. Poor fool that I was! And still I discovered long agothat you were weary of me. I knew you so well! Your heart was like anopen book to me, in which I read your most secret thoughts. Then I mighthave retained you. I ought to have been humble, obliging, submissive. Instead of that, I tried to command. 

"'And you, ' she said after a short pause, --'are you happy?'

"'I cannot be completely happy as long as I know that you are unhappy. But there is no sorrow which time does not heal. You will forget'--

"'Never!' she cried. 

"And, lowering her voice, she added, --

"'Can I forget you? Alas! my crime is fearful; but the punishment isstill more so. '

"People were coming down the road. 

"'Compose yourself, ' I said. 

"She made an effort to control her emotion. The people passed us, saluting politely. And after a moment she said again, --

"'Well, and when is the wedding?'

"I trembled. She herself insisted upon an explanation. 

"'No day has as yet been fixed, ' I replied. 'Had I not to see youfirst? You uttered once grave threats. '

"'And you were afraid?'

"'No: I was sure I knew you too well to fear that you would punish mefor having loved you, as if that had been a crime. So many things havehappened since the day when you made those threats!'

"'Yes, ' she replied, 'many things indeed! My poor father isincorrigible. Once more he has committed himself fearfully; and oncemore my husband has been compelled to sacrifice a large sum to save him. Ah, Count Claudieuse has a noble heart; and it is a great pity I shouldbe the only one towards whom he has failed to show generosity. Everykindness which he shows me is a new grievance for me; but, havingaccepted them all, I have forfeited the right to strike him, as I hadintended to do. You may marry Dionysia, Jacques; you have nothing tofear from me. '

"Ah! I had not hoped for so much, Magloire. Overcome with joy, I seizedher hand, and raising it to my lips, I said, --

"'You are the kindest of friends. '

"But promptly, as if my lips had burnt her hand, she drew it back, andsaid, turning very pale, --

"'No, don't do that!'

"Then, overcoming her emotion to a certain degree, she added, --

"'But we must meet once more. You have my letters, I dare say. '

"'I have them all. '

"'Well, you must bring them to me. But where? And how? I can hardlyabsent myself at this time. My youngest daughter--our daughter, Jacques--is very ill. Still, an end must be made. Let us see, onThursday--are you free then? Yes. Very well, then come on Thursdayevening, towards nine o'clock, to Valpinson. You will find me at theedge of the wood, near the towers of the old castle, which my husbandhas repaired. '

"'Is that quite prudent?' I asked. 

"'Have I ever left any thing to chance?' she replied, 'and would Ibe apt, at this time, to be imprudent? Rely on me. Come, we must part, Jacques. Thursday, and be punctual!'

"Was I really free? Was the chain really broken? And had I become oncemore my own master?

"I thought so, and in my almost delirious joy I forgave the countess allthe anxieties of the last year. What do I say? I began to accuse myselfof injustice and cruelty. I admired her for sacrificing herself to myhappiness. I felt, in the fulness of my gratitude, like kneeling down, and kissing the hem of her dress. 

"It had become useless now to confide my secret to M. De Chandore. Imight have gone back to Boiscoran. But I was more than half-way; I kepton; and, when I reached Sauveterre, my face bore such evident trances ofmy relief, that Dionysia said to me, --

"'Something very pleasant must have happened to you, Jacques. '

"Oh, yes, very pleasant! For the first time, I breathed freely as I satby her side. I could love her now, without fearing that my love might befatal to her. 

"This security did not last long. As I considered the matter, I thoughtit very singular that the countess should have chosen such a place forour meeting. 

"'Can it be a trap?' I asked, as the day drew nearer. 

"All day long on Thursday I had the most painful presentiments. If I hadknown how to let the countess know, I should certainly not have gone. But I had no means to send her word; and I knew her well enough to besure that breaking my word would expose me to her full vengeance. Idined at the usual hour; and, when I had finished, I went up to my room, where I wrote to Dionysia not to expect me that evening, as I should bedetained by a matter of the utmost importance. 

"I handed the note to Michael, the son of one of my tenants, and toldhim to carry it to town without losing a minute. Then I tied up all ofthe countess's letters in a parcel, put it in my pocket, took my gun, and went out. It might have been eight o'clock; but it was still broaddaylight. "

Whether M. Magloire accepted every thing that the prisoner said astruth, or not, he was evidently deeply interested. He had drawn up hischair, and at every statement he uttered half-loud exclamations. 

"Under any other circumstances, " said Jacques, "I should have taken oneof the two public roads in going to Valpinson. But troubled, as I was, by vague suspicions, I thought only of concealing myself and cut acrossthe marshes. They were partly overflowed; but I counted upon my intimatefamiliarity with the ground, and my agility. I thought, moreover, thathere I should certainly not be seen, and should meet no one. In thisI was mistaken. When I reached the Seille Canal, and was just about tocross it, I found myself face to face with young Ribot, the son of afarmer at Brechy. He looked so very much surprised at seeing me in sucha place, that I thought to give him some explanation; and, renderedstupid by my troubles, I told him I had business at Brechy, and wascrossing the marshes to shoot some birds. 

"'If that is so, ' he replied, laughing, 'we are not after the same kindof game. '

"He went his way; but this accident annoyed me seriously. I continued onmy way, swearing, I fear, at young Ribot, and found that the path becamemore and more dangerous. It was long past nine when I reached Valpinsonat last. But the night was clear, and I became more cautious than ever. 

"The place which the countess had chosen for our meeting was about twohundred yards from the house and the farm buildings, sheltered by otherbuildings, and quite close to the wood. I approached it through thiswood. 

"Hid among the trees, I was examining the ground, when I noticed thecountess standing near one of the old towers: she wore a simple costumeof light muslin, which could be seen at a distance. Finding every thingquiet, I went up to her; and, as soon as she saw me, she said, --

"'I have been waiting for you nearly an hour. '

"I explained to her the difficulties I had met with on my way there; andthen I asked her, --

"'But where is your husband?'

"'He is laid up with rheumatism, ' she replied. 

"'Will he not wonder at your absence?'

"'No: he knows I am sitting up with my youngest daughter. I left thehouse through the little door of the laundry. '

"And, without giving me time to reply, she asked, --

"'Where are my letters?'

"'Here they are, ' I said, handing them to her. 

"She took them with feverish haste, saying in an undertone, --

"'There ought to be twenty-four. '

"And, without thinking of the insult, she went to work counting them. 

"'They are all here, ' she said when she had finished. 

"Then, drawing a little package from her bosom, she added, --

"'And here are yours. '

"But she did not give them to me. 

"'We'll burn them, ' she said. 

"I started with surprise. 

"'You cannot think of it, ' I cried, 'here, and at this hour. The firewould certainly be seen. '

"'What? Are you afraid? However, we can go into the wood. Come, give mesome matches. '

"I felt in my pockets; but I had none. 

"'I have no matches, ' I said. 

"'Oh, come!--you who smoke all day long, --you who, even in my presence, could never give up your cigars. '

"'I left my match-box, yesterday, at M. De Chandore's. '

"She stamped her foot vehemently. 

"'Since that is so, I'll go in and get some. '

"This would have delayed us, and thus would have been an additionalimprudence. I saw that I must do what she wanted, and so I said, --

"'That is not necessary. Wait!'

"All sportsmen know that there is a way to replace matches. I employedthe usual means. I took a cartridge out of my gun, emptied it and itsshot, and put in, instead a piece of paper. Then, resting my gun on theground, so as to prevent a loud explosion, I made the powder flash up. 

"We had fire, and put the letters to the flame. 

"A few minutes later, and nothing was left of them but a few blackenedfragments, which I crumbled in my hands, and scattered to the winds. Immovable, like a statue, the Countess Claudieuse had watched myoperations. 

"'And that is all, ' she said, 'that remains of five years of our life, of our love, and of your vows, --ashes. '

"I replied by a commonplace remark. I was in a hurry to be gone. 

"She felt this, and cried with great vehemence, --

"'Ah! I inspire you with horror. '

"'We have just committed a marvellous imprudence, ' I said. 

"'Ah! what does it matter?'

"Then, in a hoarse voice, she added, --

"'Happiness awaits you, and a new life full of intoxicating hopes: itis quite natural that you should tremble. I, whose life is ended, andwho have nothing to look for, --I, in whom you have killed every hope, --Iam not afraid. '

"I saw her anger rising within her, and said very quietly, --

"'I hope you do not repent of your generosity, Genevieve. '

"'Perhaps I do, ' she replied, in an accent which made me tremble. 'Howyou must laugh at me! What a wretched thing a woman is who is abandoned, who resigns, and sheds tears!'

"Then she went on fiercely, --

"'Confess that you have never loved me really!'

"'Ah, you know very well the contrary!'

"'Still you abandon me for another, --for that Dionysia!'

"'You are married: you cannot be mine. '

"'Then if I were free--if I had been a widow'--

"'You would be my wife you know very well. '

"She raised her arms to heaven, like a drowning person; and, in a voicewhich I thought they could hear at the house, she cried, --

"'His wife! If I were a widow, I would be his wife! O God! Luckily, that thought, that terrible thought, never occurred to me before. '"

All of a sudden, at these words, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre rosefrom his chair, and, placing himself before Jacques de Boiscoran, heasked, looking at him with one of those glances which seem to pierce ourinnermost heart, --

"And then?"

Jacques had to summon all the energy that was left him to be able tocontinue with a semblance of calmness, at least, --

"Then I tried every thing in the world to quiet the countess, to moveher, and bring her back to the generous feelings of former days. I wasso completely upset that I hardly knew what I was saying. I hated herbitterly, and still I could not help pitying her. I am a man; and thereis no man living who would not feel deeply moved at seeing himself theobject of such bitter regrets and such terrible despair. Besides, myhappiness and Dionysia's honor were at stake. How do I know what I said?I am not a hero of romance. No doubt I was mean. I humbled myself, Ibesought her, I told falsehoods, I vowed to her that it was my family, mainly, who made me marry. I hoped I should be able, by great kindnessand caressing words, to soften the bitterness of the parting. Shelistened to me, remaining as impassive as a block of ice; and, when Ipaused, she said with a sinister laugh, --

"'And you tell me all that! Your Dionysia! Ah! if I were a woman likeother women, I would say nothing to-day, and, before the year was over, you would again be at my feet. '

"She must have been thinking of our meeting at the cross-roads. Or wasthis the last outburst of passion at the moment when the last ties werebroken off? I was going to speak again; but she interrupted me bruskly, saying, --

"'Oh, that is enough! Spare me, at least, the insult of your pity! I'llsee. I promise nothing. Good-by!'

"And she escaped toward the house, while I remained rooted to the spot, almost stupefied, and asking myself if she was not, perhaps at thatmoment, telling Count Claudieuse every thing. It was at that moment thatI drew from my gun, almost mechanically, the burnt cartridge and put ina fresh one. Then, as nothing stirred, I went off with rapid strides. "

"What time was it?" asked M. Magloire. 

"I could not tell you precisely. My state of mind was such, that I hadlost all idea of time. I went back through the forest of Rochepommier. "

"And you saw nothing?"

"No. "

"Heard nothing?"

"Nothing. "

"Still, from your statement, you could not have been far from Valpinsonwhen the fire broke out. "

"That is true, and, in the open country, I should certainly have seenthe fire; but I was in a dense wood: the trees cut off all view. "

"And these same trees prevented the sound of the two shots fired atCount Claudieuse from reaching your ear?"

"They might have helped to prevent it; but there was no need for that. I was walking against the wind, which was very high; and it is anestablished fact, that, under such circumstances, the sound of a gun isnot heard beyond fifty yards. "

M. Magloire once more could hardly restrain his impatience; and, utterlyunconscious that he was even harsher than the magistrate, he said, --

"And you think your statement explains every thing?"

"I believe that my statement, which is founded upon the most exacttruth, explains the charges brought against me by M. Galpin. It explainshow I tried to keep my visit to Valpinson secret; how I was met in goingand in coming back, and at hours which correspond with the time of thefire. It explains, finally, how I came at first to deny. It explainshow one of my cartridge-cases was found near the ruins, and why I had towash my hands when I reached home. "

Nothing seemed to be able to shake the lawyer's conviction. He asked, --

"And the day after, when they came to arrest you, what was your firstimpression?"

"I thought at once of Valpinson. "

"And when you were told that a crime had been committed?"

"I said to myself, 'The countess wants to be a widow. '"

All of M. Magloire's blood seemed to rise in his face. He cried, --

"Unhappy man! How can you dare accuse the Countess Claudieuse of such acrime?"

Indignation gave Jacques strength to reply, --

"Whom else should I accuse? A crime has been committed, and under suchcircumstances that it cannot have been committed by any one except byher or by myself. I am innocent: consequently she is guilty. "

"Why did you not say so at once?"

Jacques shrugged his shoulders, and replied in a tone of bitter irony, --

"How many times, and in how many ways, do you want me to give you myreasons? I kept silent the first day, because I did not then know thecircumstances of the crime, and because I was reluctant to accusea woman who had given me her love, and who had become criminal frompassion; because, in fine, I did not think at that time that I was indanger. After that I kept silent because I hoped justice would be ableto discover the truth, or the countess would be unable to bear the ideathat I, the innocent one, should be accused. Still later, when I saw mydanger, I was afraid. "

The advocates' feelings seemed to be revolted. He broke in, --

"You do not tell the truth, Jacques; and I will tell you why you keptsilent. It is very difficult to make up a story which is to account forevery thing. But you are a clever man: you thought it over, and you madeout a story. There is nothing lacking in it, except probability. Youmight tell me that the Countess Claudieuse has unfairly enjoyed thereputation of a saint, and that she has given you her love; perhaps Imight be willing to believe it. But when you say she has set her ownhouse on fire, and taken up a gun to shoot her husband, that I cannever, never admit. "

"Still it is the truth. "

"No; for the evidence of Count Claudieuse is precise. He has seen hismurderer; it was a man who fired at him. "

"And who tells you that Count Claudieuse does not know all, and wants tosave his wife, and ruin me? There would be a vengeance for him. "

The objection took the advocate by surprise; but he rejected it at once, and said, --

"Ah! be silent, or prove. "

"All the letters are burned. "

"When one has been a woman's lover for five years, there are alwaysproofs. "

"But you see there are none. "

"Do not insist, " repeated M. Magloire. 

And, in a voice full of pity and emotion, he added, --

"Unhappy man! Do you not feel, that, in order to escape from one crime, you are committing another which is a thousand times worse?"

Jacques stood wringing his hand, and said--

"It is enough to drive me mad. "

"And even if I, your friend, " continued M. Magloire, "should believeyou, how would that help you? Would any one else believe it? Look here Iwill tell you exactly what I think. Even if I were perfectly sure of allthe facts you mention, I should never plead them in my defence, unless Ihad proofs. To plead them, understand me well, would be to ruin yourselfinevitably. "

"Still they must be pleaded; for they are the truth. "

"Then, " said M. Magloire, "you must look for another advocate. "

And he went toward the door. He was on the point of leaving, whenJacques cried out, almost in agony, --

"Great God, he forsakes me!"

"No, " replied the advocate; "but I cannot discuss matters with you inthe state of excitement in which you now are. You will think it over, and I will come again to-morrow. "

He left; and Jacques de Boiscoran fell, utterly undone, on one of theprison chairs. 

"It is all over, " he stammered: "I am lost. "

XV. 

During all this time, they were suffering intense anxiety at M. DeChandore's house. Ever since eight o'clock in the morning the two aunts, the old gentleman, the marchioness, and M. Folgat had been assembled inthe dining-room, and were there waiting for the result of the interview. Dionysia had only come down later; and her grandfather could not helpnoticing that she had dressed more carefully than usual. 

"Are we not going to see Jacques again?" she replied with a smile fullof confidence and joy. 

She had actually persuaded herself that one word from Jacques wouldsuffice to convince the celebrated lawyer, and that he would reappeartriumphant on M. Magloire's arm. The others did not share theseexpectations. The two aunts, looking as yellow as their old laces, satimmovable in a corner. The marchioness was trying to hide her tears; andM. Folgat endeavored to look absorbed in a volume of engravings. M. DeChandore, who possessed less self-control, walked up and down in theroom, repeating every ten minutes, --

"It is wonderful how long time seems when you are waiting!"

At ten o'clock no news had come. 

"Could M. Magloire have forgotten his promise?" said Dionysia, becominganxious. 

"No, he has not forgotten it, " replied a newcomer, M. Seneschal. Itwas really the excellent mayor, who had met M. Magloire about an hourbefore, and who now came to hear the news, for his own sake, as he said, but especially for his wife's sake, who was actually ill with anxiety. 

Eleven o'clock, and no news. The marchioness got up, and said, --

"I cannot stand this uncertainty a minute longer. I am going to theprison. "

"And I will go with you, dear mother, " declared Dionysia. 

But such a proceeding was hardly suitable. M. De Chandore opposed it, and was supported by M. Folgat, as well as by M. Seneschal. 

"We might at least send somebody, " suggested the two aunts timidly. 

"That is a good idea, " replied M. De Chandore. 

He rang the bell; and old Anthony came in. He had established himselfthe evening before in Sauveterre, having heard that the preliminaryinvestigation was finished. 

As soon as he had been told what they wanted him to do, he said, --

"I shall be back in half an hour. "

He nearly ran down the steep street, hastened along National Street, andthen climbed up more slowly Castle Street. When M. Blangin, the keeper, saw him appear, he turned very pale; for M. Blangin had not slept sinceDionysia had given him the seventeen thousand francs. He, once upon atime the special friend of all gendarmes, now trembled when one of thementered the jail. Not that he felt any remorse about having betrayed hisduty; oh, no! but he feared discovery. 

More than ten times he had changed the hiding-place of his preciousstocking; but, wherever he put it, he always fancied that the eyes ofhis visitors were riveted upon that very spot. He recovered, however, from his fright when Anthony told him his errand, and replied in themost civil manner, --

"M. Magloire came here at nine o'clock precisely. I took him immediatelyto M. De Boiscoran's cell; and ever since they have been talking, talking. "

"Are you quite sure?"

"Of course I am. Must I not know every thing that happens in my jail? Iwent and listened. You can hear nothing from the passage: they have shutthe wicket, and the door is massive. "

"That is strange, " murmured the old servant. 

"Yes, and a bad sign, " declared the keeper with a knowing air. "I havenoticed that the prisoners who take so long to state their case to theiradvocate always catch the maximum of punishment. "

Anthony, of course, did not report to his masters the jailer's mournfulanticipations; but what he told them about the length of the interviewdid not tend to relieve their anxiety. 

Gradually the color had faded from Dionysia's cheeks; and the clear ringof her voice was half drowned in tears, when she said, that it wouldhave been better, perhaps, if she had put on mourning, and that seeingthe whole family assembled thus reminded her of a funeral. 

The sudden arrival of Dr. Seignebos cut short her remarks. He was in agreat passion, as usual; and as soon as he entered, he cried, --

"What a stupid town Sauveterre is! Nothing but gossip and idle reports!The people are all of them old women. I feel like running away, andhiding myself. On my way here, twenty curious people have stopped me toask me what M. De Boiscoran is going to do now. For the town is full ofrumors. They know that Magloire is at the jail now; and everybody wantsto be the first to hear Jacques's story. "

He had put his immense broad brimmed hat on the table, and, lookingaround the room at all the sad faces he asked, --

"And you have no news yet?"

"Nothing, " replied M. Seneschal and M. Folgat at the same breath. 

"And we are frightened by this delay, " added Dionysia. 

"And why?" asked the physician. 

Then taking down his spectacles, and wiping them diligently, he said, --

"Did you think, my dear young lady, that Jacques de Boiscoran's affaircould be settled in five minutes? If they let you believe that, they didwrong. I, who despise all concealment, I will tell you the truth. At thebottom of all these occurrences at Valpinson, there lies, I am perfectlysure, some dark intrigue. Most assuredly we shall put Jacques out of histrouble; but I fear it will be hard work. "

"M. Magloire!" announced old Anthony. 

The eminent advocate of Sauveterre entered. He looked so undone, andbore so evidently the traces of his excitement, that all had the sameterrible thought which Dionysia expressed. 

"Jacques is lost!"

M. Magloire did not say no. 

"I believe he is in danger. "

"Jacques, " murmured the old marchioness, --"my son!"

"I said in danger, " repeated the advocate; "but I ought to have said, heis in a strange, almost incredible, unnatural position. "

"Let us hear, " said the marchioness. 

The lawyer was evidently very much embarrassed; and he looked withunmistakable distress, first at Dionysia, and then at the two old aunts. But nobody noticed this, and so he said, --

"I must ask to be left alone with these gentlemen. "

In the most docile manner the Misses Lavarande rose, and took theirniece and Jacques's mother with them: the latter was evidently nearfainting. As soon as the door was shut, Grandpapa Chandore, half madwith grief, exclaimed, --

"Thanks, M. Magloire, thanks for having given me time to prepare my poorchild for the terrible blow. I see but too well what you are going tosay. Jacques is guilty. "

"Stop, " said the advocate: "I have said nothing of the kind. M. DeBoiscoran still protests energetically that he is innocent; but hestates in his defence a fact which is so entirely improbable, so utterlyinadmissible"--

"But what does he say?" asked M. Seneschal. 

"He says that the Countess Claudieuse has been his mistress. "

Dr. Seignebos started, and, readjusting his spectacles, he criedtriumphantly, --

"I said so! I have guessed it!"

M. Folgat had, on this occasion, very naturally, no deliberative voice. He came from Paris, with Paris ideas; and, whatever he might have beentold, the name of the Countess Claudieuse revealed to him nothing. But, from the effect which it produced upon the others, he could judge whatJacques's accusation meant. Far from being of the doctor's opinion M. De Chandore and M. Seneschal both seemed to be as much shocked as M. Magloire. 

"That is incredible, " said one. 

"That is impossible, " added the other. 

M. Magloire shook his head, and said, --

"That is exactly what I told Jacques. "

But the doctor was not the man to be surprised at what public opinionsaid, much less to fear it. He exclaimed, --

"Don't you hear what I say? Don't you understand me? The proof thatthe thing is neither so incredible nor so impossible is, that I hadsuspected it. And there were signs of it, I should think. Why on earthshould a man like Jacques, young, rich, well made, in love with acharming girl, and beloved by her, why should he amuse himself withsetting houses on fire, and killing people? You tell me he did notlike Count Claudieuse. Upon my word! If everybody who does not like Dr. Seignebos were to come and fire at him forthwith, do you know my bodywould look like a sieve! Among you all, M. Folgat is the only one whohas not been struck with blindness. "

The young lawyer tried modestly to protest. 

"Sir"--

But the other cut him short, and went on, --

"Yes, sir, you saw it all; and the proof of it is, that you at once wentto work in search of the real motive, the heart, --in fine, the woman atthe bottom of the riddle. The proof of it is, that you went and askedeverybody, --Anthony, M. De Chandore, M. Seneschal, and myself, --if M. DeBoiscoran had not now, or had not had, some love-affair in the country. They all said No, being far from suspecting the truth. I alone, withoutgiving you a positive answer, told you that I thought as you did, andtold you so in M. De Chandore's presence. "

"That is so!" replied the old gentleman and M. Folgat. 

Dr. Seignebos was triumphant. Gesticulating, and continually handlinghis spectacles, he added, --

"You see I have learnt to mistrust appearances; and hence I had mymisgivings from the beginning. I watched the Countess Claudieuse thenight of the fire; and I saw that she looked embarrassed, troubled, suspicious. I wondered at her readiness to yield to M. Galpin's whim, and to allow Cocoleu to be examined; for I knew that she was the onlyone who could ever make that so-called idiot talk. You see I have goodeyes, gentlemen, in spite of my spectacles. Well, I swear by all I holdmost sacred, on my Republican faith, I am ready to affirm upon oath, that, when Cocoleu uttered Jacques de Boiscoran's name, the countessexhibited no sign of surprise. "

Never before, in their life, had the mayor of Sauveterre and Dr. Seignebos been able to agree on any subject. This question was notlikely to produce such an effect all of a sudden: hence M. Seneschalsaid, --

"I was present at Cocoleu's examination, and I noticed, on the contrary, the amazement of the countess. "

The doctor raised his shoulders, and said, --

"Certainly she said, 'Ah!' But that is no proof. I, also, could veryeasily say, 'Ah!' if anybody should come and tell me that the mayor ofSauveterre was in the wrong; and still I should not be surprised. "

"Doctor!" said M. De Chandore, anxious to conciliate, --"doctor!"

But Dr. Seignebos had already turned to M. Magloire, whom he was anxiousto convert, and went on, --

"Yes, the face of the Countess Claudieuse, expressed amazement; but hereyes spoke of bitter, fierce hatred, of joy, and of vengeance. And thatis not all. Will you please tell me, Mr. Mayor, when Count Claudieusewas roused by the fire, was the countess by him? No, she was nursing heryoungest daughter, who had the measles. Hm! What do you think of measleswhich make sitting up at night necessary? And when the two shots werefired, where was the countess then? Still with her daughter, and on theother side of the house from where the fire was. "

The mayor of Sauveterre was no less obstinate than the doctor. He atonce objected, --

"I beg you will notice, doctor, that Count Claudieuse himself deposedhow, when he ran to the fire, he found the door shut from within, justas he had left it a few hours before. "

Dr. Seignebos returned a most ironical bow, and then asked, --

"Is there really only one door in the chateau at Valpinson?"

"To my knowledge, " said M. De Chandore, "there are at least three. "

"And I must say, " added M. Magloire, "that according to M. DeBoiscoran's statement, the countess, on that evening, had gone out bythe laundry-door when she came to meet him. "

"What did I say?" exclaimed the doctor. 

And, wiping his glasses in a perfect rage, he added, --

"And the children! Does Mr. Mayor think it natural that the CountessClaudieuse, this incomparable mother in his estimation, should forgether children in the height of the fire?"

"What! The poor woman is called out by the discharge of fire-arms;she sees her house on fire; she stumbles over the lifeless body of herhusband: and you blame her for not having preserved all her presence ofmind. "

"That is one view of it; but it is not the one I take. I rather thinkthat the countess, having been delayed out of doors, was prevented bythe fire from getting in again. I think, also, that Cocoleu came veryopportunely; and that it was very lucky Providence should inspire hismind with that sublime idea of saving the children at the risk of hislife. "

This time M. Seneschal made no reply. 

"Supported by all these facts, " continued the doctor, "my suspicionsbecame so strong that I determined to ascertain the truth, if I could. The next day I questioned the countess, and, I must confess, rathertreacherously. Her replies and her looks were not such as to modifymy views. When I asked her, looking straight into her eyes, what shethought of Cocoleu's mental condition, she nearly fainted; and shecould hardly make me hear her when she said that she occasionally caughtglimpses of intelligence in him. When I asked her if Cocoleu was fond ofher, she said, in a most embarrassed manner, that his devotion was thatof an animal which is grateful for the care taken of him. What do youthink of that, gentlemen? To me it appeared that Cocoleu was at thebottom of the whole affair; that he knew the truth; and that I shouldbe able to save Jacques, if I could prove Cocoleu's imbecility to beassumed, and his speechlessness to be an imposture. And I would haveproved it, if they had associated with me any one else but this ass andthis jackanapes from Paris. "

He paused for a few seconds; but, without giving anybody time to reply, he went on, --

"Now, let us go back to our point of departure, and draw ourconclusions. Why do you think it so improbable and impossible that thecountess Claudieuse should have betrayed her duties? Because she has aworld-wide reputation for purity and prudence. Well. But was not Jacquesde Boiscoran's reputation as a man of honor also above all doubt?According to your views, it is absurd to suspect the countess of havinghad a lover. According to my notions, it is absurd that Jacques should, overnight, have become a scoundrel. "

"Oh! that is not the same thing, " said M. Seneschal. 

"Certainly not!" replied the doctor; "and there you are right, for once. If M. De Boiscoran had committed this crime, it would be one of thoseabsurd crimes which are revolting to us; but, if committed by thecountess, it is only the catastrophe prepared by Count Claudieuse on theday when he married a woman thirty years younger than he was. "

The great wrath of Dr. Seignebos was not always as formidable as itlooked. Even when he appeared to be almost beside himself, he neversaid more than he intended to say, possessed as he was of that admirablesouthern quality, which enabled him to pour forth fire and flames, andto remain as cold as ice within, But in this case he showed what hethought fully. He had said quite enough, too, and had presented thewhole affair under such a new aspect, that his friends became verythoughtful. 

"You would have converted me, doctor, " said M. Folgat, "if I had notbeen of your opinion before. "

"I am sure, " added M. De Chandore, after hearing the doctor, "the thingno longer looks impossible. "

"Nothing is impossible, " said M. Seneschal, like a philosopher. 

The eminent advocate of Sauveterre alone remained unmoved. 

"Well, " said he, "I had rather admit one hour of utter insanity eventhan five years of such monstrous hypocrisy. Jacques may have committedthe crime, and be nothing but a madman; but, if the countess is guilty, one might despair of mankind, and renounce all faith in this world. Ihave seen her, gentlemen, with her husband and her children. No one canfeign such looks of tenderness and affection. "

"He will never give her up!" growled Dr. Seignebos, --

And touching his friend on the shoulder, --for M. Magloire had been hisfriend for many years, and they were quite intimate, --he said, --

"Ah! There I recognize my friend, the strange lawyer, who judges othersby himself, and refuses to believe any thing bad. Oh, do not protest!For we love and honor you for that very faith, and are proud to see youamong us Republicans. But I must confess you are not the man to bringlight into such a dark intrigue. At twenty-eight you married a girlwhom you loved dearly: you lost her, and ever since you have remainedfaithful to her memory, and lived so far from all passions that you nolonger believe in their existence. Happy man! Your heart is still attwenty; and with your grey hair you still believe in the smiles andlooks of woman. "

There was much truth in this; but there are certain truths which we arenot overfond of hearing. 

"My simplicity has nothing to do with the matter, " said M. Magloire. "Iaffirm and maintain that a man who has been for five years the lover ofa woman must have some proof of it. "

"Well, there you are mistaken, master, " said the physician, arranginghis spectacles with an air of self-conceit, which, under othercircumstances, would have been irresistibly ludicrous. 

"When women determine to be prudent and suspicious, " remarked M. DeChandore, "they never are so by halves. "

"It is evident, besides, " added M. Folgat, "that the Countess Claudieusewould never have determined upon so bold a crime, if she had not beenquite sure, that after the burning of her letters, no proof could bebrought against her. "

"That is it!" cried the doctor. 

M. Magloire did not conceal his impatience. He said dryly, --

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, it does not depend on you to acquit orcondemn M. De Boiscoran. I am not here to convince you, or to beconvinced: I came to discuss with M. De Boiscoran's friends our line ofconduct, and the basis of or defence. "

And M. Magloire was evidently right in this estimate of his duty. Hewent and leaned against the mantelpiece; and, when the others had takentheir seats around him, he began, --

"In the first place, I will admit the allegations made by M. DeBoiscoran. He is innocent. He has been the lover of Countess Claudieuse;but he has no proof. This being granted, what is to be done? Shall Iadvise him to send for the magistrate, and to confess it all?"

No one replied at first. It was only after a long silence that Dr. Seignebos said, --

"That would be very serious. "

"Very serious, indeed, " repeated the famous lawyer. "Our own feelingsgive us the measure of what M. Galpin will think. First of all, he, also, will ask for proof, the evidence of a witness, any thing, in fact. And, when Jacques tells him that he has nothing to give but his word, M. Galpin will tell him that he does not speak the truth. "

"He might, perhaps, consent to extend the investigation, " said M. Seneschal. "He might possibly summon the countess. "

M. Magloire nodded, and said, --

"He would certainly summon her. But, then, would she confess? Itwould be madness to expect that. If she is guilty, she is far toostrong-minded to let the truth escape her. She would deny every thing, haughtily, magnificently, and in such a manner as not to leave a shadowof doubt. "

"That is only too probable, " growled the doctor. "That poor Galpin isnot the strongest of men. "

"What would be the result of such a step?" asked M. Magloire. "M. DeBoiscoran's case would be a hundred times worse; for to his crime wouldnow be added the odium of the meanest, vilest calumny. "

M. Folgat was following with the utmost attention. He said, --

"I am very glad to hear my honorable colleague give utterance to thatopinion. We must give up all hope of delaying the proceedings, and letM. De Boiscoran go into court at once. "

M. De Chandore raised his hands to heaven, as if in sheer despair. 

"But Dionysia will die of grief and shame, " he exclaimed. 

M. Magloire, absorbed in his own views, went on, --

"Well, here we are now before the court at Sauveterre, before a jurycomposed of people from this district, incapable of prevarication, Iam sure, but, unfortunately, under the influence of that public opinionwhich has long since condemned M. De Boiscoran. The proceedings begin;the judge questions the accused. Will he say what he told me, --that, after having been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse, he had gone toValpinson to carry her back her letters, and to get his own, and thatthey are all burnt? Suppose he says so. Immediately then there willarise a storm of indignation; and he will be overwhelmed with cursesand with contempt. Well, thereupon, the president of the court uses hisdiscretionary powers, suspends the trial, and sends for the CountessClaudieuse. Since we look upon her as guilty, we must needs endow herwith supernatural energy. She had foreseen what is coming, and has readover her part. When summoned, she appears, pale, dressed in black; anda murmur of respectful sympathy greets her at her entrance. You see herbefore you, don't you? The president explains to her why she has beensent for, and she does not comprehend. She cannot possibly comprehendsuch an abominable calumny. But when she has comprehended it? Do you seethe lofty look by which she crushes Jacques, and the grandeur with whichshe replies, 'When this man had failed in trying to murder my husband, he tried to disgrace his wife. I intrust to you my honor as a motherand a wife, gentlemen. I shall not answer the infamous charges of thisabject calumniator. '"

"But that means the galleys for Jacques, " exclaimed M. De Chandore, "oreven the scaffold!"

"That would be the maximum, at all events, " replied the advocate ofSauveterre. "But the trial goes on; the prosecuting attorney demands anoverwhelming punishment; and at last the prisoner's council is calledupon to speak. Gentlemen, you were impatient at my persistence. I do notcredit, I confess, the statement made by M. De Boiscoran. But my youngcolleague here does credit it. Well, let him tell us candidly. Would hedare to plead this statement, and assert that the Countess Claudieusehad been Jacques's mistress?"

M. Folgat looked annoyed. 

"I don't know, " he said in an undertone. 

"Well, I know you would not, " exclaimed M. Magloire; "and you would beright, for you would risk your reputation without the slightest chanceof saving Jacques. Yes, no chance whatever! For after all, let ussuppose, what can hardly be even supposed, you should prove that Jacqueshas told the truth, that he has been the lover of the countess. Whatwould happen then? They arrest the countess. Do they release M. DeBoiscoran on that account? Certainly not! They keep him in prison, andsay to him. 'This woman has attempted her husband's life; but she hadbeen your mistress, and you are her accomplice. '

"That is the situation, gentlemen!"

M. Magloire had stripped it of all unnecessary comments, of idleconjecture, and all sentimental phraseology, and placed it before themas it had to be looked at, in all its fearful simplicity. 

Grandpapa Chandore was terrified. He rose, and said in an almostinaudible voice, --

"Ah, all is over indeed! Innocent, or guilty, Jacques de Boiscoran willbe condemned. "

M. Magloire made no reply. 

"And that is, " continued the old gentleman, "what you call justice!"

"Alas!" sighed M. Seneschal, "it is useless to deny it: trials by juryare a lottery. "

M. De Chandore, driven nearly to madness by his despair, interruptedhim, --

"In other words, Jacques's honor and life depend at this hour on achance, --on the weather on the day of the trial, or the health of ajuror. And if Jacques was the only one! But there is Dionysia's life, gentlemen, my child's life, also at stake. If you strike Jacques, youstrike Dionysia!"

M. Folgat could hardly restrain a tear. M. Seneschal, and even thedoctor, shuddered at such grief in an old man, who was threatened in allthat was dearest to him, --in his one great love upon earth. He hadtaken the hand of the great advocate of Sauveterre, and, pressing itconvulsively, he went on, --

"You will save him, Magloire, won't you? What does it matter whether hebe innocent or guilty, since Dionysia loves him? You have saved so manyin your life! It is well known the judges cannot resist the weight ofyour words. You will find means to save a poor, unhappy man who once wasyour friend. "

The eminent lawyer looked cast-down, as if he had been guilty himself. When Dr. Seignebos saw this, he exclaimed, --

"What do you mean, friend Magloire? Are you no longer the man whosemarvellous eloquence is the pride of our country? Hold your head up: forshame! Never was a nobler cause intrusted to you. "

But he shook his head, and murmured, --

"I have no faith in it; and I cannot plead when my conscience does notfurnish the arguments. "

And becoming more and more embarrassed, he added, --

"Seignebos was right in saying just now, I am not the man for such acause. Here all my experience would be of no use. It will be better tointrust it to my young brother here. "

For the first time in his life, M. Folgat came here upon a case suchas enables a man to rise to eminence, and to open a great future beforehim. For the first time, he came upon a case in which were united allthe elements of supreme interest, --greatness of crime, eminenceof victim, character of the accused, mystery, variety of opinions, difficulty of defence, and uncertainty of issue, --one of those causesfor which an advocate is filled with enthusiasm, which he seizes uponwith all his energies, and in which he shares all the anxiety and allthe hopes with his client. 

He would readily have given five years' income to be offered themanagement of this case; but he was, above all, an honest man. He said, therefore, --

"You would not think of abandoning M. De Boiscoran, M. Magloire?"

"You will be more useful to him than I can be, " was the reply. 

Perhaps M. Folgat was inwardly of the same opinion. Still he said, --

"You have not considered what an effect this would have. "

"Oh!"

"What would the public think if they heard all of a sudden that youhad withdrawn? 'This affair of M. De Boiscoran must be a very bad oneindeed, ' they would say, 'that M. Magloire should refuse to plead init. ' And that would be an additional burden laid upon the unfortunateman. "

The doctor gave his friend no time to reply. 

"Magloire is not at liberty to withdraw, " he said, "but he has the rightto associate a brother-lawyer with himself. He must remain theadvocate and counsel of M. De Boiscoran; but M. Folgat can lend him theassistance of his advice, the support of his youth and his activity, andeven of his eloquence. "

A passing blush colored the cheeks of the young lawyer. 

"I am entirely at M. Magloire's service, " he said. 

The famous advocate of Sauveterre considered a while. After a fewmoments he turned to his young colleague, and asked him, --

"Have you any plan? Any idea? What would you do?"

To the astonishment of all, M. Folgat now revealed his true characterto some extent. He looked taller, his face brightened up, his eyes shonebrightly, and he said in a full, sonorous voice, --a voice which by itsmetallic ring made all hearts vibrate, --

"First of all, I should go and see M. De Boiscoran. He alone shoulddetermine my final decision. But my plan is formed now. I, gentlemen, I have faith, as I told you before. The man whom Miss Dionysia lovescannot be a criminal. What would I do? I would prove the truth of M. De Boiscoran's statement. Can that be done? I hope so. He tells usthat there are no proofs or witnesses of his intimacy with theCountess Claudieuse. I am sure he is mistaken. She has shown, he says, extraordinary care and prudence. That may be. But mistrust challengessuspicion; and, when you take the greatest precautions, you are mostlikely to be watched. You want to hide, and you are discovered. You seenobody; but they see you. 

"If I were charged with the defence, I should commence to-morrow acounter-investigation. We have money, the Marquis de Boiscoran hasinfluential connections; and we should have help everywhere. Beforeforty-eight hours are gone, I should have experienced agents at work. I know Vine Street in Passy: it is a lonely street; but it has eyes, as all streets have. Why should not some of these eyes have noticed themysterious visits of the countess? My agents would inquire from houseto house. Nor would it be necessary to mention names. They would notbe charged with a search after the Countess Claudieuse, but after anunknown lady, dressed so and so; and, if they should discover any onewho had seen her, and who could identify her, that man would be ourfirst witness. 

"In the meantime, I should go in search of this friend of M. DeBoiscoran's, this Englishman, whose name he assumed; and the Londonpolice would aid me in my efforts. If that Englishman is dead, we wouldhear of it, and it would be a misfortune. If he is only at the other endof the world, the transatlantic cable enables us to question him, and tobe answered in a week. 

"I should, at the same time, have sent detectives after that Englishmaid-servant who attended to the house in Vine Street. M. De Boiscorandeclares that she has never even caught a glimpse of the countess. I donot believe it. It is out of question that a servant should not wish forthe means, and find them, of seeing the face of the woman who comes tosee her master. 

"And that is not all. There were other people who came to the house inVine Street. I should examine them one by one, --the gardener and hishelp, the water-carrier, the upholsterer, the errand-boys of all themerchants. Who can say whether one of them is not in possession of thistruth which we are seeking?

"Finally, when a woman has spent so many days in a house, it is almostimpossible that she should not have left some traces of her passagebehind her. Since then, you will say, there has been the war, and thenthe commune. Nevertheless, I should examine the ruins, every tree in thegarden, every pane in the windows: I should compel the very mirrors thathave escaped destruction to give me back the image which they have sooften reflected. "

"Ah, I call that speaking!" cried the doctor, full of enthusiasm. 

The others trembled with excitement. They felt that the struggle wascommencing. But, unmindful of the impression he had produced, M. Folgatwent on, --

"Here in Sauveterre, the task would be more difficult; but, in case ofsuccess, the result, also, would be more decided. I should bring downfrom Paris one of those keen, subtle detectives who have made an art oftheir profession, and I should know how to stimulate his vanity. He, ofcourse, would have to know every thing, even the names; but there wouldbe no danger in that. His desire to succeed, the splendor of the reward, even his professional habits, would be our security. He would come downsecretly, concealed under whatever disguise would appear to him mostuseful for his purpose; and he would begin once more, for the benefit ofthe defence, the investigation carried on by M. Galpin for the benefitof the prosecution. Would he find out any thing? We can but hope so. Iknow detectives, who, by the aid of smaller material, have unravelledfar deeper mysteries. "

Grandpapa Chandore, excellent M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos, and even M. Magloire, were literally drinking in the words of the Paris lawyer. 

"Is that all, gentlemen?" he continued. "By no means! Thanks tohis great experience, Dr. Seignebos had, on the very first day, instinctively guessed who was the most important personage of thismysterious drama. "

"Cocoleu!"

"Exactly, Cocoleu. Whether he be actor, confident, or eye-witness, Cocoleu has evidently the key to this mystery. This key we must makeevery effort to obtain from him. Medical experts have just declared himidiotic; nevertheless, we protest. We claim that the imbecility of thiswretch is partly assumed. We maintain that his obstinate silence isa vile imposture. What! he should have intelligence enough to testifyagainst us, and yet not have left enough of it now to explain, or evento repeat his evidence? That is inadmissible. We maintain that he keepssilent now just as he spoke that night, --by order. If his silence wasless profitable for the prosecution, they would soon find means to breakit. We demand that such means should be employed. We demand that theperson who has before been able to loosen his tongue should be sentfor, and ordered to try the experiment over again. We call for anew examination by experts: we cannot judge all of a sudden, andin forty-eight hours, what is the true mental condition of a man, especially when that man is suspected of being an impostor. And werequire, above all, that these new experts should be qualified byknowledge and experience. "

Dr. Seignebos was quivering with excitement. He heard all his own ideasrepeated in a concise, energetic manner. 

"Yes, " he cried, "that is the way to do it! Let me have full power, andin less than a fortnight Cocoleu is unmasked. "

Less expansive, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre simply shook handswith M. Folgat, and said, --

"You see, M. De Boiscoran's case ought to be put in your hands. "

The young lawyer made no effort to protest. When he began to speak, hisdetermination was already formed. 

"Whatever can humanly be done, " he replied, "I will do. If I accept thetask, I shall devote myself body and soul to it. But I insist upon it, it is understood, and must be publicly announced, that M. Magloire doesnot withdraw from the case, and that I act only as his junior. "

"Agreed, " said the old advocate. 

"Well. When shall we go and see M. De Boiscoran?"

"To-morrow morning. "

"I can, of course, take no steps till I have seen him. "

"Yes, but you cannot be admitted, except by a special permission from M. Galpin; and I doubt if we can procure that to-day. "

"That is provoking. "

"No, since we have our work all cut out for to-day. We have to go overall the papers of the proceedings, which the magistrate has placed in myhands. "

Dr. Seignebos was boiling over with impatience. He broke in, --

"Oh, what words! Go to work, Mr. Advocate, to work, I say. Come, shallwe go?"

They were leaving the room when M. De Chandore called them back by agesture. He said, --

"So far, gentlemen, we have thought of Jacques alone. And Dionysia?"

The others looked at him, full of surprise. 

"What am I to say if she asks me what the result of M. Magloire'sinterview with Jacques has been, and why you would say nothing in herpresence?"

Dr. Seignebos had confessed it more than once: he was no friend ofconcealment. 

"You will tell her the truth, " was his advice. 

"What? How can I tell her that Jacques has been the lover of theCountess Claudieuse?"

"She will hear of it sooner or later. Miss Dionysia is a sensible, energetic girl. "

"Yes; but Miss Dionysia is as ignorant as a holy angel, " broke in M. Folgat eagerly, "and she loves M. De Boiscoran. Why should we troublethe purity of her thoughts and her happiness? Is she not unhappy enough?M. De Boiscoran is no longer kept in close confinement. He will see hisbetrothed, and, if he thinks proper, he can tell her. He alone has theright to do so. I shall, however, dissuade him. From what I know of MissChandore's character, it would be impossible for her to control herself, if she should meet the Countess Claudieuse. "

"M. De Chandore ought not to say any thing, " said M. Magloiredecisively. "It is too much already, to have to intrust the marchionesswith the secret; for you must not forget, gentlemen, that the slightestindiscretion would certainly ruin all of M. Folgat's delicate plans. "

Thereupon all went out; and M. De Chandore, left alone, said tohimself, --

"Yes, they are right; but what am I to say?"

He was thinking it over almost painfully, when a maid came in, and toldhim that Miss Dionysia wanted to see him. 

"I am coming, " he said. 

And he followed her with heavy steps, and trying to compose his featuresso as to efface all traces of the terrible emotions through which hehad passed. The two aunts had taken Dionysia and the marchioness tothe parlor in the upper story. Here M. De Chandore found them allassembled, --the marchioness, pale and overcome, extended in aneasy-chair; but Dionysia, walking up and down with burning cheeks andblazing eyes. As soon as he entered, she asked him in a sharp, sadvoice, --

"Well? There is no hope, I suppose. "

"More hope than ever, on the contrary, " he replied, trying to smile. 

"Then why did M. De Magloire send us all out?"

The old gentleman had had time to prepare a fib. 

"Because M. Magloire had to tell us a piece of bad news. There is nochance of no true bill being found. Jacques will have to appear incourt. "

The marchioness jumped up like a piece of mechanism, and cried, --

"What! Jacques before the assizes? My son? A Boiscoran?" And she fellback into her chair. Not a muscle in Dionysia's face had moved. She saidin a strange tone of voice, --

"I was prepared for something worse. One may avoid the court. "

With these words she left the room, shutting the door so violently, thatboth the Misses Lavarande hastened after her. Now M. De Chandore thoughthe might speak freely. He stood up before the marchioness, and gave ventto that fearful wrath which had been rising within him for a long time. 

"Your son, " he cried, "your Jacques, I wish he were dead a thousandtimes! The wretch who is killing my child, for you see he is killingher. "

And, without pity, he told her the whole story of Jacques and theCountess Claudieuse. The marchioness was overcome. She had even ceasedto sob, and had not strength enough left to ask him to have pity on her. And, when he had ended, she whispered to herself with an expression ofunspeakable suffering, --

"Adultery! Oh, my God! what punishment!"

XVI. 

M. Folgat and M. Magloire went to the courthouse; and, as they descendedthe steep street from M. De Chandore's house, the Paris lawyer said, --

"M. Galpin must fancy himself wonderfully safe in his position, thathe should grant the defence permission to see all the papers of theprosecution. "

Ordinarily such leave is given only after the court has begunproceedings against the accused, and the presiding judge has questionedhim. This looks like crying injustice to the prisoner; and hencearrangements can be made by which the rigor of the law is somewhatmitigated. With the consent of the commonwealth attorney, and uponhis responsibility, the magistrate who had carried on the preliminaryinvestigation may inform the accused, or his counsel, by word of mouth, or by a copy of all or of part, of what has happened during the firstinquiry. That is what M. Galpin had done. 

And on the part of a man who was ever ready to interpret the law in itsstrictest meaning, and who no more dared proceed without authority forevery step than a blind man without his staff, --or on the part of sucha man, an enemy, too, of M. De Boiscoran, this permission granted tothe defence was full of meaning. But did it really mean what M. Folgatthought it did?

"I am almost sure you are mistaken, " said M. Magloire. "I know thegood man, having practiced with him for many years. If he were sureof himself, he would be pitiless. If he is kind, he is afraid. Thisconcession is a door which he keeps open, in case of defeat. "

The eminent counsel was right. However well convinced M. Galpin might beof Jacques's guilt, he was still very much troubled about his means ofdefence. Twenty examinations had elicited nothing from his prisoner butprotestations of innocence. When he was driven to the wall, he wouldreply, --

"I shall explain when I have seen my counsel. "

This is often the reply of the most stupid scamp, who only wants to gaintime. But M. Galpin knew his former friend, and had too high an opinionof his mind, not to fear that there was something serious beneath hisobstinate silence. 

What was it? A clever falsehood? a cunningly-devised _alibi_? Orwitnesses bribed long beforehand?

M. Galpin would have given much to know. And it was for the purposeof finding it out sooner, that he had given the permission. Before hegranted it, however, he had conferred with the commonwealth attorney. Excellent M. Daubigeon, whom he found, as usual, admiring the beautifulgilt edging of his beloved books, had treated him badly. 

"Do you come for any more signatures?" he had exclaimed. "You shall havethem. If you want any thing else, your servant. 

"'When the blunder is made, It is too late, I tell thee, to come for advice. '"

However discouraging such a welcome might be, M. Galpin did not give uphis purpose. He said in his bitterest tone, --

"You still insist that it is a blunder to do one's duty. Has not a crimebeen committed? Is it not my duty to find out the author, and to havehim punished? Well? Is it my fault if the author of this crime is an oldfriend of mine, and if I was once upon a time on the point of marryinga relation of his? There is no one in court who doubts M. De Boiscoran'sguilt; there is no one who dares blame me: and yet they are all as coldas ice towards me. "

"Such is the world, " said M. Daubigeon with a face full of irony. "Theypraise virtue; but they hate it. "

"Well, yes! that is so, " cried M. Galpin in his turn. "Yes, they blamepeople who have done what they had not the courage to do. The attorneygeneral has congratulated me, because he judges things from on highand impartially. Here cliques are all-powerful. Even those who oughtto encourage and support me, cry out against me. My natural ally, thecommonwealth attorney, forsakes me and laughs at me. The presidentof the court, my immediate superior, said to me this morning withintolerable irony, 'I hardly know any magistrate who would be able asyou are to sacrifice his relations and his friends to the interests oftruth and justice. You are one of the ancients: you will rise high. '"

His friend could not listen any further. He said, --

"Let us break off there: we shall never understand each other. IsJacques de Boiscoran innocent, or guilty? I do not know. But I do knowthat he was the pleasantest man in the world, an admirable host, a goodtalker, a scholar, and that he owned the finest editions of Horace andJuvenal that I have ever seen. I liked him. I like him still; and itdistresses me to think of him in prison. I know that we had the mostpleasant relations with each other, and that now they are broken off. And you, you complain! Am I the ambitious man? Do I want to have myname connected with a world-famous trial? M. De Boiscoran will in allprobability be condemned. You ought to be delighted. And still youcomplain? Why, one cannot have everything. Who ever undertook a greatenterprise, and never repented of it?"

After that there was nothing left for M. Galpin but to go away. He didgo in a fury, but at the same time determined to profit by the rudetruths which M. Daubigeon had told him; for he knew very well that hisfriend represented in his views nearly the whole community. He wasfully prepared to carry out his plan. Immediately after his return, hecommunicated the papers of the prosecution to the defence, and directedhis clerk to show himself as obliging as he could. M. Mechinet was nota little surprised at these orders. He knew his master thoroughly, --thismagistrate, whose shadow he had been now for so many years. 

"You are afraid, dear sir, " he had said to himself. 

And as M. Galpin repeated the injunction, adding that the honor ofjustice required the utmost courtesy when rigor was not to be employed, the old clerk replied very gravely, --

"Oh! be reassured, sir. I shall not be wanting in courtesy. "

But, as soon as the magistrate turned his back, Mechinet laughed aloud. 

"He would not recommend me to be obliging, " he thought, "if he suspectedthe truth, and knew how far I am devoted to the defence. What a furyhe would be in, if he should ever find out that I have betrayed all thesecrets of the investigation, that I have carried letters to and fromthe prisoner, that I have made of Trumence an accomplice, and of Blanginthe jailer an agent, that I have helped Miss Dionysia to visit herbetrothed in jail!"

For he had done all this four times more than enough to be dismissedfrom his place, and even to become, at least for some months, one ofBlangin's boarders. He shivered all down his back when he thought ofthis; and he had been furiously angry, when, one evening, his sisters, the devout seamstresses, had taken it into their heads to say to him, --

"Certainly, Mechinet, you are a different man ever since that visit ofMiss Chandore. "

"Abominable talkers!" he had exclaimed, in a tone of voice whichfrightened them out of their wits. "Do you want to see me hanged?"

But, if he had these attacks of rage, he felt not a moment's remorse. Miss Dionysia had completely bewitched him; and he judged M. Galpin'sconduct as severely as she did. 

To be sure, M. Galpin had done nothing contrary to law; but he hadviolated the spirit of the law. Having once summoned courage tobegin proceedings against his friend, he had not been able to remainimpartial. Afraid of being charged with timidity, he had exaggerated hisseverity. And, above all, he had carried on the inquiry solely in theinterests of a conviction, as if the crime had been proved, and theprisoner had not protested his innocence. 

Now, Mechinet firmly believed in this innocence; and he was fullypersuaded that the day on which Jacques de Boiscoran saw his counselwould be the day of his justification. This will show with whateagerness he went to the court-house to wait for M. Magloire. 

But at noon the great lawyer had not yet come. He was still consultingwith M. De Chandore. 

"Could any thing amiss have happened?" thought the clerk. 

And his restlessness was so great, that, instead of going home tobreakfast with his sisters, he sent an office-boy for a roll and a glassof water. At last, as three o'clock struck, M. Magloire and M. Folgatarrived; and Mechinet saw at once in their faces, that he had beenmistaken, and that Jacques had not explained. Still, before M. Magloire, he did not dare inquire. 

"Here are the papers, " he said simply, putting upon the table an immensebox. 

Then, drawing M. Folgat aside, he asked, --

"What is the matter, pray?"

The clerk had certainly acted so well, that they could have no secretfrom him; and he so was fully committed, that there was no danger inrelying upon his discretion. Still M. Folgat did not dare to mention thename of the Countess Claudieuse; and he replied evasively, --

"This is the matter: M. De Boiscoran explains fully; but he had noproofs for his statement, and we are busy collecting proofs. "

Then he went and sat down by M. Magloire, who was already deep in thepapers. With the help of those documents, it was easy to follow step bystep M. Galpin's work, to see the efforts he had made, and to comprehendhis strategy. 

First of all, the two lawyers looked for the papers concerning Cocoleu. They found none. Of the statement of the idiot on the night of thefire, of the efforts made since to obtain from him a repetition of thisevidence, of the report of the experts, --of all this there was not atrace to be found. 

M. Galpin dropped Cocoleu. He had a right to do so. The prosecution, ofcourse, only keeps those witnesses which it thinks useful, and drops allthe others. 

"Ah, the scamp is clever!" growled M. Magloire in his disappointment. 

It was really very well done. M. Galpin deprived by this step thedefence of one of their surest means, of one of those incidents in atrial which are apt to affect the mind of the jury so powerfully. 

"We can, however, summon him at any time, " said M. Magloire. 

They might do so, it is true; but what a difference it would make! IfCocoleu appeared for M. Galpin, he was a witness for the prosecution, and the defence could exclaim with indignation, --

"What! You suspect the prisoner upon the evidence of such a creature?"

But, if he had to be summoned by the defence, he became prisoner'sevidence, that is to say, one of those witnesses whom the jury alwayssuspect; and then the prosecution would exclaim, --

"What do you hope for from a poor idiot, whose mental condition is such, that we refused his evidence when it might have been most useful to us?"

"If we have to go into court, " murmured M. Folgat, "here is certainly aconsiderable chance of which we are deprived. The whole character of thecase is changed. But, then, how can M. Galpin prove the guilt?"

Oh! in the simplest possible manner. He started from the fact that CountClaudieuse was able to give the precise hour at which the crime wascommitted. Thence he passed on immediately to the deposition of youngRibot, who had met M. De Boiscoran on his way to Valpinson, crossing themarshes, before the crime, and to that of Gaudry, who had seen him comeback from Valpinson through the woods, after the crime. Three otherwitnesses who had turned up during the investigation confirmed thisevidence; and by these means alone, and by comparing the hours, M. Galpin succeeded in proving, almost beyond doubt, that the accused hadgone to Valpinson, and nowhere else, and that he had been there at thetime the crime was committed. 

What was he doing there?

To this question the prosecution replied by the evidence taken on thefirst day of the inquiry, by the water in which Jacques had washed hishands, the cartridge-case found near the house, and the identity of theshot extracted from the count's wounds with those seized with the gun atBoiscoran. 

Every thing was plain, precise, and formidable, admitting of nodiscussion, no doubt, no suggestion. It looked like a mathematicaldeduction. 

"Whether he be innocent or guilty, " said M. Magloire to his youngcolleague, "Jacques is lost, if we cannot get hold of some evidenceagainst the Countess Claudieuse. And even in that case, even if itshould be established that she is guilty, Jacques will always be lookedupon as her accomplice. "

Nevertheless, they spent a part of the night in going over all thepapers carefully, and in studying every point made by the prosecution. 

Next morning, about nine o'clock, having had only a few hours' sleep, they went together to the prison. 

XVII. 

The night before, the jailer of Sauveterre had said to his wife, atsupper, --

"I am tired of the life I am leading here. They have paid me for myplace, have not they? Well, I mean to go. "

"You are a fool!" his wife had replied. "As long as M. De Boiscoran isa prisoner there is a chance of profit. You don't know how rich thoseChandores are. You ought to stay. "

Like many other husbands, Blangin fancied he was master in his ownhouse. 

He remonstrated. He swore to make the ceiling fall down upon him. Hedemonstrated by the strength of his arm that he was master. But--

But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Blangin having decided that heshould stay, he did stay. Sitting in front of his jail, and given up tothe most dismal presentiments, he was smoking his pipe, when M. Magloireand M. Folgat appeared at the prison, and handed him M. Galpin's permit. He rose as they came in. He was afraid of them, not knowing whether theywere in Miss Dionysia's secret or not. He therefore politely doffed hisworsted cap, took his pipe from his mouth, and said, --

"Ah! You come to see M. De Boiscoran, gentlemen? I will show you in:just give me time to go for my keys. "

M. Magloire held him back. 

"First of all, " he said, "how is M. De Boiscoran?"

"Only so-so, " replied the jailer. 

"What is the matter?"

"Why, what is the matter with all prisoners when they see that thingsare likely to turn out badly for them?"

The two lawyers looked at each other sadly. 

It was clear that Blangin thought Jacques guilty, and that was a badomen. The persons who stand guard over prisoners have generally a verykeen scent; and not unfrequently lawyers consult them, very much asan author consults the actors of the theatre on which his piece is toappear. 

"Has he told you any thing?" asked M. Folgat. 

"Me personally, nothing, " replied the jailer. 

And shaking his head, he added, --

"But you know we have our experience. When a prisoner has been withhis counsel, I almost always go up to see him, and to offer himsomething, --a little trifle to set him up again. So yesterday, after M. Magloire had been here, I climbed up"--

"And you found M. De Boiscoran sick?"

"I found him in a pitiful condition, gentlemen. He lay on his stomach onhis bed, his head in the pillow, and stiff as a corpse. I was some timein his cell before he heard me. I shook my keys, I stamped, I coughed. No use. I became frightened. I went up to him, and took him by theshoulder. 'Eh, sir!' Great God! he leaped up as if shot and, sittingup, he said, 'What to you want?' Of course, I tried to console him, toexplain to him that he ought to speak out; that it is rather unpleasantto appear in court, but that people don't die of it; that they even comeout of it as white as snow, if they have a good advocate. I might justas well have been singing, 'O sensible woman. ' The more I said, thefiercer he looked; and at last he cried, without letting me finish, 'Getout from here! Leave me!'"

He paused a moment to take a whiff at his pipe; but it had gone out: heput it in his pocket, and went on, --

"I might have told him that I had a right to come into the cellswhenever I liked, and to stay there as long as it pleases me. Butprisoners are like children: you must not worry them. But I opened thewicket, and I remained there, watching him. Ah, gentlemen, I have beenhere twenty years, and I have seen many desperate men; but I never sawany despair like this young man's. He had jumped up as soon as I turnedmy back, and he was walking up and down, sobbing aloud. He lookedas pale as death; and the big tears were running down his cheeks intorrents. "

M. Magloire felt each one of these details like a stab at his heart. Hisopinion had not materially changed since the day before; but he had hadtime to reflect, and to reproach himself for his harshness. 

"I was at my post for an hour at least, " continued the jailer, "when allof a sudden M. De Boiscoran throws himself upon the door, and beginsto knock at it with his feet, and to call as loud as he can. I keep himwaiting a little while, so he should not know I was so near by, and thenI open, pretending to have hurried up ever so fast. As soon as I showmyself he says, 'I have the right to receive visitors, have I not? Andnobody has been to see me?'--'No one. '--'Are you sure?'--'Quite sure. ' Ithought I had killed him. He put his hands to his forehead this way; andthen he said, 'No one!--no mother, no betrothed, no friend! Well, itis all over. I am no longer in existence. I am forgotten, abandoned, disowned. ' He said this in a voice that would have drawn tears fromstones; and I, I suggested to him to write a letter, which I would sendto M. De Chandore. But he became furious at once, and cried, 'No, never!Leave me. There is nothing left for me but death. '"

M. Folgat had not uttered a word; but his pallor betrayed his emotions. 

"You will understand, gentlemen, " Blangin went on, "that I did notfeel quite reassured. It is a bad cell that in which M. De Boiscoran isstaying. Since I have been at Sauveterre, one man has killed himselfin it, and one man has tried to commit suicide. So I called Trumence, apoor vagrant who assists me in the jail; and we arranged it that one ofus would always be on guard, never losing the prisoner out of sight fora moment. But it was a useless precaution. At night, when they carriedM. De Boiscoran his supper, he was perfectly calm; and he even said hewould try to eat something to keep his strength. Poor man! If he has noother strength than what his meal would give him, he won't go far. Hehad not swallowed four mouthfuls, when he was almost smothered; andTrumence and I at one time thought he would die on our hands: I almostthought it might be fortunate. However, about nine o'clock he was alittle better; and he remained all night long at his window. "

M. Magloire could stand it no longer. 

"Let us go up, " he said to his colleague. 

They went up. But, as they entered the passage, they noticed Trumence, who was making signs to them to step lightly. 

"What is the matter?" they asked in an undertone. 

"I believe he is asleep, " replied the prisoner. "Poor man! Who knows buthe dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?"

M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. Hehad heard steps and voices, and he had just risen. Blangin, therefore, opened the door; and at once M. Magloire said the prisoner, --

"I bring you reenforcements, --M. Folgat, my colleague, who has come downfrom Paris, with your mother. "

Coolly, and without saying a word, M. De Boiscoran bowed. 

"I see you are angry with me, " continued M. Magloire. "I was too quickyesterday, much too quick. "

Jacques shook his head, and said in an icy tone, --

"I was angry; but I have reflected since, and now I thank you for yourcandor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go intocourt, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shallprefer not going into court at all. "

"Poor man! But all hope is not lost. "

"Yes. Who would believe me, if you, my friend, cannot believe me?"

"I would, " said M. Folgat promptly, "I, who, without knowing you, fromthe beginning believed in your innocence, --I who, now that I have seenyou, adhere to my conviction. "

Quicker than thought, M. De Boiscoran had seized the young advocate'shand, and, pressing it convulsively, said, --

"Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faithyou have in me!"

This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felta ray of hope. Alas! it passed in a second. His eye became dim again;his brow clouded over; and he said in a hoarse voice, --

"Unfortunately, nothing can be done for me now. No doubt M. Magloire hastold you my sad history and my statement. I have no proof; or at least, to furnish proof, I would have to enter into details which the courtwould refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, I shouldbe ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spokenof, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted. It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous anddishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended. "

What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such adecision?

His counsel trembled as they thought they guessed it. 

"You have no right, " said M. Folgat, "to give yourself up thus. "

"Why not?"

"Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you haverelations, friends, and"--

A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran ashe broke in, --

"What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait forthe sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their mercilessverdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknownperson, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the firstexpression of sympathy. "

"Ah, that is not so, " exclaimed M. Magloire, "you know very well. "

Jacques did not seem to hear him. He went on, --

"Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M. Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become myjudge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, whois commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to myassistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me ahundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, andthat was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavoredto convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied. "

Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but itwas in vain. 

"Relations!" continued Jacques with a voice trembling withindignation--"oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother. Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, isstruggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?

"My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usualpleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; andshe has been told that I am at liberty to receive visitors: but in vain. I was hoping for her yesterday; but the wretch who is accused of a crimeis no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I standalone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose ofmyself. "

M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It wouldhave been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said, --

"You forget Miss Chandore, sir. "

Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all hislimbs, --

"Dionysia!"

"Yes, Dionysia, " said the young advocate. "You forget her courage, herdevotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandonsand denies you, --she who set aside all her reserve and her timidityfor your sake, and came and spent a whole night in this prison? She wasrisking nothing less than her maidenly honor; for she might have beendiscovered or betrayed. She knew that very well, nevertheless she didnot hesitate. "

"Ah! you are cruel, sir, " broke in Jacques. 

And pressing the lawyer's arm hard, he went on, --

"And do you not understand that her memory kills me, and that my miseryis all the greater as I know but too well what bliss I am losing? Do younot see that I love Dionysia as woman never was loved before? Ah, if mylife alone was at stake! I, at least, I have to make amends for a greatwrong; but she--Great God, why did I ever come across her path?"

He remained for a moment buried in thought; then he added, --

"And yet she, also, did not come yesterday. Why? Oh! no doubt they havetold her all. They have told her how I came to be at Valpinson the nightof the crime. "

"You are mistaken, Jacques, " said M. Magloire. "Miss Chandore knowsnothing. "

"Is it possible?"

"M. Magloire did not speak in her presence, " added M. Folgat; "and wehave bound over M. De Chandore to secrecy. I insisted upon it that youalone had the right to tell the truth to Miss Dionysia. "

"Then how does she explain it to herself that I am not set free?"

"She cannot explain it. "

"Great God! she does not also think I am guilty?"

"If you were to tell her so yourself, she would not believe you. "

"And still she never came here yesterday. "

"She could not. Although they told her nothing, your mother had to betold. The marchioness was literally thunderstruck. She remained for morethan an hour unconscious in Miss Dionysia's arms. When she recovered herconsciousness, her first words were for you; but it was then too late tobe admitted here. "

When M. Folgat mentioned Miss Dionysia's name, he had found the surest, and perhaps the only means to break Jacques's purpose. 

"How can I ever sufficiently thank you, sir?" asked the latter. 

"By promising me that you will forever abandon that fatal resolve whichyou had formed, " replied the young advocate. "If you were guilty, Ishould be the first to say, 'Be it so!' and I would furnish you with themeans. Suicide would be an expiation. But, as you are innocent, you haveno right to kill yourself: suicide would be a confession. "

"What am I to do?"

"Defend yourself. Fight. "

"Without hope?"

"Yes, even without hope. When you faced the Prussians, did you everthink of blowing out your brains? No! and yet you knew that they weresuperior in numbers, and would conquer, in all probability. Well, youare once more in face of the enemy; and even if you were certain ofbeing conquered, that is to say, of being condemned, and it was theday before you should have to mount the scaffold, I should still say, 'Fight. You must live on; for up to that hour something may happen whichwill enable us to discover the guilty one. ' And, if no such eventshould happen, I should repeat, nevertheless, 'You must wait for theexecutioner in order to protest from the scaffold against the judicialmurder, and once more to affirm your innocence. '"

As M. Folgat uttered these words, Jacques had gradually recovered hisbearing; and now he said, --

"Upon my honor, sir, I promise you I will hold out to the bitter end. "

"Well!" said M. Magloire, --"very well!"

"First of all, " replied M. Folgat, "I mean to recommence, for ourbenefit the investigation which M. Galpin has left incomplete. To-nightyour mother and I will leave for Paris. I have come to ask you for thenecessary information, and for the means to explore your house in VineStreet, to discover the friend whose name you assumed, and the servantwho waited upon you. "

The bolts were drawn as he said this; and at the open wicket appearedBlangin's rubicund face. 

"The Marchioness de Boiscoran, " he said, "is in the parlor, and begs youwill come down as soon as you have done with these gentlemen. "

Jacques turned very pale. 

"My mother, " he murmured. Then he added, speaking to the jailer, --

"Do not go yet. We have nearly done. "

His agitation was too great: he could not master it. He said to the twolawyers, --

"We must stop here for to-day. I cannot think now. "

But M. Folgat had declared he would leave for Paris that very night; andhe was determined to do so. He said, therefore, --

"Our success depends on the rapidity of our movements. I beg you willlet me insist upon your giving me at once the few items of informationwhich I need for my purposes. "

Jacques shook his head sadly. He began, --

"The task is out of your power, sir. "

"Nevertheless, do what my colleague asks you, " urged M. Magloire. Without any further opposition, and, who knows? Perhaps with a secrethope which he would not confess to himself, Jacques informed the youngadvocate of the most minute details about his relations to the CountessClaudieuse. He told him at what hour she used to come to the house, whatroads she took, and how she was most commonly dressed. The keys of thehouse were at Boiscoran, in a drawer which Jacques described. He hadonly to ask Anthony for them. Then he mentioned how they might findout what had become of that Englishman whose name he had borrowed. Sir Francis Burnett had a brother in London. Jacques did not know hisprecise address; but he knew he had important business-relations withIndia, and had, once upon a time, been cashier in the great house ofGilmour and Benson. 

As to the English servant-girl who had for three years attended tohis house in Vine Street, Jacques had taken her blindly, upon therecommendation of an agency in the suburbs; and he had had nothing todo with her, except to pay her her wages, and, occasionally, some littlegratuity besides. All he could say, and even that he had learned by merechance, was, that the girl's name was Suky Wood; that she was a nativeof Folkstone, where her parents kept a sailor's tavern; and that, before coming to France, she had been a chambermaid at the Adelphi inLiverpool. 

M. Folgat took careful notes of all he could learn. Then he said, --

"This is more than enough to begin the campaign. Now you must give methe name and address of your tradesmen in Passy. "

"You will find a list in a small pocket-book which is in the same drawerwith the keys. In the same drawer are also all the deeds and otherpapers concerning the house. Finally, you might take Anthony with you:he is devoted to me. "

"I shall certainly take him, if you permit me, " replied the lawyer. Thenputting up his notes, he added, --

"I shall not be absent more than three or four days; and, as soon as Ireturn, we will draw up our plan of defence. Till then, my dear client, keep up your courage. "

They called Blangin to open the door for them; and, after having shakenhands with Jacques de Boiscoran, M. Folgat and M. Magloire went away. 

"Well, are we going down now?" asked the jailer. 

But Jacques made no reply. 

He had most ardently hoped for his mother's visit; and now, when hewas about to see her, he felt assailed by all kinds of vague and sombreapprehensions. The last time he had kissed her was in Paris, in thebeautiful parlor of their family mansion. He had left her, his heartswelling with hopes and joy, to go to his Dionysia; and his mother, heremembered distinctly, had said to him, "I shall not see you again tillthe day before the wedding. "

And now she was to see him again, in the parlor of a jail, accused of anabominable crime. And perhaps she was doubtful of his innocence. 

"Sir, the marchioness is waiting for you, " said the jailer once more. Atthe man's voice, Jacques trembled. 

"I am ready, " he replied: "let us go!" And, while descending the stairs, he tried his best to compose his features, and to arm himself withcourage and calmness. 

"For, " he said, "She must not become aware of it, how horrible myposition is. "

At the foot of the steps, Blangin pointed at a door, and said, --

"That is the parlor. When the marchioness wants to go, please call me. "

On the threshold, Jacques paused once more. 

The parlor of the jail at Sauveterre is an immense vaulted hall, lightedup by two narrow windows with close, heavy iron gratings. There is nofurniture save a coarse bench fastened to the damp, untidy wall; and onthis bench, in the full light of the sun, sat, or rather lay, apparentlybereft of all strength, the Marchioness of Boiscoran. 

When Jacques saw her, he could hardly suppress a cry of horror andgrief. Was that really his mother, --that thin old lady with the sallowcomplexion, the red eyes, and trembling hands?

"O God, O God!" he murmured. 

She heard him, for she raised her head; and, when she recognized him, she wanted to rise; but her strength forsook her, and she sank back uponthe bench, crying, --

"O Jacques, my child!"

She, also, was terrified when she saw what two months of anguish andsleeplessness had done for Jacques. But he was kneeling at her feet uponthe muddy pavement, and said in a barely intelligible voice, --

"Can you pardon me the great grief I cause you?"

She looked at him for a moment with a bewildered air; and then, all ofa sudden, she took his head in her two hands, kissed him with passionatevehemence, and said, --

"Will I pardon you? Alas, what have I to pardon? If you were guilty, Ishould love you still; and you are innocent. "

Jacques breathed more freely. In his mother's voice he felt that she, atleast, was sure of him. 

"And father?" he asked. 

There was a faint blush on the pale cheeks of the marchioness. 

"I shall see him to-morrow, " she replied; "for I leave to-night with M. Folgat. "

"What! In this state of weakness?"

"I must. "

"Could not father leave his collections for a few days? Why did he notcome down? Does he think I am guilty?"

"No; it is just because he is so sure of your innocence, that he remainsin Paris. He does not believe you in danger. He insists upon it thatjustice cannot err. "

"I hope so, " said Jacques with a forced smile. 

Then changing his tone, --

"And Dionysia? Why did she not come with you?"

"Because I would not have it. She knows nothing. It has been agreed uponthat the name of the Countess Claudieuse is not to be mentioned in herpresence; and I wanted to speak to you about that abominable woman. Jacques, my poor child, where has that unlucky passion brought you!"

He made no reply. 

"Did you love her?" asked the marchioness. 

"I thought I did. "

"And she?"

"Oh, she! God alone knows the secret of that strange heart. "

"There is nothing to hope from her, then, no pity, no remorse?"

"Nothing. I have given her up. She has had her revenge. She hadforewarned me. "

The marchioness sighed. 

"I thought so, " she said. "Last Sunday, when I knew as yet of nothing, I happened to be close to her at church, and unconsciously admiredher profound devotion, the purity of her eye, and the nobility of hermanner. Yesterday, when I heard the truth, I shuddered. I felt howformidable a woman must be who can affect such calmness at a time whenher lover lies in prison accused of the crime which she has committed. "

"Nothing in the world would trouble her, mother. "

"Still she ought to tremble; for she must know that you have told usevery thing. How can we unmask her?"

But time was passing; and Blangin came to tell the marchioness that shehad to withdraw. She went, after having kissed her son once more. 

That same evening, according to their arrangement, she left for Paris, accompanied by M. Folgat and old Anthony. 

XVIII. 

At Sauveterre, everybody, M. De Chandore as much as Jacques himself, blamed the Marquis de Boiscoran. He persisted in remaining in Paris, itis true: but it was certainly not from indifference; for he was dyingwith anxiety. He had shut himself up, and refused to see even his oldestfriends, even his beloved dealers in curiosities. He never went out; thedust accumulated on his collections; and nothing could arouse him fromthis state of prostration, except a letter from Sauveterre. 

Every morning he received three or four, --from the marchioness or M. Folgat, from M. Seneschal or M. Magloire, from M. De Chandore, Dionysia, or even from Dr. Seignebos. Thus he could follow at a distance all thephases, and even the smallest changes, in the proceedings. Only onething he would not do: he would not come down, however important hiscoming might be for his son. He did not move. 

Once only he had received, through Dionysia's agency, a letter fromJacques himself; and then he ordered his servant to get ready histrunks for the same evening. But at the last moment he had givencounter-orders, saying that he had reconsidered, and would not go. 

"There is something extraordinary going on in the mind of the marquis, "said the servants to each other. 

The fact is, he spent his days, and a part of his nights, in hiscabinet, half-buried in an arm-chair, resting little, and sleeping stillless, insensible to all that went on around him. On his table he hadarranged all his letters from Sauveterre in order; and he read andre-read them incessantly, examining the phrases, and trying, ever invain, to disengage the truth from this mass of details and statements. He was no longer as sure of his son as at first: far from it! Every dayhad brought him a new doubt; every letter, additional uncertainty. Hencehe was all the time a prey to most harassing apprehensions. He put themaside; but they returned, stronger and more irresistible than beforelike the waves of the rising tide. 

He was thus one morning in his cabinet. It was very early yet; but hewas more than ever suffering from anxiety, for M. Folgat had written, "To-morrow all uncertainty will end. To-morrow the close confinementwill be raised, and M. Jacques will see M. Magloire, the counsel whom hehas chosen. We will write immediately. "

It was for this news the marquis was waiting now. Twice already he hadrung to inquire if the mail had not come yet, when all of a sudden hisvalet appeared and with a frightened air said, --

"The marchioness. She has just come with Anthony, M. Jacques's own man. "

He hardly said so, when the marchioness herself entered, looking evenworse than she had done in the prison parlor; for she was overcome bythe fatigue of a night spent on the road. 

The marquis had started up suddenly. As soon as the servant had leftthe room, and shut the door again, he said with trembling voice, as ifwishing for an answer, and still fearing to hear it, --

"Has any thing unusual happened?"

"Yes. "

"Good or bad?"

"Sad. "

"Great God! Jacques has not confessed?"

"How could he confess when he is innocent?"

"Then he has explained?"

"As far as I am concerned, and M. Folgat, Dr. Seignebos, and all whoknow him and love him, yes, but not for the public, for his enemies, orthe law. He has explained every thing; but he has no proof. "

The mournful features of the marquis settled into still deeper gloom. 

"In other words, he has to be believed on his own word?" he asked. 

"Don't you believe him?"

"I am not the judge of that, but the jury. "

"Well, for the jury he will find proof. M. Folgat, who has come in thesame train with me, and whom you will see to-day, hopes to discoverproof. "

"Proof of what?"

Perhaps the marchioness was not unprepared for such a reception. Sheexpected it, and still she was disconcerted. 

"Jacques, " she began, "has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse. "

"Ah, ah!" broke in the marquis. 

And, in a tone of offensive irony, he added, --

"No doubt another story of adultery; eh?"

The marchioness did not answer. She quietly went on, --

"When the countess heard of Jacques's marriage, and that he abandonedher, she became exasperated, and determined to be avenged. "

"And, in order to be avenged, she attempted to murder her husband; eh?"

"She wished to be free. "

The Marquis de Boiscoran interrupted his wife with a formidable oath. Then he cried, --

"And that is all Jacques could invent! And to come to such an abortivestory--was that the reason of his obstinate silence?"

"You do not let me finish. Our son is the victim of unparalleledcoincidences. "

"Of course! Unparalleled coincidences! That is what every one of thethousand or two thousand rascals say who are sentenced every year. Doyou think they confess? Not they! Ask them, and they will prove to youthat they are the victims of fate, of some dark plot, and, finally, ofan error of judgment. As if justice could err in these days of ours, after all these preliminary examinations, long inquiries, and carefulinvestigations. "

"You will see M. Folgat. He will tell you what hope there is. "

"And if all hope fails?"

The marchioness hung her head. 

"All would not be lost yet. But then we should have to endure the painof seeing our son brought up in court. "

The tall figure of the old gentleman had once more risen to its fullheight; his face grew red; and the most appalling wrath flashed from hiseyes. 

"Jacques brought up in court?" he cried, with a formidable voice. "Andyou come and tell me that coolly, as if it were a very simple and quitenatural matter! And what will happen then, if he is in court? He will becondemned; and a Boiscoran will go to the galleys. But no, that cannotbe! I do not say that a Boiscoran may not commit a crime, passion makesus do strange things; but a Boiscoran, when he regains his senses, knowswhat becomes him to do. Blood washes out all stains. Jacques prefers theexecutioner; he waits; he is cunning; he means to plead. If he but savehis head, he is quite content. A few years at hard labor, I suppose, will be a trifle to him. And that coward should be a Boiscoran: my bloodshould flow in his veins! Come, come, madam, Jacques is no son of mine. "

Crushed as the marchioness had seemed to be till now, she rose underthis atrocious insult. 

"Sir!" she cried. 

But M. De Boiscoran was not in a state to listen to her. 

"I know what I am saying, " he went on. "I remember every thing, if youhave forgotten every thing. Come, let us go back to your past. Rememberthe time when Jacques was born, and tell me what year it was when M. DeMargeril refused to meet me. "

Indignation restored to the marchioness her strength. She cried, --

"And you come and tell me this to-day, after thirty years, and God knowsunder what circumstances!"

"Yes, after thirty years. Eternity might pass over these recollections, and it would not efface them. And, but for these circumstances to whichyou refer, I should never have said any thing. At the time to which Iallude, I had to choose between two evils, --either to be ridiculous, orto be hated. I preferred to keep silence, and not to inquire too far. My happiness was gone; but I wished to save my peace. We have livedtogether on excellent terms; but there has always been between us thishigh wall, this suspicion. As long as I was doubtful, I kept silent. Butnow, when the facts confirm my doubts, I say again, 'Jacques is no sonof mine!'"

Overcome with grief, shame, and indignation, the Marchioness deBoiscoran was wringing her hands; then she cried, --

"What a humiliation! What you are saying is too horrible. It is unworthyof you to add this terrible suffering to the martyrdom which I amenduring. "

M. De Boiscoran laughed convulsively. 

"Have I brought about this catastrophe?"

"Well then yes! One day I was imprudent and indiscreet. I was young; Iknew nothing of life; the world worshipped me; and you, my husband, myguide, gave yourself up to your ambition, and left me to myself. I couldnot foresee the consequences of a very inoffensive piece of coquetry. "

"You see, then, now these consequences. After thirty years, I disown thechild that bears my name; and I say, that, if he is innocent, he suffersfor his mother's sins. Fate would have it that your son should covet hisneighbor's wife, and, having taken her, it is but justice that he shoulddie the death of the adulterer. "

"But you know very well that I have never forgotten my duty. "

"I know nothing. "

"You have acknowledged it, because you refused to hear the explanationwhich would have justified me. "

"True, I did shrink from an explanation, which, with your unbearablepride, would necessarily have led to a rupture, and thus to a fearfulscandal. "

The marchioness might have told her husband, that, by refusing to hearher explanation, he had forfeited all right to utter a reproach; but shefelt it would be useless, and thus he went on, --

"All I do know is, that there is somewhere in this world a man whom Iwanted to kill. Gossiping people betrayed his name to me. I went to him, and told him that I demanded satisfaction, and that I hoped he wouldconceal the real reason for our encounter even from our seconds. Herefused to give me satisfaction, on the ground that he did not owe meany, that you had been calumniated, and that he would meet me only if Ishould insult him publicly. "

"Well?"

"What could I do after that? Investigate the matter? You had no doubttaken your precautions, and it would have amounted to nothing. Watchyou? I should only have demeaned myself uselessly; for you were no doubton your guard. Should I ask for a divorce? The law afforded me thatremedy. I might have dragged you into court, held you up to the sarcasmsof my counsel, and exposed you to the jests of your own. I had a rightto humble you, to dishonor my name, to proclaim your disgrace, topublish it in the newspapers. Ah, I would have died rather!"

The marchioness seemed to be puzzled. 

"That was the explanation of your conduct?"

"Yes, that was my reason for giving up public life, ambitious as Iwas. That was the reason why I withdrew from the world; for I thoughteverybody smiled as I passed. That is why I gave up to you themanagement of our house and the education of your son, why I became apassionate collector, a half-mad original. And you find out only to-daythat you have ruined my life?"

There was more compassion than resentment in the manner in which themarchioness looked at her husband. 

"You had mentioned to me your unjust suspicions, " she replied; "but Ifelt strong in my innocence, and I was in hope that time and my conductwould efface them. "

"Faith once lost never comes back again. "

"The fearful idea that you could doubt of your paternity had never evenoccurred to me. "

The marquis shook his head. 

"Still it was so, " he replied. "I have suffered terribly. I lovedJacques. Yes, in spite of all, in spite of myself, I loved him. Had henot all the qualities which are the pride and the joy of a family?Was he not generous and noble-hearted, open to all lofty sentiments, affectionate, and always anxious to please me? I never had to complainof him. And even lately, during this abominable war, has he not againshown his courage, and valiantly earned the cross which they gave him?At all times, and from all sides, I have been congratulated on hisaccount. They praised his talents and his assiduity. Alas! at the verymoment when they told me what a happy father I was, I was the mostwretched of men. How many times would I have drawn him to my heart! Butimmediately that terrible doubt rose within me, if he should not be myson; and I pushed him back, and looked in his features for a trace ofanother man's features. "

His wrath had cooled down, perhaps by its very excess. 

He felt a certain tenderness in his heart, and sinking into his chair, and hiding his face in his hands, he murmured, --

"If he should be my son, however; if he should be innocent! Ah, thisdoubt is intolerable! And I who would not move from here, --I who havedone nothing for him, --I might have done every thing at first. It wouldhave been easy for me to obtain a change of venue to free him from thisGalpin, formerly his friend, and now his enemy. "

M. De Boiscoran was right when he said that his wife's pride wasunmanageable. And still, as cruelly wounded as woman well could be, shenow suppressed her pride, and, thinking only of her son, remained quitehumble. Drawing from her bosom the letter which Jacques had sent toher the day before she left Sauveterre, she handed it to her husband, saying, --

"Will you read what our son says?"

The marquis's hand trembled as he took the letter; and, when he had tornit open, he read, --

"Do you forsake me too, father, when everybody forsakes me? And yet Ihave never needed your love as much as now. The peril is imminent. Everything is against me. Never has such a combination of fatal circumstancesbeen seen before. I may not be able to prove my innocence; but you, --yousurely cannot think your son guilty of such an absurd and heinous crime!Oh, no! surely not. My mind is made up. I shall fight to the bitter end. To my last breath I shall defend, not my life, but my honor. Ah, if youbut knew! But there are things which cannot be written, and which onlya father can be told. I beseech you come to me, let me see you, let mehold your hand in mine. Do not refuse this last and greatest comfort toyour unhappy son. "

The marquis had started up. 

"Oh, yes, very unhappy indeed!" he cried. 

And, bowing to his wife, he said, --

"I interrupted you. Now, pray tell me all. "

Maternal love conquered womanly resentment. Without a shadow ofhesitation, and as if nothing had taken place, the marchioness gaveher husband the whole of Jacques's statement as he had made it to M. Magloire. 

The marquis seemed to be amazed. 

"That is unheard of!" he said. 

And, when his wife had finished, he added, --

"That was the reason why Jacques was so very angry when you spoke ofinviting the Countess Claudieuse, and why he told you, that, if hesaw her enter at one door, he would walk out of the other. We did notunderstand his aversion. "

"Alas! it was not aversion. Jacques only obeyed at that time the cunninglessons given him by the countess. "

In less than one minute the most contradictory resolutions seemed toflit across the marquis's face. He hesitated, and at last he said, --

"Whatever can be done to make up for my inaction, I will do. I will goto Sauveterre. Jacques must be saved. M. De Margeril is all-powerful. Goto him. I permit it. I beg you will do it. "

The eyes of the marchioness filled with tears, hot tears, the first shehad shed since the beginning of this scene. 

"Do you not see, " she asked, "that what you wish me to do is nowimpossible? Every thing, yes, every thing in the world but that. ButJacques and I--we are innocent. God will have pity on us. M. Folgat willsave us. "

XIX. 

M. Folgat was already at work. He had confidence in his cause, afirm conviction of the innocence of his client, a desire to solve themystery, a love of battle, and an intense thirst for success: all thesemotives combined to stimulate the talents of the young advocate, and toincrease his activity. 

And, above all this, there was a mysterious and indefinable sentimentwith which Dionysia had inspired him; for he had succumbed to hercharms, like everybody else. It was not love, for he who says love sayshope; and he knew perfectly well that altogether and forever Dionysiabelonged to Jacques. It was a sweet and all-powerful sentiment, whichmade him wish to devote himself to her, and to count for something inher life and in her happiness. 

It was for her sake that he had sacrificed all his business, andforgotten his clients, in order to stay at Sauveterre. It was for hersake, above all, that he wished to save Jacques. 

He had no sooner arrived at the station, and left the Marchioness deBoiscoran in old Anthony's care, than he jumped into a cab, and hadhimself driven to his house. He had sent a telegram the day before; andhis servant was waiting for him. In less than no time he had changed hisclothes. Immediately he went back to his carriage, and went in searchof the man, who, he thought, was most likely to be able to fathom thismystery. 

This was a certain Goudar, who was connected with the police departmentin some capacity or other, and at all events received an income largeenough to make him very comfortable. He was one of those agents forevery thing whom the police keep employed for specially delicateoperations, which require both tact and keen scent, an intrepiditybeyond all doubt, and imperturbable self-possession. M. Folgat had hadopportunities of knowing and appreciating him in the famous case of theMutual Discount Society. 

He was instructed to track the cashier who had fled, having a deficitof several millions. Goudar had caught him in Canada, after pursuing himfor three months all over America; but, on the day of his arrest, thiscashier had in his pocket-book and his trunk only some forty thousandfrancs. 

What had become of the millions?

When he was questioned, he said he had spent them. He had gambled instocks, he had become unfortunate, etc. 

Everybody believed him except Goudar. 

Stimulated by the promise of a magnificent reward, he began his campaignonce more; and, in less than six weeks, he had gotten hold of sixteenhundred thousand francs which the cashier had deposited in London with awoman of bad character. 

The story is well known; but what is not known is the genius, thefertility of resources, and the ingenuity of expedients, which Goudardisplayed in obtaining such a success. M. Folgat, however, was fullyaware of it; for he had been the counsel of the stockholders of theMutual Discount Society; and he had vowed, that, if ever the opportunityshould come, he would employ this marvellously able man. 

Goudar, who was married, and had a child, lived out of the world on theroad to Versailles, not far from the fortifications. He occupied withhis family a small house which he owned, --a veritable philosopher'shome, with a little garden in front, and a vast garden behind, in whichhe raised vegetables and admirable fruit, and where he kept all kinds ofanimals. 

When M. Folgat stepped out of his carriage before this pleasant home, a young woman of twenty-five or twenty-six, of surpassing beauty, youngand fresh, was playing in the front garden with a little girl of threeor four years, all milk and roses. 

"M. Goudar, madam?" asked M. Folgat, raising his hat. 

The young woman blushed slightly, and answered modestly, but withoutembarrassment, and in a most pleasing voice, --

"My husband is in the garden; and you will find him, if you will walkdown this path around the house. "

The young man followed the direction, and soon saw his man at adistance. His head covered with an old straw hat, without a coat, andin slippers, with a huge blue apron such as gardeners wear, Goudar hadclimbed up a ladder, and was busy dropping into a horsehair bag themagnificent Chasselas grapes of his trellises. When he heard the sandgrate under the footsteps of the newcomer, he turned his head, and atonce said, --

"Why, M. Folgat? Good morning, sir!"

The young advocate was not a little surprised to see himself recognizedso instantaneously. He should certainly never have recognized thedetective. It was more than three years since they had seen each other;and how often had they seen each other then? Twice, and not an hour eachtime. 

It is true that Goudar was one of those men whom nobody remembers. Ofmiddle height, he was neither stout nor thin, neither dark nor lighthaired, neither young nor old. A clerk in a passport office wouldcertainly have written him down thus: Forehead, ordinary; nose, ordinary; mouth, ordinary, eyes, neutral color; special marks, none. 

It could not be said that he looked stupid; but neither did helook intelligent. Every thing in him was ordinary, indifferent, andundecided. Not one marked feature. He would necessarily pass unobserved, and be forgotten as soon as he had passed. 

"You find me busy securing my crops for the winter, " he said to M. Folgat. "A pleasant job. However, I am at your service. Let me put thesethree bunches into their three bags, and I'll come down. "

This was the work of an instant; and, as soon as he had reached theground, he turned round, and asked, --

"Well, and what do you think of my garden?"

And at once he begged M. Folgat to visit his domain, and, with allthe enthusiasm of the land-owner, he praised the flavor of his duchesspears, the bright colors of his dahlias, the new arrangements in hispoultry-yard, which was full of rabbit-houses, and the beauty of hispond, with its ducks of all colors and all possible varieties. 

In his heart, M. Folgat swore at this enthusiasm. What time he waslosing! But, when you expect a service from a man, you must, at least, flatter his weak side. He did not spare praise, therefore. He evenpulled out his cigar-case, and, still with a view to win the great man'sgood graces, he offered it to him, saying, --

"Can I offer you one?"

"Thanks! I never smoke, " replied Goudar. 

And, when he saw the astonishment of the advocate, he explained, --

"At least not at home. I am disposed to think the odor is unpleasant tomy wife. "

Positively, if M. Folgat had not known the man, he would have taken himfor some good and simple retired grocer, inoffensive, and any thing butbright, and, bowing to him politely, he would have taken his leave. But he had seen him at work; and so he followed him obediently to hisgreenhouse, his melon-house, and his marvellous asparagus-beds. 

At last Goudar took his guest to the end of the garden, to a bower inwhich were some chairs and a table, saying, --

"Now let us sit down, and tell me your business; for I know you did notcome solely for the pleasure of seeing my domain. "

Goudar was one of those men who have heard in their lives moreconfessions than ten priests, ten lawyers, and ten doctors alltogether. You could tell him every thing. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, and without a break, M. Folgat told him the whole story ofJacques and the Countess Claudieuse. He listened, without saying a word, without moving a muscle in his face. When the lawyer had finished, hesimply said, --

"Well?"

"First of all, " replied M. Folgat, "I should like to hear your opinion. Do you believe the statement made by M. De Boiscoran?"

"Why not? I have seen much stranger cases than that. "

"Then you think, that, in spite of the charges brought against him, wemust believe in his innocence?"

"Pardon me, I think nothing at all. Why, you must study a matter beforeyou can have an opinion. "

He smiled; and, looking at the young advocate, he said, --

"But why all these preliminaries? What do you want of me?"

"Your assistance to get at the truth. "

The detective evidently expected something of the kind. After a minute'sreflection, he looked fixedly at M. Folgat, and said, --

"If I understand you correctly, you would like to begin acounter-investigation for the benefit of the defence?"

"Exactly. "

"And unknown to the prosecution?"

"Precisely. "

"Well, I cannot possibly serve you. "

The young advocate knew too well how such things work not to be preparedfor a certain amount of resistance; and he had thought of means toovercome it. 

"That is not your final decision, my dear Goudar?" he said. 

"Pardon me. I am not my own master. I have my duty to fulfil, and mydaily occupation. "

"You can at any time obtain leave of absence for a month. "

"So I might; but they would certainly wonder at such a furlough atheadquarters. They would probably have me watched; and, if they foundout that I was doing police work for private individuals, they wouldscold me grievously, and deprive themselves henceforth of my services. "

"Oh!"

"There is no 'oh!' about it. They would do what I tell you, and theywould be right; for, after all, what would become of us, and what wouldbecome of the safety and liberty of us all, if any one could come anduse the agents of the police for his private purposes? And what wouldbecome of me if I should lose my place?"

"M. De Boiscoran's family is very rich, and they would prove theirgratitude magnificently to the man who would save him. "

"And if I did not save him? And if, instead of gathering proof of hisinnocence, I should only meet with more evidence of his guilt?"

The objection was so well founded, that M. Folgat preferred not todiscuss it. 

"I might, " he said, "hand you at once, and as a retainer, a considerablesum, which you could keep, whatever the result might be. "

"What sum? A hundred Napoleons? Certainly a hundred Napoleons are not tobe despised; but what would they do for me if I were turned out? I haveto think of somebody else besides myself. I have a wife and a child;and my whole fortune consists in this little cottage, which is not evenentirely paid for. My place is not a gold-mine; but, with the specialrewards which I receive, it brings me, good years and bad years, sevenor eight thousand francs, and I can lay by two or three thousand. "

The young lawyer stopped him by a friendly gesture, and said, --

"If I were to offer you ten thousand francs?"

"A year's income. "

"If I offered you fifteen thousand!"

Goudar made no reply; but his eyes spoke. 

"It is a most interesting case, this case of M. De Boiscoran, " continuedM. Folgat, "and such as does not occur often. The man who should exposethe emptiness of the accusation would make a great reputation forhimself. "

"Would he make friends also at the bar?"

"I admit he would not. "

The detective shook his head. 

"Well, I confess, " he said, "I do not work for glory, nor from love ofmy art. I know very well that vanity is the great motive-power withsome of my colleagues; but I am more practical. I have never liked myprofession; and, if I continue to practise it, it is because I have notthe money to go into any other. It drives my wife to despair, besides:she is only half alive as long as I am away; and she trembles everymorning for fear I may be brought home with a knife between myshoulders. "

M. Folgat had listened attentively; but at the same time he had pulledout a pocket-book, which looked decidedly plethoric, and placed it onthe table. 

"With fifteen thousand francs, " he said, "a man may do something. "

"That is true. There is a piece of land for sale adjoining my garden, which would suit me exactly. Flowers bring a good price in Paris, andthat business would please my wife. Fruit, also yields a good profit. "

The advocate knew now that he had caught his man. 

"Remember, too, my dear Goudar, that, if you succeed, these fifteenthousand francs would only be a part payment. They might, perhaps, double the sum. M. De Boiscoran is the most liberal of men, and he wouldtake pleasure in royally rewarding the man who should have saved him. "

As he spoke, he opened the pocket-book, and drew from it fifteenthousand-franc notes, which he spread out on the table. 

"To any one but to you, " he went on, "I should hesitate to pay sucha sum in advance. Another man might take the money, and never troublehimself about the affair. But I know your uprightness; and, if you giveme your word in return for the notes, I shall be satisfied. Come, shallit be so?"

The detective was evidently not a little excited; for, self-possessedas he was, he had turned somewhat pale. He hesitated, handled thebank-notes, and then, all of a sudden, said, --

"Wait two minutes. "

He got up instantly, and ran towards the house. 

"Is he going to consult his wife?" M. Folgat asked himself. 

He did so; for the next moment they appeared at the other end of thewalk, engaged in a lively discussion. However, the discussion did notlast long. Goudar came back to the bower, and said, --

"Agreed! I am your man!"

The advocate was delighted, and shook his hand. 

"Thank you!" he cried; "for, with your assistance, I am almost sureof success. Unfortunately, we have no time to lose. When can you go towork?"

"This moment. Give me time to change my costume; and I am at yourservice. You will have to give me the keys of the house in Passy. "

"I have them here in my pocket. "

"Well, then let us go there at once; for I must, first of all, reconnoitre the ground. And you shall see if it takes me long to dress. "

In less than fifteen minutes he reappeared in a long overcoat, withgloves on, looking, for all the world, like one of those retiredgrocers who have made a fortune, and settled somewhere outside of thecorporation of Paris, displaying their idleness in broad daylight, andrepenting forever that they have given up their occupation. 

"Let us go, " he said to the lawyer. 

After having bowed to Mrs. Goudar, who accompanied them with a radiantsmile, they got into the carriage, calling out to the driver, --

"Vine Street, Passy, No. 23. "

This Vine Street is a curious street, leading nowhere, little known, andso deserted, that the grass grows everywhere. It stretches out long anddreary, is hilly, muddy, scarcely paved, and full of holes, and looksmuch more like a wretched village lane than like a street belongingto Paris. No shops, only a few homes, but on the right and the leftinterminable walls, overtopped by lofty trees. 

"Ah! the place is well chosen for mysterious rendezvouses, " growledGoudar. "Too well chosen, I dare say; for we shall pick up noinformation here. "

The carriage stopped before a small door, in a thick wall, which borethe traces of the two sieges in a number of places. 

"Here is No. 23, " said the driver; "but I see no house. "

It could not be seen from the street; but, when they got in, Mr. Folgatand Goudar saw it, rising in the centre of an immense garden, simple andpretty, with a double porch, a slate roof, and newly-painted blinds. 

"Great God!" exclaimed the detective, "what a place for a gardener!"

And M. Folgat felt so keenly the man's ill-concealed desire, that he atonce said, --

"If we save M. De Boiscoran, I am sure he will not keep this house. "

"Let us go in, " cried the detective, in a voice which revealed all hisintense desire to succeed. 

Unfortunately, Jacques de Boiscoran had spoken but too truly, when hesaid that no trace was left of former days. Furniture, carpets, allwas new; and Goudar and M. Folgat in vain explored the four rooms downstairs, and the four rooms up stairs, the basement, where the kitchenwas, and finally the garret. 

"We shall find nothing here, " declared the detective. "To satisfy myconscience, I shall come and spend an afternoon here; but now we havemore important business. Let us go and see the neighbors!"

There are not many neighbors in Vine Street. 

A teacher and a nurseryman, a locksmith and a liveryman, five orsix owners of houses, and the inevitable keeper of a wine-shop andrestaurant, these were the whole population. 

"We shall soon make the rounds, " said Goudar, after having ordered thecoachman to wait for them at the end of the street. 

Neither the head master nor his assistants knew any thing. Thenurseryman had heard it said that No. 23 belonged to an Englishman; buthe had never seen him, and did not even know his name. 

The locksmith knew that he was called Francis Burnett. He had donesome work for him, for which he had been well paid, and thus he hadfrequently seen him; but it was so long since, that he did not think hewould recognize him. 

"We are unlucky, " said M. Folgat, after this visit. 

The memory of the liveryman was more trustworthy. He said he knew theEnglishman of No. 23 very well, having driven him three or fourtimes; and the description he gave of him answered fully to Jacques deBoiscoran. He also remembered that one evening, when the weather waswretched, Sir Burnett had come himself to order a carriage. It was fora lady, who had got in alone, and who had been driven to the Place de laMadeleine. But it was a dark night; the lady wore a thick veil; he hadnot been able to distinguish her features, and all he could say was thatshe looked above medium height. 

"It is always the same story, " said Goudar. "But the wine-merchant oughtto be best informed. If I were alone I would breakfast there. "

"I shall breakfast with you, " said M. Folgat. 

They did so, and they did wisely. 

The wine-merchant did not know much; but his waiter, who had beenwith him five or six years, knew Sir Burnett, as everybody calledthe Englishman, by sight, and was quite well acquainted with theservant-girl, Suky Wood. While he was bringing in breakfast, he toldthem all he knew. 

Suky, he said, was a tall, strapping girl, with hair red enough to sether bonnets on fire, and graceful enough to be mistaken for a heavydragoon in female disguise. He had often had long talks with her whenshe came to fetch some ready-made dish, or to buy some beer, of whichshe was very fond. She told him she was very pleased with her place, asshe got plenty of money, and had, so to say, nothing to do, being leftalone in the house for nine months in the year. From her the waiter hadalso learned that Sir Burnett must have another house, and that he cameto Vine Street only to receive visits from a lady. 

This lady troubled Suky very much. She declared she had never been ableto see the end of her nose even, so very cautious was she in all hermovements; but she intended to see her in spite of all. 

"And you may be sure she managed to do it some time or other, " Goudarwhispered into M. Folgat's ear. 

Finally they learned from this waiter, that Suky had been very intimatewith the servant of an old gentleman who lived quite alone in No. 27. 

"We must see her, " said Goudar. 

Luckily the girl's master had just gone out, and she was alone in thehouse. At first she was a little frightened at being called upon andquestioned by two unknown men; but the detective knew how to reassureher very quickly, and, as she was a great talker, she confirmed all thewaiter at the restaurant had told them, and added some details. 

Suky had been very intimate with her; she had never hesitated to tellher that Burnett was not an Englishman; that his name was not Burnett, and that he was concealing himself in Vine Street under a false name, for the purpose of meeting there his lady-love, who was a grand, finelady, and marvellously beautiful. Finally, at the outbreak of the war, Suky had told her that she was going back to England to her relations. When they left the old bachelor's house, Goudar said to the youngadvocate, --

"We have obtained but little information, and the jurymen would paylittle attention to it; but there is enough of it to confirm, at leastin part, M. De Boiscoran's statement. We can prove that he met a ladyhere who had the greatest interest in remaining unknown. Was this, as hesays, the Countess Claudieuse? We might find this out from Suky; for shehas seen her, beyond all doubt. Hence we must hunt up Suky. And now, letus take our carriage, and go to headquarters. You can wait for me at thecafé near the Palais de Justice. I shall not be away more than a quarterof an hour. "

It took him, however, a good hour and a half; M. Folgat was beginning tobe troubled, when he at last reappeared, looking very well pleased. 

"Waiter, a glass of beer!" he said. 

And, sitting down so as to face the advocate, he said, --

"I stayed away rather long; but I did not lose any time. In the firstplace, I procured a month's leave of absence; then I put my hand uponthe very man whom I wanted to send after Sir Burnett and Miss Suky. He is a good fellow, called Barousse, fine like a needle, and speaksEnglish like a native. He demands twenty-five francs a day, histravelling-expenses, and a gratuity of fifteen hundred francs if hesucceeds. I have agreed to meet him at six to give him a definiteanswer. If you accept the conditions, he will leave for Englandto-night, well drilled by me. "

Instead of any answer, M. Folgat drew from his pocket-book athousand-franc note, and said, --

"Here is something to begin with. "

Goudar had finished his beer, and said, --

"Well, then, I must leave you. I am going to hang abut M. De Tassar'shouse, and make my inquiries. Perhaps I may pick up something there. To-morrow I shall spend my day in searching the house in Vine Street andin questioning all the tradesmen on your list. The day after to-morrowI shall probably have finished here. So that in four or five days therewill arrive in Sauveterre a somebody, who will be myself. " And as he gotup, he added, --

"For I must save M. De Boiscoran. I will and I must do it. He has toonice a house. Well, we shall see each other at Sauveterre. "

It struck four o'clock. M. Folgat left the café immediately afterGoudar, and went down the river to University Street. He was anxious tosee the marquis and the marchioness. 

"The marchioness is resting, " said the valet; "but the marquis is in hiscabinet. "

M. Folgat was shown in, and found him still under the effects of theterrible scene he had undergone in the morning. He had said nothing tohis wife that he did not really think; but he was distressed at havingsaid it under such circumstances. And yet he felt a kind of relief; for, to tell the truth, he felt as if the horrible doubts which he had keptsecret so many years had vanished as soon as they were spoken out. Whenhe saw M. Folgat, he asked in a sadly-changed voice, --

"Well?"

The young advocate repeated in detail the account given by themarchioness; but he added what the latter had not been able to mention, because she did not know it, the desperate resolution which Jacques hadformed. At this revelation the marquis looked utterly overcome. 

"The unhappy man!" he cried. "And I accused him of--He thought ofkilling himself!"

"And we had a great trouble, M. Magloire, and myself, " added M. Folgat, "to overcome his resolution, great trouble to make him understand, that never, under any circumstances, ought an innocent man to think ofcommitting suicide. "

A big tear rolled down the furrowed cheek of the old gentleman; and hemurmured, --

"Ah! I have been cruelly unjust. Poor, unhappy child!"

Then he added aloud, --

"But I shall see him. I have determined to accompany the marchioness toSauveterre. When will you leave?"

"Nothing keeps me here in Paris. I have done all that could be done, andI might return this evening. But I am really too tired. I think I shallto-morrow take the train at 10. 45. "

"If you do so, we shall travel in company; you understand? To-morrowat ten o'clock at the Orleans station. We shall reach Sauveterre bymidnight. "

XX. 

When the Marchioness de Boiscoran, on the day of her departure forParis, had gone to see her son, Dionysia had asked her to let her gowith her. She resisted, and the young girl did not insist. 

"I see they are trying to conceal something from me, " she said simply;"but it does not matter. "

And she had taken refuge in the sitting-room; and there, taking herusual seat, as in the happy days when Jacques spent all his evenings byher side, she had remained long hours immovable, looking as if, with hermind's eye, she was following invisible scenes far away. 

Grandpapa Chandore and the two aunts were indescribably anxious. Theyknew their Dionysia, their darling child, better than she knew herself, having nursed and watched her for twenty years. They knew everyexpression of her face, every gesture, every intonation of voice, andcould almost read her thoughts in her features. 

"Most assuredly Dionysia is meditating upon something very serious, "they said. "She is evidently calculating and preparing for a greatresolution. "

The old gentleman thought so too, and asked her repeatedly, --

"What are you thinking of, dear child?"

"Of nothing, dear papa, " she replied. 

"You are sadder than usual: why are you so?"

"Alas! How do I know? Does anybody know why one day we have sunshine inour hearts, and another day dismal clouds?"

But the next day she insisted upon being taken to her seamstresses, andfinding Mechinet, the clerk, there, she remained a full half-hour inconference with him. Then, in the evening, when Dr. Seignebos, after ashort visit, was leaving the room, she lay in wait for him, and kept himtalking a long time at the door. Finally, the day after, she asked oncemore to be allowed to go and see Jacques. They could no longer refuseher this sad satisfaction; and it was agreed that the older of the twoMisses Lavarande, Miss Adelaide, should accompany her. 

About two o'clock on that day they knocked at the prison-door, and askedthe jailer, who had come to open the door, to let them see Jacques. 

"I'll go for him at once, madam, " replied Blangin. "In the meantime praystep in here: the parlor is rather damp, and the less you stay in it, the better it will be. "

Dionysia did so, or rather, she did a great deal more; for, leavingher aunt down stairs, she drew Mrs. Blangin to the upper room, havingsomething to say to her, as she pretended. 

When they came down again, Blangin told them that M. De Boiscoran waswaiting for them. 

"Come!" said the young girl to her aunt. 

But she had not taken ten steps in the long narrow passage which ledto the parlor, when she stopped. The damp which fell from the vaultedceiling like a pall upon her, and the emotions which were agitating herheart, combined to overwhelm her. She tottered, and had to lean againstthe wall, reeking as it was with wet and with saltpetre. 

"O Lord, you are ill!" cried Miss Adelaide. 

Dionysia beckoned to her to be silent. 

"Oh, it is nothing!" she said. "Be quiet!"

And gathering up all her strength, and putting her little hand upon theold lady's shoulder, she said, --

"My darling aunty, you must render us an immense service. It is allimportant that I should speak to Jacques alone. It would be verydangerous for us to be overheard. I know they often set spies to listento prisoners' talk. Do please, dear aunt, remain here in the passage, and give us warning, if anybody should come. "

"You do not think of it, dear child. Would it be proper?"

The young girl stopped her again. 

"Was it proper when I came and spent a night here? Alas! in ourposition, every thing is proper that may be useful. "

And, as Aunt Lavarande made no reply, she felt sure of her perfectsubmission, and went on towards the parlor. 

"Dionysia!" cried Jacques as soon as she entered, --"Dionysia!"

He was standing in the centre of this mournful hall, looking whiter thanthe whitewash on the wall, but apparently calm, and almost smiling. Theviolence with which he controlled himself was horrible. But how could heallow his betrothed to see his despair? Ought he not, on the contrary, do every thing to reassure her?

He came up to her, took her hands in his, and said, --

"Ah, it is so kind in you to come! and yet I have looked for you eversince the morning. I have been watching and waiting, and trembling atevery noise. But will you ever forgive me for having made you come toa place like this, untidy and ugly, without the fatal poetry of horroreven?"

She looked at him with such obstinate fixedness, that the words expiredon his lips. 

"Why will you tell me a falsehood?" she said sadly. 

"I tell you a falsehood!"

"Yes. Why do you affect this gayety and tranquillity, which are so farfrom your heart? Have you no longer confidence in me? Do you think I ama child, from whom the truth must be concealed, or so feeble and goodfor nothing, that I cannot bear my share of your troubles? Do not smile, Jacques; for I know you have no hope. "

"You are mistaken, Dionysia, I assure you. "

"No, Jacques. They are concealing something from me, I know, and I donot ask you to tell me what it is. I know quite enough. You will have toappear in court. "

"I beg your pardon. That question has not yet been decided. "

"But it will be decided, and against you. "

Jacques knew very well it would be so, and dreaded it; but he stillinsisted upon playing his part. 

"Well, " he said, "if I appear in court, I shall be acquitted. "

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"I have ninety-nine chances out of a hundred for me. "

"There is one, however, against you, " cried the young girl. And seizingJacques's hands, and pressing them with a force of which he would neverhave suspected her, she added, --

"You have no right to run that one chance. "

Jacques trembled in all his limbs. Was it possible? Did he understandher? Did Dionysia herself come and suggest to him that act of supremedespair, from which his counsel had so strongly dissuaded him?

"What do you mean?" he said with trembling voice. 

"You must escape. "

"Escape?"

"Nothing so easy. I have considered the whole matter thoroughly. Thejailers are in our pay. I have just come to an understanding withBlangin's wife. One evening, as soon as night falls, they will open thedoors to you. A horse will be ready for you outside of town, and relayshave been prepared. In four hours you can reach Rochelle. There, oneof those pilot-boats which can stand any storm takes you on board, andcarries you to England. "

Jacques shook his head. 

"That cannot be, " he replied. "I am innocent. I cannot abandon all Ihold dear, --you, Dionysia. "

A deep flush covered the young girl's cheeks. She stammered, --

"I have expressed myself badly. You shall not go alone. "

He raised his hands to heaven, as if in utter despair. 

"Great God! Thou grantest me this consolation!"

But Dionysia went on speaking in a firmer voice. 

"Did you think I would be mean enough to forsake the friend whois betrayed by everybody else? No, no! Grandpapa and my aunts willaccompany me, and we will meet you in England. You will change yourname, and go across to America; and we will look out, far in the West, for some new country where we can establish ourselves. It won't beFrance, to be sure. But our country, Jacques, is the country where weare free, where we are beloved, where we are happy. "

Jacques de Boiscoran was moved to the last fibre of his innermost heart, and in a kind of ecstasy which did not allow him to keep up any longerhis mask of impassive indifference. Was there a man upon earth who couldreceive a more glorious proof of love and devotion? And from what awoman! From a young girl, who united in herself all the qualities ofwhich a single one makes others proud, --intelligence and grace, highrank and fortune, beauty and angelic purity. 

Ah! she did not hesitate like that other one; she did not think ofasking for securities before she granted the first favor; she did notmake a science of duplicity, nor hypocrisy her only virtue. She gaveherself up entirely, and without the slightest reserve. 

And all this at the moment when Jacques saw every thing else around himcrumbled to pieces, when he was on the very brink of utter despair, justthen this happiness came to him, this great and unexpected happiness, which well-nigh broke his heart. 

For a moment he could not move, he could not think. 

Then all of a sudden, drawing his betrothed to him, pressing herconvulsively to his bosom, and covering her hair with a thousand kisses, he cried, --

"I bless you, oh, my darling! I bless you, my well beloved! I shallmourn no longer. Whatever may happen, I have had my share of heavenlybliss. "

She thought he consented. Palpitating like the bird in the hand of achild, she drew back, and looking at Jacques with ineffable love andtenderness, she said, --

"Let us fix the day!"

"What day?"

"The day for your flight. "

This word alone recalled Jacques to a sense of his fearful position. Hewas soaring in the supreme heights of the ether, and he was plunged downinto the vile mud of reality. His face, radiant with celestial joy, grewdark in an instant, and he said hoarsely, --

"That dream is too beautiful to be realized. "

"What do you say?" she stammered. 

"I can not, I must not, escape!"

"You refuse me, Jacques?"

He made no reply. 

"You refuse me, when I swear to you that I will join you, and share yourexile? Do you doubt my word? Do you fear that my grandfather or my auntsmight keep me here in spite of myself?"

As this suppliant voice fell upon his ears, Jacques felt as if all hisenergy abandoned him, and his will was shaken. 

"I beseech you, Dionysia, " he said, "do not insist, do not deprive me ofmy courage. "

She was evidently suffering agonies. Her eyes shone with unbearablefire. Her dry lips were trembling. 

"You will submit to being brought up in court?" she asked. 

"Yes!"

"And if you are condemned?"

"I may be, I know. "

"This is madness!" cried the young girl. 

In her despair she was wringing her hands; and then the words escapedfrom her lips, almost unconsciously, --

"Great God, " she said, "inspire me! How can I bend him? What must I say?Jacques, do you love me no longer? For my sake, if not for your own, Ibeseech you, let us flee! You escape disgrace; you secure liberty. Cannothing touch you? What do you want? Must I throw myself at your feet?"

And she really let herself fall at his feet. 

"Flee!" she repeated again and again. "Oh, flee!"

Like all truly energetic men, Jacques recovered in the very excess ofhis emotion all his self-possession. Gathering his bewildered thoughtsby a great effort of mind, he raised Dionysia, and carried her, almostfainting, to the rough prison bench; then, kneeling down by her side, and taking her hands he said, --

"Dionysia, for pity's sake, come to yourself and listen to me. I aminnocent; and to flee would be to confess that I am guilty. "

"Ah! what does that matter?"

"Do you think that my escape would stop the trial? No. Although absent, I should still be tried, and found guilty without any opposition: Ishould be condemned, disgraced, irrevocably dishonored. "

"What does it matter?"

Then he felt that such arguments would never bring her back to reason. He rose, therefore, and said in a firm voice, --

"Let me tell you what you do not know. To flee would be easy, I agree. I think, as you do, we could reach England readily enough, and we mighteven take ship there without trouble. But what then? The cable is fasterthan the fastest steamer; and, upon landing on American soil, I should, no doubt, be met by agents with orders to arrest me. But suppose even Ishould escape this first danger. Do you think there is in all this worldan asylum for incendiaries and murderers? There is none. At the extremeconfines of civilization I should still meet with police-agents andsoldiers, who, an extradition treaty in hand, would give me up to thegovernment of my country. If I were alone, I might possibly escape allthese dangers. But I should never succeed if I had you near me, andGrandpapa Chandore, and your two aunts. "

Dionysia was forcibly struck by these objections, of which she had hadno idea. She said nothing. 

"Still, suppose we might possibly escape all such dangers. What wouldour life be! Do you know what it would mean to have to hide and torun incessantly, to have to avoid the looks of every stranger, and totremble, day by day, at the thought of discovery? With me, Dionysia, your existence would be that of the wife of one of those banditti whomthe police are hunting down in his dens. And you ought to know that sucha life is so intolerable, that hardened criminals have been unable toendure it, and have given up their life for the boon of a night's quietsleep. "

Big tears were silently rolling down the poor girl's cheeks. Shemurmured, --

"Perhaps you are right, Jacques. But, O Jacques, if they should condemnyou!"

"Well, I should at least have done my duty. I should have met fate, and defended my honor. And, whatever the sentence may be, it will notoverthrow me; for, as long as my heart beats within me, I mean to defendmyself. And, if I die before I succeed in proving my innocence, Ishall leave it to you, Dionysia, to your kindred, and to my friends, tocontinue the struggle, and to restore my honor. "

She was worthy of comprehending and of appreciating such sentiments. 

"I was wrong, Jacques, " she said, offering him her hand: "you mustforgive me. "

She had risen, and, after a few moments' hesitation, was about to leavethe room, when Jacques retained her, saying, --

"I do not mean to escape; but would not the people who have agreed tofavor my evasion be willing to furnish me the means for passing a fewhours outside of my prison?"

"I think they would, " replied the young girl; "And, if you wish it, Iwill make sure of it. "

"Yes. That might be a last resort. "

With these words they parted, exhorting each other to keep up theircourage, and promising each other to meet again during the next days. 

Dionysia found her poor aunt Lavarande very tired of the long watch; andthey hastened home. 

"How pale you are!" exclaimed M. De Chandore, when he saw hisgrand-daughter; "and how red your eyes are! What has happened?"

She told him every thing; and the old gentleman felt chilled to themarrow of his bones, when he found that it had depended on Jacques aloneto carry off his grandchild. But he had not done so. 

"Ah, he is an honest man!" he said. 

And, pressing his lips on Dionysia's brow, he added, --

"And you love him more than ever?"

"Alas!" she replied, "is he not more unhappy than ever?"

XXI. 

"Have you heard the news?"

"No: what is it?"

"Dionysia de Chandore has been to see M. De Boiscoran in prison. "

"Is it possible?"

"Yes, indeed! Twenty people have seen her come back from there, leaningon the arm of the older Miss Lavarande. She went in at ten minutes pastten, and she did not come out till a quarter-past three. "

"Is the young woman mad?"

"And the aunt--what do you think of the aunt?"

"She must be as mad as the niece. "

"And M. De Chandore?"

"He must have lost his senses to allow such a scandal. But you know verywell, grandfather and aunts never had any will but Dionysia's. "

"A nice training!"

"And nice fruits of such an education! After such a scandal, no man willbe bold enough to marry her. "

Such were the comments on Dionysia's visit to Jacques, when the newsbecame known. It flew at once all over town. The ladies "in society"could not recover from it; for people are exceedingly virtuous atSauveterre, and hence they claim the right of being exceedingly strictin their judgment. There is no trifling permitted on the score ofpropriety. 

The person who defies public opinion is lost. Now, public opinion wasdecidedly against Jacques de Boiscoran. He was down, and everybody wasready to kick him. 

"Will he get out of it?"

This problem, which was day by day discussed at the "Literary Club, " hadcalled forth torrents of eloquence, terrible discussions, and even oneor two serious quarrels, one of which had ended in a duel. But nobodyasked any longer, --

"Is he innocent?"

Dr. Seignebos's eloquence, the influence of M. Seneschal, and thecunning plots of Mechinet, had all failed. 

"Ah, what an interesting trial it will be!" said many people, who wereall eagerness to know who would be the presiding judge, in order toask him for tickets of admission. Day by day the interest in the trialbecame deeper; and all who were in any way connected with it werewatched with great curiosity. Everybody wanted to know what they weredoing, what they thought, and what they had said. 

They saw in the absence of the Marquis de Boiscoran an additional proofof Jacques's guilt. The continued presence of M. Folgat also created nosmall wonder. His extreme reserve, which they ascribed to his excessiveand ill-placed pride, had made him generally disliked. And now theysaid, --

"He must have hardly any thing to do in Paris, that he can spend so manymonths in Sauveterre. "

The editor of "The Sauveterre Independent" naturally found the affaira veritable gold-mine for his paper. He forgot his old quarrel with theeditor of "The Impartial Journal, " whom he accused of Bonapartism, andwho retaliated by calling him a Communist. Each day brought, in additionto the usual mention under the "local" head, some article on the"Boiscoran Case. " He wrote, --

"The health of Count C. , instead of improving, is declining visibly. Heused to get up occasionally when he first came to Sauveterre; and now herarely leaves his bed. The wound in the shoulder, which at first seemedto be the least dangerous, has suddenly become much inflamed, owingto the tropical heat of the last days. At one time gangrene wasapprehended, and it was feared that amputation would become necessary. Yesterday Dr. S. Seemed to be much disturbed. 

"And, as misfortunes never come singly, the youngest daughter of CountC. Is very ill. She had the measles at the time of the fire; and thefright, the cold, and the removal, have brought on a relapse, which maybe dangerous. 

"Amid all these cruel trials, the Countess C. Is admirable in herdevotion, her courage, and her resignation. Whenever she leaves thebedside of her dear patients to pray at church for them, she is receivedwith the most touching sympathy and the most sincere admiration by thewhole population. "

"Ah, that wretch Boiscoran!" cried the good people of Sauveterre whenthey read such an article. 

The next day, they found this, --

"We have sent to the hospital to inquire from the lady superior how thepoor idiot is, who has taken such a prominent part in the bloody dramaat Valpinson. His mental condition remains unchanged since he has beenexamined by experts. The spark of intelligence which the crime hadelicited seems to be extinguished entirely and forever. It is impossibleto obtain a word from him. He is, however, not locked up. Inoffensiveand gentle, like a poor animal that has lost its master, he wandersmournfully through the courts and gardens of the hospital. Dr. S. , whoused to take a lively interest in him, hardly ever sees him now. 

"It was thought at one time, that C. Would be summoned to give evidencein the approaching trial. We are informed by high authority, that sucha dramatic scene must not be expected to take place. C. Will not appearbefore the jury. "

"Certainly, Cocoleu's deposition must have been an interposition ofProvidence, " said people who were not far from believing that it was agenuine miracle. 

The next day the editor took M. Galpin in hand. 

"M. G. , the eminent magistrate, is very unwell just now, and verynaturally so after an investigation of such length and importance asthat which preceded the Boiscoran trial. We are told that he only awaitsthe decree of the court, to ask for a furlough and to go to one of therural stations of the Pyrenees. "

Then came Jacques's turn, --

"M. J. De B. Stands his imprisonment better than could be expected. According to direct information, his health is excellent, and hisspirits do not seem to have suffered. He reads much, and spends part ofthe night in preparing his defence, and making notes for his counsel. "

Then came, from day to day, smaller items, --

"M. J. De B. Is no longer in close confinement. "

Or, --

"M. De B. Had this morning an interview with his counsel, M. M. , themost eminent member of our bar, and M. F. , a young but distinguishedadvocate from Paris. The conference lasted several hours. We abstainfrom giving details; but our readers will understand the reserverequired in the case of an accused who insists upon protestingenergetically that he is innocent. "

And, again, --

"M. De B. Was yesterday visited by his mother. "

Or, finally, --

"We hear at the last moment that the Marchioness de B. And M. Folgathave left for Paris. Our correspondent in P. Writes us that the decreeof the court will not be delayed much longer. "

Never had "The Sauveterre Independent" been read with so much interest. And, as everybody endeavored to be better informed than his neighbor, quite a number of idle men had assumed the duty of watching Jacques'sfriends, and spent their days in trying to find out what was going onat M. De Chandore's house. Thus it came about, that, on the eveningof Dionysia's visit to Jacques, the street was full of curious people. Towards half-past ten, they saw M. De Chandore's carriage come out ofthe courtyard, and draw up at the door. At eleven o'clock M. De Chandoreand Dr. Seignebos got in, the coachman whipped the horse, and they droveoff. 

"Where can they be going?" asked they. 

They followed the carriage. The two gentlemen drove to the station. They had received a telegram, and were expecting the return of themarchioness and M. Folgat, accompanied, this time, by the old marquis. 

They reached there much too soon. The local branch railway which goes toSauveterre is not famous for regularity, and still reminds its patronsoccasionally of the old habits of stage-coaches, when the driver or theconductor had, at the last moment, to stop to pick up something theyhad forgotten. At a quarter-past midnight the train, which ought tohave been there twenty minutes before, had not yet been signalled. Every thing around was silent and deserted. Through the windows thestation-master might be seen fast asleep in his huge leather chair. Clerks and porters all were asleep, stretched out on the benches of thewaiting-room. But people are accustomed to such delays at Sauveterre;they are prepared for being kept waiting: and the doctor and M. DeChandore were walking up and down the platform, being neither astonishednor impatient at the irregularity. Nor would they have been muchsurprised if they had been told that they were closely watched all thetime: they knew their good town. Still it was so. Two curious men, more obstinate than the others, had jumped into the omnibus which runsbetween the station and the town; and now, standing a little aside, theysaid to each other, --

"I say, what can they be waiting for?"

At last towards one o'clock, a bell rang, and the station seemedto start into life. The station-master opened his door, the portersstretched themselves and rubbed their eyes, oaths were heard, doorsslammed, and the large hand-barrows came in sight. 

Then a low thunder-like noise came nearer and nearer; and almostinstantly a fierce red light at the far end of the track shone outin the dark night like a ball of fire. M. De Chandore and the doctorhastened to the waiting-room. 

The train stopped. A door opened, and the marchioness appeared, leaningon M. Folgat's arm. The marquis, a travelling-bag in hand, followednext. 

"That was it!" said the volunteer spies, who had flattened their nosesagainst the window-panes. 

And, as the train brought no other passengers, they succeeded in makingthe omnibus conductor start at once, eager as they were to proclaim thearrival of the prisoner's father. 

The hour was unfavorable: everybody was asleep; but they did not give upthe hope of finding somebody yet at the club. People stay up very lateat the club, for there is play going on there, and at times pretty heavyplay: you can lose your five hundred francs quite readily there. Thusthe indefatigable news-hunters had a fair chance of finding open earsfor their great piece of news. And yet, if they had been less eager tospread it, they might have witnessed, perhaps not entirely unmoved, thisfirst interview between M. De Chandore and the Marquis de Boiscoran. 

By a natural impulse they had both hastened forward, and shook hands inthe most energetic manner. Tears stood in their eyes. They opened theirlips to speak; but they said nothing. Besides, there was no need ofwords between them. That close embrace had told Jacques's father clearlyenough what Dionysia's grandfather must have suffered. They remainedthus standing motionless, looking at each other, when Dr. Seignebos, whocould not be still for any length of time, came up, and asked, --

"The trunks are on the carriage: shall we go?"

They left the station. The night was clear; and on the horizon, abovethe dark mass of the sleeping town, there rose against the pale-bluesky the two towers of the old castle, which now served as prison toSauveterre. 

"That is the place where my Jacques is kept, " murmured the marquis. "There my son is imprisoned, accused of horrible crimes. "

"We will get him out of it, " said the doctor cheerfully, as he helpedthe old gentleman into the carriage. 

But in vain did he try, during the drive, to rouse, as he called it, thespirits of his companions. His hopes found no echo in their distressedhearts. 

M. Folgat inquired after Dionysia, whom he had been surprised not to seeat the station. M. De Chandore replied that she had staid at home withthe Misses Lavarande, to keep M. Magloire company; and that was all. 

There are situations in which it is painful to talk. The marquis hadenough to do to suppress the spasmodic sobs which now and thenwould rise in his throat. He was upset by the thought that he was atSauveterre. Whatever may be said to the contrary, distance does notweaken our emotions. Shaking hands with M. De Chandore in person hadmoved him more deeply than all the letters he had received for a month. And when he saw Jacques's prison from afar, he had the first clearnotion of the horrible tortures endured by his son. The marchioness wasutterly exhausted: she felt as if all the springs in her system werebroken. 

M. De Chandore trembled when he looked at them, and saw how they allwere on the point of succumbing. If they despaired, what could hehope for, --he, who knew how indissolubly Dionysia's fate in life wasconnected with Jacques?

At length the carriage stopped before his house. The door openedinstantly, and the marchioness found herself in Dionysia's arms, andsoon after comfortably seated in an easy-chair. The others had followedher. It was past two o'clock; but every minute now was valuable. Arranging his spectacles, Dr. Seignebos said, --

"I propose that we exchange our information. I, for my part, I am stillat the same point. But you know my views. I do not give them up. Cocoleuis an impostor, and it shall be proved. I appear to notice him nolonger; but, in reality, I watch him more closely than ever. "

Dionysia interrupted him, saying, --

"Before any thing is decided, there is one fact which you all ought toknow. Listen. "

Pale like death, for it cost her a great struggle to reveal thus thesecret of her heart, but with a voice full of energy, and an eye full offire, she told them what she had already confessed to her grandfather;viz. , the propositions she had made to Jacques, and his obstinaterefusal to accede to them. 

"Well done, madame!" said Dr. Seignebos, full of enthusiasm. "Well done!Jacques is very unfortunate, and still he is to be envied. "

Dionysia finished her recital. Then, turning with a triumphant air to M. Magloire, she added, --

"After that, is there any one yet who could believe that Jacques is avile assassin?"

The eminent advocate of Sauveterre was not one of those men who prizetheir opinions more highly than truth itself. 

"I confess, " he said, "that, if I were to go and see Jacques to-morrowfor the first time, I should not speak to him as I did before. "

"And I, " exclaimed the Marquis de Boiscoran, --"I declare that I answerfor my son as for myself, and I mean to tell him so to-morrow. "

Then turning towards his wife, and speaking so low, that she alone couldhear him, he added, --

"And I hope you will forgive me those suspicions which now fill me withhorror. "

But the marchioness had no strength left: she fainted, and had to beremoved, accompanied by Dionysia and the Misses Lavarande. As soon asthey were out of the room, Dr. Seignebos locked the door, rested hiselbow on the chimney, and, taking off his spectacles to wipe them, saidto M. Folgat, --

"Now we can speak freely. What news do you bring us?"

XXII. 

It had just struck eleven o'clock, when the jailer, Blangin, enteredJacques's cell in great excitement, and said, --

"Sir, your father is down stairs. "

The prisoner jumped up, thunderstruck. 

The night before he had received a note from M. De Chandore, informinghim of the marquis's arrival; and his whole time had since been spent inpreparing himself for the interview. How would it be? He had nothing bywhich to judge. He had therefore determined to be quite reserved. And, whilst he was following Blangin along the dismal passage and down theinterminable steps, he was busily composing respectful phrases, andtrying to look self-possessed. 

But, before he could utter a single word, he was in his father's arms. He felt himself pressed against his heart, and heard him stammer, --

"Jacques, my dear son, my unfortunate child!"

In all his life, long and stormy as it had been, the marquis had notbeen tried so severely. Drawing Jacques to one of the parlor-windows, and leaning back a little, so as to see him better, he was amazed how hecould ever have doubted his son. It seemed to him that he was standingthere himself. He recognized his own feature and carriage, his own frankbut rather haughty expression, his own clear, bright eye. 

Then, suddenly noticing details, he was shocked to see Jacques so muchreduced. He found him looking painfully pale, and he actually discoveredat the temples more than one silvery hair amid his thick black curls. 

"Poor child!" he said. "How you must have suffered!"

"I thought I should lose my senses, " replied Jacques simply. 

And with a tremor in his voice, he asked, --

"But, dear father, why did you give me no sign of life? Why did you stayaway so long?"

The marquis was not unprepared for such a question. But how could heanswer it? Could he ever tell Jacques the true secret of his hesitation?Turning his eyes aside, he answered, --

"I hoped I should be able to serve you better by remaining in Paris. "But his embarrassment was too evident to escape Jacques. 

"You did not doubt your own child, father?" he asked sadly. 

"Never!" cried the marquis, "I never doubted a moment. Ask your mother, and she will tell you that it was this proud assurance I felt which keptme from coming down with her. When I heard of what they accused you, Isaid 'It is absurd!'"

Jacques shook his head, and said, --

"The accusation was absurd; and yet you see what it has brought me to. "

Two big tears, which he could no longer retain, burnt in the eyes of theold gentleman. 

"You blame me, Jacques, " he said. "You blame your father. "

There is not a man alive who could see his father shed tears, and notfeel his heart melt within him. All the resolutions Jacques had formedvanished in an instant. Pressing his father's hand in his own, hesaid, --

"No, I do not blame you, father. And still I have no words to tellyou how much your absence has added to my sufferings. I thought I wasabandoned, disowned. "

For the first time since his imprisonment, the unfortunate man found aheart to whom he could confide all the bitterness that overflowed in hisown heart. With his mother and with Dionysia, honor forbade him toshow despair. The incredulity of M. Magloire had made all confidenceimpossible; and M. Folgat, although as sympathetic as man could be was, after all, a perfect stranger. 

But now he had near him a friend, the dearest and most precious friendthat a man can ever have, --his father: now he had nothing to fear. 

"Is there a human being in this world, " he said, "whose misfortunesequal mine? To be innocent, and not to be able to prove it! To know theguilty one, and not to dare mention the name. Ah! at first I did nottake in the whole horror of my situation. I was frightened, to be sure;but I had recovered, thinking that surely justice would not be slow indiscovering the truth. Justice! It was my friend Galpin who representedit, and he cared little enough for truth: his only aim was to prove thatthe man whom he accused was the guilty man. Read the papers, father, and you will see how I have been victimized by the most unheard-ofcombination of circumstances. Every thing is against me. Never has thatmysterious, blind, and absurd power manifested itself so clearly, --thatawful power which we call fate. 

"First I was kept by a sense of honor from mentioning the name of theCountess Claudieuse, and then by prudence. The first time I mentionedit to M. Magloire, he told me I lied. Then I thought every thing lost. Isaw no other end but the court, and, after the trial, the galleys or thescaffold. I wanted to kill myself. My friends made me understand that Idid not belong to myself, and that, as long as I had a spark of energyand a ray of intelligence left me, I had no right to dispose of mylife. "

"Poor, poor child!" said the marquis. "No, you have no such right. "

"Yesterday, " continued Jacques, "Dionysia came to see me. Do youknow what brought her here? She offered to flee with me. Father, thattemptation was terrible. Once free, and Dionysia by my side, what caredI for the world? She insisted, like the matchless girl that she is; andlook there, there, on the spot where you now stand, she threw herself atmy feet, imploring me to flee. I doubt whether I can save my life; but Iremain here. "

He felt deeply moved, and sank upon the rough bench, hiding his face inhis hands, perhaps to conceal his tears. 

Suddenly, however, he was seized with one of those attacks of ragewhich had come to him but too often during his imprisonment, and heexclaimed, --

"But what have I done to deserve such fearful punishment?"

The brow of the marquis suddenly darkened; and he replied solemnly, --

"You have coveted your neighbor's wife, my son. "

Jacques shrugged his shoulders. He said, --

"I loved the Countess Claudieuse, and she loved me. "

"Adultery is a crime, Jacques. "

"A crime? Magloire said the same thing. But, father, do you really thinkso? Then it is a crime which has nothing appalling about it, to whichevery thing invites and encourages, of which everybody boasts, and atwhich the world smiles. The law, it is true, gives the husband the rightof life and death; but, if you appeal to the law, it gives the guiltyman six months' imprisonment, or makes him pay a few thousand francs. "

Ah, if he had known, the unfortunate man!

"Jacques, " said the marquis, "the Countess Claudieuse hints, as you say, that one of her daughters, the youngest, is your child?"

"That may be so. "

The Marquis de Boiscoran shuddered. Then he exclaimed bitterly, --

"That may be so! You say that carelessly, indifferently, madman! Did younever think of the grief Count Claudieuse would feel if he should learnthe truth? And even if he merely suspected it! Can you not comprehendthat such a suspicion is quite sufficient to embitter a whole life, toruin the life of that girl? Have you never told yourself that such adoubt inflicts a more atrocious punishment than any thing you have yetsuffered?"

He paused. A few words more, and he would have betrayed his secret. Checking his excitement by an heroic effort, he said, --

"But I did not come here to discuss this question; I came to tell you, that, whatever may happen, your father will stand by you, and that, ifyou must undergo the disgrace of appearing in court, I will take a seatby your side. "

In spite of his own great trouble, Jacques had not been able to avoidseeing his father's unusual excitement and his sudden vehemence. Fora second, he had a vague perception of the truth; but, before thesuspicion could assume any shape, it had vanished before this promisewhich his father made, to face by his side the overwhelming humiliationof a judgment in court, --a promise full of divine self-abnegation andpaternal love. His gratitude burst forth in the words, --

"Ah, father! I ought to ask your pardon for ever having doubted yourheart for a moment. "

M. De Boiscoran tried his best to recover his self-possession. At lasthe said in an earnest voice, --

"Yes, I love you, my son; and still you must not make me out more of ahero than I am. I still hope we may be spared the appearance in court. "

"Has any thing new been discovered?"

"M. Folgat has found some traces which justify legitimate hopes, although, as yet, no real success has been achieved. "

Jacques looked rather discouraged. 

"Traces?" he asked. 

"Be patient. They are feeble traces, I admit, and such as could not beproduced in court; but from day to day they may become decisive. Andalready they have had one good effect: they have brought us back M. Magloire. "

"O God! Could I really be saved?"

"I shall leave to M. Folgat, " continued the marquis, "the satisfactionof telling you the result of his efforts. He can explain their bearingbetter than I could. And you will not have long to wait; for last night, or rather this morning, when we separated, he and M. Magloire agreed tomeet here at the prison, before two o'clock. "

A few minutes later a rapid step approached in the passage; and Trumenceappeared, the prisoner of whom Blangin had made an assistant, and whomMechinet had employed to carry Jacques's letters to Dionysia. He was atall well-made man of twenty-five or six years, whose large mouth andsmall eyes were perpetually laughing. A vagabond without hearth or home, Trumence had once been a land-owner. At the death of his parents, whenhe was only eighteen years old, Trumence had come into possession of ahouse surrounded by a yard, a garden, several acres of land, and a saltmeadow; all worth about fifteen thousand francs. Unfortunately the timefor the conscription was near. Like many young men of that district, Trumence believed in witchcraft, and had gone to buy a charm, which costhim fifty francs. It consisted of three tamarind-branches gathered onChristmas Eve, and tied together by a magic number of hairs drawn froma dead man's head. Having sewed this charm into his waistcoat, Trumencehad gone to town, and, plunging his hand boldly into the urn, had drawnnumber three. This was unexpected. But as he had a great horror ofmilitary service, and, well-made as he was, felt quite sure that hewould not be rejected, he determined to employ a chance much morecertain to succeed; namely, to borrow money in order to buy asubstitute. 

As he was a land-owner, he found no difficulty in meeting with anobliging person, who consented to lend him for two years thirty-fivehundred francs, in return for a first mortgage on his property. When thepapers were signed, and Trumence had the money in his pocket, he set outfor Rochefort, where dealers in substitutes abounded; and for the sum oftwo thousand francs, exclusive of some smaller items, they furnished hima substitute of the best quality. 

Delighted with the operation, Trumence was about to return home, whenhis evil star led him to sup at his inn with a countryman, a formerschoolmate, who was now a sailor on board a coal-barge. Of course, countrymen when they meet must drink. They did drink; and, as the sailorvery soon scented the twelve hundred francs which remained in Trumence'spockets, he swore that he was going to have a jolly time, and wouldnot return on board his barge as long as there remained a cent in hisfriend's pocket. So it happened, that, after a fortnight's carouse, the sailor was arrested and put in jail; and Trumence was compelled toborrow five francs from the stage-driver to enable him to get home. 

This fortnight was decisive for his life. During these days he had lostall taste for work, and acquired a real passion for taverns where theyplayed with greasy cards. After his return he tried to continue thisjolly life; and, to do so, he made more debts. He sold, piece afterpiece, all he possessed that was salable, down to his mattress and histools. This was not the way to repay the thirty-five hundred francswhich he owed. When pay-day came, the creditor, seeing that his securitywas diminishing every day, lost no time. Before Trumence was well awareof what was going on, an execution was in the house; his lands weresold; and one fine day he found himself in the street, possessingliterally nothing in the world but the wretched clothes on his back. 

He might easily have found employment; for he was a good workman, andpeople were fond of him in spite of all. But he was even more afraidof work than he was fond of drink. Whenever want pressed too hard, heworked a few days; but, as soon as he had earned ten francs, good-by!Off he went, lounging by the road-side, talking with the wagoners, orloafing about the villages, and watching for one of those kind topers, who, rather than drink alone, invite the first-comer. Trumenceboasted of being well known all along the coast, and even far into thedepartment. And what was most surprising was that people did not blamehim much for his idleness. Good housewives in the country would, it istrue, greet him with a "Well, what do you want here, good-for-nothing?"But they would rarely refuse him a bowl of soup or a glass of whitewine. His unchanging good-humor, and his obliging disposition, explainedthis forbearance. This man, who would refuse a well-paid job, was everready to lend a hand for nothing. And he was handy at every thing, byland and by water, he called it, so that the farmer whose business waspressing, and the fisherman in his boat who wanted help, appealed aliketo Trumence. 

The mischief, however, is, that this life of rural beggary, if it hasits good days, also has its evil times. On certain days, Trumence couldnot find either kind-hearted topers or hospitable housewives. Hunger, however, was ever on hand; then he had to become a marauder; dig somepotatoes, and cook them in a corner of a wood, or pilfer the orchards. And if he found neither potatoes in the fields, nor apples in theorchards, what could he do but climb a fence, or scale a wall?

Relatively speaking, Trumence was an honest man, and incapable ofstealing a piece of money; but vegetables, fruits, chickens--

Thus it had come about that he had been arrested twice, and condemned toseveral days' imprisonment; and each time he had vowed solemnly that hewould never be caught at it again, and that he was going to work hard. And yet he had been caught again. 

The poor fellow had told his misfortunes to Jacques; and Jacques, who owed it to him that he could, when still in close confinement, correspond with Dionysia, felt very kindly towards him. Hence, when hesaw him come up very respectful, and cap in hand, he asked, --

"What is it, Trumence?"

"Sir, " replied the vagrant, "M. Blangin sends you word that the twoadvocates are coming up to your room. "

Once more the marquis embraced his son, saying, --

"Do not keep them waiting, and keep up your courage. "

XXIII. 

The Marquis de Boiscoran had not been mistaken about M. Magloire. Muchshaken by Dionysia's statement, he had been completely overcome by M. Folgat's explanations; and, when he now came to the jail, it was with adetermination to prove Jacques's innocence. 

"But I doubt very much whether he will ever forgive me for myincredulity, " he said to M. Folgat while they were waiting for theprisoner in his cell. 

Jacques came in, still deeply moved by the scene with his father. M. Magloire went up to him, and said, --

"I have never been able to conceal my thoughts, Jacques. When I thoughtyou guilty, and felt sure that you accused the Countess Claudieusefalsely, I told you so with almost brutal candor. I have since found outmy error, and am now convinced of the truth of your statement: so I comeand tell you as frankly, Jacques, I was wrong to have had more faith inthe reputation of a woman than in the words of a friend. Will you giveme your hand?"

The prisoner grasped his hand with a profusion of joy, and cried, --

"Since you believe in my innocence, others may believe in me too, and mysalvation is drawing near. "

The melancholy faces of the two advocates told him that he was rejoicingtoo soon. His features expressed his grief; but he said with a firmvoice, --

"Well, I see that the struggle will be a hard one, and that the resultis still uncertain. Never mind. You may be sure I will not give way. "

In the meantime M. Folgat had spread out on the table all the papershe had brought with him, --copies furnished by Mechinet, and notes takenduring his rapid journey. 

"First of all, my dear client, " he said, "I must inform you of what hasbeen done. "

And when he had stated every thing, down to the minutest details of whatGoudar and he had done, he said, --

"Let us sum up. We are able to prove three things: 1. That the house inVine Street belongs to you, and that Sir Francis Burnett, who is knownthere, and you are one; 2. That you were visited in this house by alady, who, from all the precautions she took, had powerful reasons toremain unknown; 3. That the visits of this lady took place at certainepochs every year, which coincided precisely with the journeys which theCountess Claudieuse yearly made to Paris. "

The great advocate of Sauveterre expressed his assent. 

"Yes, " he said, "all this is fully established. "

"For ourselves, we have another certainty, --that Suky Wood, the servantof the false Sir Francis Burnett, has watched the mysterious lady; thatshe has seen her, and consequently would know her again. "

"True, that appears from the deposition of the girl's friend. "

"Consequently, if we discover Suky Wood, the Countess Claudieuse isunmasked. "

"If we discover her, " said M. Magloire. "And here, unfortunately, weenter into the region of suppositions. "

"Suppositions!" said M. Folgat. "Well, call them so; but they are basedupon positive facts, and supported by a hundred precedents. Why shouldwe not find this Suky Wood, whose birthplace and family we know, and whohas no reason for concealment? Goudar has found very different people;and Goudar is on our side. And you may be sure he will not be asleep. I have held out to him a certain hope which will make him domiracles, --the hope of receiving as a reward, if he succeeds, thehouse in Vine Street. The stakes are too magnificent: he must win thegame, --he who has won so many already. Who knows what he may not havediscovered since we left him? Has he not done wonders already?"

"It is marvellous!" cried Jacques, amazed at these results. 

Older than M. Folgat and Jacques, the eminent advocate of Sauveterre wasless ready to feel such enthusiasm. 

"Yes, " he said, "it is marvellous; and, if we had time, I would sayas you do, 'We shall carry the day!' But there is no time for Goudar'sinvestigations: the sessions are on hand, and it seems to me it would bevery difficult to obtain a postponement. "

"Besides, I do not wish it to be postponed, " said Jacques. 

"But"--

"On no account, Magloire, never! What? I should endure three months moreof this anguish which tortures me? I could not do it: my strength isexhausted. This uncertainty has been too much for me. I could bear nomore suspense. "

M. Folgat interrupted him, saying, --

"Do not trouble yourself about that: a postponement is out of thequestion. On what pretext could we ask for it? The only way would be tointroduce an entirely new element in the case. We should have to summonthe Countess Claudieuse. "

The greatest surprise appeared on Jacques's face. 

"Will we not summon her anyhow?" he asked. 

"That depends. "

"I do not understand you. "

"It is very simple, however. If Goudar should succeed, before the trial, in collecting sufficient evidence against her, I should summon hercertainly; and then the case would naturally change entirely; the wholeproceeding would begin anew; and you would probably appear only as awitness. If, on the contrary, we obtain, before the trial begins, noother proof but what we have now, I shall not mention her name even; forthat would, in my opinion, and in M. Magloire's opinion, ruin your causeirrevocably. "

"Yes, " said the great advocate, "that is my opinion. "

Jacques's amazement was boundless. 

"Still, " he said, "in self-defence, I must, if I am brought up in court, speak of my relations to the Countess Claudieuse. "

"No. "

"But that is my only explanation. "

"If it were credited. "

"And you think you can defend me, you think you can save me, withouttelling the truth?"

M. Folgat shook his head, and said, --

"In court the truth is the last thing to be thought of. "

"Oh!"

"Do you think the jury would credit allegations which M. Magloire didnot credit? No. Well, then, we had better not speak of them any more, and try to find some explanation which will meet the charges broughtagainst you. Do you think we should be the first to act thus? By nomeans. There are very few cases in which the prosecution says all itknows, and still fewer in which the defence calls for every thing itmight call for. Out of ten criminal trials, there are at least three inwhich side-issues are raised. What will be the charge in court againstyou? The substance of the romance which the magistrate has invented inorder to prove your guilt. You must meet him with another romance whichproves your innocence. "

"But the truth. "

"Is dependent on probability, my dear client. Ask M. Magloire. Theprosecution only asks for probability: hence probability is all thedefence has to care for. Human justice is feeble, and limited in itsmeans; it cannot go down to the very bottom of things; it cannot judgeof motives, and fathom consciences. It can only judge from appearances, and decide by plausibility; there is hardly a case which has not someunexplored mystery, some undiscovered secret. The truth! Ah! do youthink M. Galpin has looked for it? If he did, why did he not summonCocoleu? But no, as long as he can produce a criminal, who may beresponsible for the crime, he is quite content. The truth! Which of usknows the real truth? Your case, M. De Boiscoran, is one of those inwhich neither the prosecution, nor the defence, nor the accused himself, knows the truth of the matter. "

There followed a long silence, so deep a silence, that the step ofthe sentinel could be heard, who was walking up and down under theprison-windows. M. Folgat had said all he thought proper to say: hefeared, in saying more, to assume too great a responsibility. It was, after all, Jacques's life and Jacques's honor which were at stake. Healone, therefore, ought to decide the nature of his defence. If hisjudgment was too forcibly controlled by his counsel, he would have hada right hereafter to say, "Why did you not leave me free to choose? Ishould not have been condemned. "

To show this very clearly, M. Folgat went on, --

"The advice I give you, my dear client, is, in my eyes, the best; it isthe advice I would give my own brother. But, unfortunately, I cannot sayit is infallible. You must decide yourself. Whatever you may resolve, Iam still at your service. "

Jacques made no reply. His elbows resting on the table, his face in hishands, he remained motionless, like a statue, absorbed in his thoughts. What should he do? Should he follow his first impulse, tear the veilaside, and proclaim the truth? That was a doubtful policy, but also, what a triumph if he succeeded!

Should he adopt the views of his counsel, employ subterfuges andfalsehoods? That was more certain of success; but to be successful inthis way--was that a real victory?

Jacques was in a terrible perplexity. He felt it but too clearly. Thedecision he must form now would decide his fate. Suddenly he raised hishead, and said, --

"What is your advice, M. Magloire?"

The great advocate of Sauveterre frowned angrily; and said, in asomewhat rough tone of voice, --

"I have had the honor to place before your mother all that my youngcolleague has just told you. M. Folgat has but one fault, --he is toocautious. The physician must not ask what his patient thinks of hisremedies: he must prescribe them. It may be that our prescriptions donot meet with success; but, if you do not follow them, you are mostassuredly lost. "

Jacques hesitated for some minutes longer. These prescriptions, as M. Magloire called them, were painfully repugnant to his chivalrous andopen character. 

"Would it be worth while, " he murmured, "to be acquitted on such terms?Would I really be exculpated by such proceedings? Would not my wholelife thereafter be disgraced by suspicions? I should not come outfrom the trial with a clear acquittal: I should have escaped by a merechance. "

"That would still better than to go, by a clear judgment, to thegalleys, " said M. Magloire brutally. 

This word, "the galleys, " made Jacques bound. He rose, walked up anddown a few times in his room, and then, placing himself in front of hiscounsel, said, --

"I put myself in your hands, gentlemen. Tell me what I must do. "

Jacques had at least this merit, if he once formed a resolution, he wassure to adhere to it. Calm now, and self-possessed, he sat down, andsaid, with a melancholy smile, --

"Let us hear the plan of battle. "

This plan had been for a month now the one great thought of M. Folgat. All his intelligence, all his sagacity and knowledge of the world, hadbeen brought to bear upon this case, which he had made his own, soto say, by his almost passionate interest. He knew the tactics of theprosecution as well as M. Galpin himself, and he knew its weak and itsstrong side even better than M. Galpin. 

"We shall go on, therefore, " he began, "as if there was no such personas the Countess Claudieuse. We know nothing of her. We shall say nothingof the meeting at Valpinson, nor of the burned letters. "

"That is settled. "

"That being so, we must next look, not for the manner in which we spentour time, but for our purpose in going out the evening of the crime. Ah! If we could suggest a plausible, a very probable purpose, I shouldalmost guarantee our success; for we need not hesitate to say there isthe turning-point of the whole case, on which all the discussions willturn. "

Jacques did not seem to be fully convinced of this view. He said, --

"You think that possible?"

"Unfortunately, it is but too certain; and, if I say unfortunately, itis because here we have to meet a terrible charge, the most decisive, byall means, that has been raised, one on which M. Galpin has not insisted(he is much too clever for that), but one which, in the hands of theprosecution, may become a terrible weapon. "

"I must confess, " said Jacques, "I do not very well see"--

"Have you forgotten the letter you wrote to Miss Dionysia the evening ofthe crime?" broke in M. Magloire. 

Jacques looked first at one, and then at the other of his counsel. 

"What, " he said, "that letter?"

"Overwhelms us, my dear client, " said M. Folgat. "Don't you remember it?You told your betrothed in that note, that you would be preventedfrom enjoying the evening with her by some business of the greatestimportance, and which could not be delayed? Thus, you see, you haddetermined beforehand, and after mature consideration, to spend thatevening in doing a certain thing. What was it? 'The murder of CountClaudieuse, ' says the prosecution. What can we say?"

"But, I beg your pardon--that letter. Miss Dionysia surely has nothanded it over to them?"

"No; but the prosecution is aware of its existence. M. De Chandore andM. Seneschal have spoken of it in the hope of exculpating you, and haveeven mentioned the contents. And M. Galpin knows it so well, that he hadrepeatedly mentioned it to you, and you have confessed all that he coulddesire. "

The young advocate looked among his papers; and soon he had found whathe wanted. 

"Look here, " he said, "in your third examination, I find this, --"

"'QUESTION. --You were shortly to marry Miss Chandore?

ANSWER. --Yes. 

Q--For some time you had been spending your evenings with her?

A. --Yes, all. 

Q. --Except the one of the crime?

A. --Unfortunately. 

Q. --Then your betrothed must have wondered at your absence?

A. --No: I had written to her. '"

"Do you hear, Jacques?" cried M. Magloire. "Notice that M. Galpin takescare not to insist. He does not wish to rouse your suspicions. He hasgot you to confess, and that is enough for him. "

But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper. 

"In your sixth examination, " he went on, "I have noticed this, --

"'Q. --You left your house with your gun on your shoulder, without anydefinite aim?

A. --I shall explain that when I have consulted with counsel. 

Q. --You need no consultation to tell the truth. 

A. --I shall not change my resolution. 

Q. --Then you will not tell me where you were between eight and midnight?

A. --I shall answer that question at the same time with the other. 

Q. --You must have had very strong reasons to keep you out, as you wereexpected by your betrothed, Miss Chandore?

A. --I had written to her not to expect me. '"

"Ah! M. Galpin is a clever fellow, " growled M. Magloire. 

"Finally, " said M. Folgat, "here is a passage from your last but oneexamination, --

"'Q. --When you wanted to send anybody to Sauveterre, whom did youusually employ?

A. --The son of one of my tenants, Michael. 

Q. --It was he, I suppose, who, on the evening of the crime, carried theletter to Miss Chandore, in which you told her not to expect you?

A. --Yes. 

Q. --You pretended you would be kept by some important business?

A. --That is the usual pretext. 

Q. --But in your case it was no pretext. Where had you to go? and wheredid you go?

A. --As long as I have not seen counsel I shall say nothing. 

Q. --Have a care: the system of negation and concealment is dangerous. 

A. --I know it, and I accept the consequences. '"

Jacques was dumfounded. And necessarily every accused person is equallysurprised when he hears what he has stated in the examination. There isnot one who does not exclaim, --

"What, I said that? Never!"

He has said it, and there is no denying it; for there it is written, andsigned by himself. How could he ever say so?

Ah! that is the point. However clever a man may be, he cannot for manymonths keep all his faculties on the stretch, and all his energy up toits full power. He has his hours of prostration and his hours of hope, his attacks of despair and his moments of courage; and the impassivemagistrate takes advantage of them all. Innocent or guilty, no prisonercan cope with him. However powerful his memory may be, how can herecall an answer which he may have given weeks and weeks before? Themagistrate, however, remembers it; and twenty times, if need be, he brings it up again. And as the small snowflake may become anirresistible avalanche, so an insignificant word, uttered at haphazard, forgotten, then recalled, commented upon, and enlarged may becomecrushing evidence. 

Jacques now experienced this. These questions had been put to him soskilfully, and at such long intervals of time, that he had totallyforgotten them; and yet now, when he recalled his answers, he had toacknowledge that he had confessed his purpose to devote that evening tosome business of great importance. 

"That is fearful!" he cried. 

And, overcome by the terrible reality of M. Folgat's apprehension, headded, --

"How can we get out of that?"

"I told you, " replied M. Folgat, "we must find some plausibleexplanation. "

"I am sure I am incapable of that. "

The young lawyer seemed to reflect a moment, and then he said, --

"You have been a prisoner while I have been free. For a month now I havethought this matter over. "

"Ah!"

"Where was your wedding to be?"

"At my house at Boiscoran. "

"Where was the religious ceremony to take place?"

"At the church at Brechy. "

"Have you ever spoken of that to the priest?"

"Several times. One day especially, when we discussed it in a pleasantway, he said jestingly to me, 'I shall have you, after all in myconfessional. '"

M. Folgat almost trembled with satisfaction, and Jacques saw it. 

"Then the priest at Brechy was your friend?"

"An intimate friend. He sometimes came to dine with me quiteunceremoniously, and I never passed him without shaking hands with him. "

The young lawyer's joy was growing perceptibly. 

"Well, " he said, "my explanation is becoming quite plausible. Just hearwhat I have positively ascertained to be the fact. In the time from nineto eleven o'clock, on the night of the crime, there was not a soul atthe parsonage in Brechy. The priest was dining with M. Besson, at hishouse; and his servant had gone out to meet him with a lantern. "

"I understand, " said M. Magloire. 

"Why should you not have gone to see the priest at Brechy, my dearclient? In the first place, you had to arrange the details of theceremony with him; then, as he is your friend, and a man of experience, and a priest, you wanted to ask him for his advice before taking sograve a step, and, finally, you intended to fulfil that religious dutyof which he spoke, and which you were rather reluctant to comply with. "

"Well said!" approved the eminent lawyer of Sauveterre, --"very wellsaid!"

"So, you see, my dear client, it was for the purpose of consulting thepriest at Brechy that you deprived yourself of the pleasure of spendingthe evening with your betrothed. Now let us see how that answersthe allegations of the prosecution. They ask you why you took to themarshes. Why? Because it was the shortest way, and you were afraid offinding the priest in bed. Nothing more natural; for it is well knownthat the excellent man is in the habit of going to bed at nine o'clock. Still you had put yourself out in vain; for, when you knocked at thedoor of the parsonage, nobody came to open. "

Here M. Magloire interrupted his colleague, saying, --

"So far, all is very well. But now there comes a very greatimprobability. No one would think of going through the forest ofRochepommier in order to return from Brechy to Boiscoran. If you knewthe country"--

"I know it; for I have carefully explored it. And the proof of it is, that, having foreseen the objection, I have found an answer. While M. DeBoiscoran knocked at the door, a little peasant-girl passed by, and toldhim that she had just met the priest at a place called the Marshalls'Cross-roads. As the parsonage stands quite isolated, at the end of thevillage, such an incident is very probable. As for the priest, chanceled me to learn this: precisely at the hour at which M. De Boiscoranwould have been at Brechy, a priest passed the Marshalls' Cross-roads;and this priest, whom I have seen, belongs to the next parish. He alsodined at M. Besson's, and had just been sent for to attend a dyingwoman. The little girl, therefore, did not tell a story; she only made amistake. "

"Excellent!" said M. Magloire. 

"Still, " continued M. Folgat, "after this information, what did M. DeBoiscoran do? He went on; and, hoping every moment to meet the priest, he walked as far as the forest of Rochepommier. Finding, at last, thatthe peasant-girl had--purposely or not--led him astray, he determined toreturn to Boiscoran through the woods. But he was in very bad humorat having thus lost an evening which he might have spent with hisbetrothed; and this made him swear and curse, as the witness Gaudry hastestified. "

The famous lawyer of Sauveterre shook his head. 

"That is ingenious, I admit; and I confess, in all humility, thatI could not have suggested any thing as good. But--for there is abut--your story sins by its very simplicity. The prosecution will say, 'If that is the truth, why did not M. De Boiscoran say so at once? Andwhat need was there to consult his counsel?'"

M. Folgat showed in his face that he was making a great effort to meetthe objection. After a while, he replied, --

"I know but too well that that is the weak spot in our armor, --a veryweak spot, too; for it is quite clear, that, if M. De Boiscoran hadgiven this explanation on the day of his arrest, he would have beenreleased instantly. But what better can be found? What else can befound? However, this is only a rough sketch of my plan, and I have neverput it into words yet till now. With your assistance, M. Magloire, withthe aid of Mechinet, to whom I am already indebted for very valuableinformation, with the aid of all our friends, in fine, I cannot helphoping that I may be able to improve my plan by adding some mysterioussecret which may help to explain M. De Boiscoran's reticence. I thought, at one time, of calling in politics, and to pretend, that, on account ofthe peculiar views of which he is suspected, M. De Boiscoran preferredkeeping his relations with the priest at Brechy a secret. "

"Oh, that would have been most unfortunate!" broke in M. Magloire. "We are not only religious at Sauveterre, we are devout, my goodcolleague, --excessively devout. "

"And I have given up that idea. "

Jacques, who had till now kept silent and motionless, now raised himselfsuddenly to his full height, and cried, in a voice of concentratedrage, --

"Is it not too bad, is it not atrocious, that we should be compelledto concoct a falsehood? And I am innocent! What more could be done if Iwere a murderer?"

Jacques was perfectly right: it was monstrous that he should beabsolutely forced to conceal the truth. But his counsel took no noticeof his indignation: they were too deeply absorbed in examining minutelytheir system of defence. 

"Let us go on to the other points of the accusation, " said M. Magloire. 

"If my version is accepted, " replied M. Folgat, "the rest follows as amatter of course. But will they accept it? On the day on which he wasarrested, M. De Boiscoran, trying to find an excuse for having beenout that night, has said that he had gone to see his wood-merchant atBrechy. That was a disastrous imprudence. And here is the real danger. As to the rest, that amounts to nothing. There is the water in which M. De Boiscoran washed his hands when he came home, and in which theyhave found traces of burnt paper. We have only to modify the facts veryslightly to explain that. We have only to state that M. De Boiscoran isa passionate smoker: that is well known. He had taken with him a goodlysupply of cigarettes when he set out for Brechy; but he had takenno matches. And that is a fact. We can furnish proof, we can producewitnesses, we had no matches; for we had forgotten our match-box, theday before, at M. De Chandore's, --the box which we always carry abouton our person, which everybody knows, and which is still lying on themantelpiece in Miss Dionysia's little boudoir. Well, having no matches, we found that we could go no farther without a smoke. We had gone quitefar already; and the question was, Shall we go on without smoking, orreturn? No need of either! There was our gun; and we knew very well whatsportsmen do under such circumstances. We took the shot out of one ofour cartridges, and, in setting the powder on fire, we lighted a pieceof paper. This is an operation in which you cannot help blackening yourfingers. As we had to repeat it several times, our hands were very muchsoiled and very black, and the nails full of little fragments of burntpaper. "

"Ah! now you are right, " exclaimed M. Magloire. "Well done!"

His young colleague became more and more animated; and always employingthe profession "we, " which his brethren affect, he went on, --

"This water, which you dwell upon so much, is the clearest evidence ofour innocence. If we had been an incendiary, we should certainlyhave poured it out as hurriedly as the murderer tries to wash out theblood-stains on his clothes, which betray him. "

"Very well, " said M. Magloire again approvingly. 

"And your other charges, " continued M. Folgat, as if he were standing incourt, and addressing the jury, --"your other charges have all the sameweight. Our letter to Miss Dionysia--why do you refer to that? Because, you say, it proves our premeditation. Ah! there I hold you. Are wereally so stupid and bereft of common sense? That is not our reputation. What! we premeditate a crime, and we do not say to ourselves that weshall certainly be convicted unless we prepare an _alibi_! What! weleave home with the fixed purpose of killing a man, and we load our gunwith small-shot! Really, you make the defence too easy; for your chargesdo not stand being examined. "

It was Jacques's turn, this time, to testify his approbation. 

"That is, " he said, "what I have told Galpin over and over again; and henever had any thing to say in reply. We must insist on that point. "

M. Folgat was consulting his notes. 

"I now come to a very important circumstance, and one which I should, at the trial, make a decisive question, if it should be favorable to ourside. Your valet, my dear client, --your old Anthony, --told me that hehad cleaned and washed your breech-loader the night before the crime. "

"Great God!" exclaimed Jacques. 

"Well, I see you appreciate the importance of the fact. Between thatcleaning and the time when you set a cartridge on fire, in order to burnthe letters of the Countess Claudieuse, did you fire your gun? If youdid, we must say nothing more about it. If you did not, one of thebarrels of the breech-loader must be clean, and then you are safe. "

For more than a minute, Jacques remained silent, trying to recall thefacts; at last he replied, --

"It seems to me, I am sure, I fired at a rabbit on the morning of thefatal day. "

M. Magloire looked disappointed. 

"Fate again!" he said. 

"Oh, wait!" cried Jacques. "I am quite sure, at all events, that Ikilled that rabbit at the first shot. Consequently, I can have fouledonly one barrel of the gun. If I have used the same barrel at Valpinson, to get a light, I am safe. With a double gun, one almost instinctivelyfirst uses the right-hand barrel. "

M. Magloire's face grew darker. 

"Never mind, " he said, "we cannot possibly make an argument upon suchan uncertain chance, --a chance which, in case of error, would almostfatally turn against us. But at the trial, when they show you the gun, examine it, so that you can tell me how that matter stands. "

Thus they had sketched the outlines of their plan of defence. Thereremained nothing now but to perfect the details; and to this task thetwo lawyers were devoting themselves still, when Blangin, the jailer, called to them through the wicket, that the doors of the prison wereabout to be closed. 

"Five minutes more, my good Blangin!" cried Jacques. 

And drawing his two friends aside, as far from the wicket as he could, he said to them in a low and distressed voice, --

"A thought has occurred to me, gentlemen, which I think I ought tomention to you. It cannot be but that the Countess Claudieuse must besuffering terribly since I am in prison. However, sure she may be ofhaving left no trace behind her that could betray her, she must trembleat the idea that I may, after all, tell the truth in self-defence. Shewould deny, I know, and she is so sure of her prestige, that she knowsmy accusation would not injure her marvellous reputation. Nevertheless, she cannot but shrink from the scandal. Who knows if she might not giveus the means to escape from the trial, to avoid such exposure? Why mightnot one of you gentleman make the attempt?"

M. Folgat was a man of quick resolution. 

"I will try, if you will give me a line of introduction. "

Jacque immediately sat down, and wrote, --

"I have told my counsel, M. Folgat, every thing. Save me, and I swear toyou eternal silence. Will you let me perish, Genevieve, when you know Iam innocent?

"JACQUES. " "Is that enough?" he asked, handing the lawyer the note. 

"Yes; and I promise you I will see the Countess Claudieuse within thenext forty-eight hours. "

Blangin was becoming impatient; and the two advocates had to leave theprison. As they crossed the New-Market Square, they noticed, not farfrom them, a wandering musician, who was followed by a number of boysand girls. 

It was a kind of minstrel, dressed in a sort of garment which was nolonger an overcoat and had not yet assumed the shape of a shortcoat. He was strumming on a wretched fiddle; but his voice was good, and theballad he sang had the full flavor of the local accent:--

 "In the spring, mother Redbreast Made her nest in the bushes, The good lady! Made her nest in the bushes, The good lady!"

Instinctively M. Folgat was fumbling in his pocket for a few cents, whenthe musician came up to him, held out his hat as if to ask alms, andsaid, --

"You do not recognize me?"

The advocate started. 

"You here!" he said. 

"Yes, I myself. I came this morning. I was watching for you; for Imust see you this evening at nine o'clock. Come and open the littlegarden-gate at M. De Chandore's for me. "

And, taking up his fiddle again, he wandered off listlessly, singingwith his clear voice, --

 "And a few, a few weeks later, She had a wee, a wee bit birdy. "

XXIV. 

The great lawyer of Sauveterre had been far more astonished at theunexpected and extraordinary meeting than M. Folgat. As soon as thewandering minstrel had left them, he asked his young colleague, --

"You know that individual?"

"That individual, " replied M. Folgat, "is none other than the agentwhose services I have engaged, and whom I mentioned to you. "

"Goudar?"

"Yes, Goudar. "

"And did you not recognize him?"

The young advocate smiled. 

"Not until he spoke, " he replied. "The Goudar whom I know is tall, thin, beardless, and wears his hair cut like a brush. This street-musician islow, bearded, and has long, smooth hair falling down his back. How couldI recognize my man in that vagabond costume, with a violin in his hand, and a provincial song set to music?"

M. Magloire smiled too, as he said, --

"What are, after all, professional actors in comparison with these men!Here is one who pretends having reached Sauveterre only this morning, and who knows the country as well as Trumence himself. He has not beenhere twelve hours, and he speaks already of M. De Chandore's littlegarden-gate. "

"Oh! I can explain that circumstance now, although, at first, itsurprised me very much. When I told Goudar the whole story, I no doubtmentioned the little gate in connection with Mechinet. "

Whilst they were chatting thus, they had reached the upper end ofNational Street. Here they stopped; and M. Magloire said, --

"One word before we part. Are you quite resolved to see the CountessClaudieuse?"

"I have promised. "

"What do you propose telling her?"

"I do not know. That depends upon how she receives me. "

"As far as I know her, she will, upon looking at the note, merely orderyou out. "

"Who knows! At all events, I shall not have to reproach myself forhaving shrunk from a step which in my heart I thought it my duty totake. "

"Whatever may happen, be prudent, and do not allow yourself to getangry. Remember that a scene with her would compel us to change ourwhole line of defence, and that that is the only one which promises anysuccess. "

"Oh, do not fear!"

Thereupon, shaking hands once more, they parted, M. Magloire returningto his house, and M. Folgat going up the street. It struck half-pastfive, and the young advocate hurried on for fear of being too late. Hefound them waiting for him to go to dinner; but, as he entered the room, he forgot all his excuses in his painful surprise at the mournful anddejected appearance of the prisoner's friends and relatives. 

"Have we any bad news?" he asked with a hesitating voice. 

"The worst we had to fear, " replied the Marquis de Boiscoran. "We hadall foreseen it; and still, as you see, it has surprised us all, like aclap of thunder. "

The young lawyer beat his forehead, and cried, --

"The court has ordered the trial!"

The marquis only bent his head, as if his voice, had failed him toanswer the question. 

"It is still a great secret, " said Dionysia; "and we only know it, thanks to the indiscretion of our kind, our devoted Mechinet. Jacqueswill have to appear before the Assizes. "

She was interrupted by a servant, who entered to announce that dinnerwas on the table. 

They all went into the dining-room; but the last event made it well-nighimpossible for them to eat. Dionysia alone, deriving from feverishexcitement an amazing energy, aided M. Folgat in keeping up theconversation. From her the young advocate learned that Count Claudieusewas decidedly worse, and that he would have received, in the day, thelast sacrament, but for the decided opposition of Dr. Seignebos, who haddeclared that the slightest excitement might kill his patient. 

"And if he dies, " said M. De Chandore, "that is the finishingstroke. Public opinion, already incensed against Jacques, will becomeimplacable. "

However, the meal came to an end; and M. Folgat went up to Dionysia, saying, --

"I must beg of you, madam, to trust me with the key to the littlegarden-gate. "

She looked at him quite astonished. 

"I have to see a detective secretly, who has promised me hisassistance. "

"Is he here?"

"He came this morning. "

When Dionysia had handed him the key, M. Folgat hastened to reachthe end of the garden; and, at the third stroke of nine o'clock, theminstrel of the New-Market Square, Goudar, pushed the little gate, and, his violin under his arm, slipped into the garden. 

"A day lost!" he exclaimed, without thinking of saluting the younglawyer, --"a whole day; for I could do nothing till I had seen you. "

He seemed to be so angry, that M. Folgat tried to soothe him. 

"Let me first of all compliment you on your disguise, " he said. ButGoudar did not seem to be open to praise. 

"What would a detective be worth if he could not disguise himself! Agreat merit, forsooth! And I tell you, I hate it! But I could not thinkof coming to Sauveterre in my own person, a detective. Ugh! Everybodywould have run away; and what a pack of lies they would have told me! SoI had to assume that hideous masquerade. To think that I once tooksix months' lessons from a music-teacher merely to fit myself for thatcharacter! A wandering musician, you see, can go anywhere, and nobody issurprised; he goes about the streets, or he travels along the high-road;he enters into yards, and slips into houses; he asks alms: and in sodoing, he accosts everybody, speaks to them, follows them. And as to myprecious dialect, you must know I have been down here once for half ayear, hunting up counterfeiters; and, if you don't catch a provincialaccent in six months, you don't deserve belonging to the police. AndI do belong to it, to the great distress of my wife, and to my owndisgust. "

"If your ambition is really what you say, my dear, Goudar, " said M. Folgat, interrupting him, "you may be able to leave your profession verysoon--if you succeed in saving M. De Boiscoran. "

"He would give me his house in Vine Street?"

"With all his heart!"

The detective looked up, and repeated slowly, --

"The house in Vine Street, the paradise of this world. An immensegarden, a soil of marvellous beauty. And what an exposure! There arewalls there on which I could raise finer peaches than they have atMontreuil, and richer Chasselas than those of Fontainebleau!"

"Did you find any thing there?" asked M. Folgat. 

Goudar, thus recalled to business, looked angry again. 

"Nothing at all, " he replied. "Nor did I learn any thing from thetradesmen. I am no further advanced than I was the first day. "

"Let us hope you will have more luck here. "

"I hope so; but I need your assistance to commence operations. I mustsee Dr. Seignebos, and Mechinet the clerk. Ask them to meet me at theplace I shall assign in a note which I will send them. "

"I will tell them. "

"Now, if you want my _incognito_ to be respected, you must get me apermit from the mayor, for Goudar, street-musician. I keep my name, because here nobody knows me. But I must have the permit this evening. Wherever I might present myself, asking for a bed, they would call formy papers. "

"Wait here for a quarter of an hour, there is a bench, " said M. Folgat, "and I'll go at once to the mayor. "

A quarter of an hour later, Goudar had his permit in his pocket, and went to take lodgings at the Red Lamb, the worst tavern in allSauveterre. 

When a painful and inevitable duty is to be performed, the truecharacter of a man is apt to appear in its true light. Some peoplepostpone it as long as they can, and delay, like those pious personswho keep the biggest sin for the end of their confession: others, on thecontrary, are in a hurry to be relieved of their anxiety, and make anend of it as soon as they can. M. Folgat belonged to this latter class. 

Next morning he woke up at daylight, and said to himself, --

"I will call upon the Countess Claudieuse this morning. "

At eight o'clock, he left the house, dressed more carefully than usual, and told the servant that he did not wish to be waited for if he shouldnot be back for breakfast. 

He went first to the court-house, hoping to meet the clerk there. Hewas not disappointed. The waiting-rooms were quite deserted yet; butMechinet was already at work in his office, writing with the feverishhaste of a man who has to pay for a piece of property that he wants tocall his own. 

When he saw Folgat enter, he rose, and said at once, --

"You have heard the decision of the court?"

"Yes, thanks to your kindness; and I must confess it has not surprisedme. What do they think of it here?"

"Everybody expects a condemnation. "

"Well, we shall see!" said the young advocate. 

And, lowering his voice, he added, --

"But I came for another purpose. The agent whom I expected has come, andhe wishes to see you. He will write to you to make an appointment, and Ihope you will consent. "

"Certainly, with all my heart, " replied the clerk. "And God grant thathe may succeed in extricating M. De Boiscoran from his difficulties, even if it were only to take the conceit out of my master. "

"Ah! is M. Galpin so triumphant?"

"Without the slightest reserve. He sees his old friend already at thegalleys. He has received another letter of congratulation from theattorney general, and came here yesterday, when the court hadadjourned, to read it to any one who would listen. Everybody, of course, complimented him, except the president, who turned his back upon him, and the commonwealth attorney, who told him in Latin that he was sellingthe bear's skin before he had killed him. "

In the meantime steps were heard coming down the passages; and M. Folgatsaid hurriedly, --

"One more suggestion. Goudar desires to remain unknown. Do not speak ofhim to any living soul, and especially show no surprise at the costumein which you see him. "

The noise of a door which was opened interrupted him. One of the judgesentered, who, after having bowed very civilly, asked the clerk a numberof questions about a case which was to come on the same day. 

"Good-bye, M. Mechinet, " said the young advocate. 

And his next visit was to Dr. Seignebos. When he rang the bell, aservant came to the door, and said, --

"The doctor is gone out; but he will be back directly, and has told meto beg you to wait for him in his study. "

Such an evidence of perfect trust was unheard of. No one was everallowed to remain alone in his sanctuary. It was an immense room, quitefull of most varied objects, which at a glance revealed the opinions, tastes, and predilections of the owner. The first thing to strike thevisitor as he entered was an admirable bust of Bichat, flanked on eitherside by smaller busts of Robespierre and Rousseau. A clock of the timeof Louis XIV. Stood between the windows, and marked the seconds with anoise which sounded like the rattling of old iron. One whole side wasfilled with books of all kinds, unbound or bound, in a way which wouldhave set M. Daubigeon laughing very heartily. A huge cupboard adaptedfor collections of plants bespoke a passing fancy for botany; while anelectric machine recalled the time when the doctor believed in cures byelectricity. 

On the table in the centre of the room vast piles of books betrayed thedoctor's recent studies. All the authors who have spoken of insanityor idiocy were there, from Apostolides to Tardien. M. Folgat was stilllooking around when Dr. Seignebos entered, always like a bombshell, butfar more cheerful than usual. 

"I knew I should find you here!" he cried still in the door. "You cometo ask me to meet Goudar. "

The young advocate started, and said, all amazed, --

"Who can have told you?"

"Goudar himself. I like that man. I am sure no one will suspect me ofhaving a fancy for any thing that is connected with the police. I havehad too much to do all my life with spies and that ilk. But your manmight almost reconcile me with that department. "

"When did you see him?"

"This morning at seven. He was so prodigiously tired of losing histime in his garret at the Red Lamb, that it occurred to him topretend illness, and to send for me. I went, and found a kind ofstreet-minstrel, who seemed to me to be perfectly well. But, as soonas we were alone, he told me all about it, asking me my opinion, andtelling me his ideas. M. Folgat, that man Goudar is very clever: I tellyou so; and we understand each other perfectly. "

"Has he told you what he proposes to do?"

"Nearly so. But he has not authorized me to speak of it. Have patience;let him go to work, wait, and you will see if old Seignebos has a keenscent. "

Saying this with an air of sublime conceit, he took off his spectacles, and set to work wiping them industriously. 

"Well, I will wait, " said the young advocate. "And, since that makes anend to my business here, I beg you will let me speak to you of anothermatter. M. De Boiscoran has charged me with a message to the CountessClaudieuse. "

"The deuce!"

"And to try to obtain from her the means for our discharge. "

"Do you expect she will do it?"

M. Folgat could hardly retain an impatient gesture. 

"I have accepted the mission, " he said dryly, "and I mean to carry itout. "

"I understand, my dear sir. But you will not see the countess. The countis very ill. She does not leave his bedside, and does not even receiveher most intimate friends. "

"And still I must see her. I must at any hazard place a note which myclient has confided to me, in her own hands. And look here, doctor, Imean to be frank with you. It was exactly because I foresaw there wouldbe difficulties, that I came to you to ask your assistance in overcomingor avoiding them. "

"To me?"

"Are you not the count's physician?"

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Dr. Seignebos. "You do not mince matters, you lawyers!"

And then speaking in a lower tone, and replying apparently to his ownobjections rather than to M. Folgat, he said, --

"Certainly, I attend Count Claudieuse, whose illness, by the way, upsetsall my theories, and defies all my experience: but for that very reasonI can do nothing. Our profession has certain rules which cannot beinfringed upon without compromising the whole medical profession. "

"But it is a question of life and death with Jacques, sir, with afriend. "

"And a fellow Republican, to be sure. But I cannot help you withoutabusing the confidence of the Countess Claudieuse. "

"Ah, sir! Has not that woman committed a crime for which M. DeBoiscoran, though innocent, will be arraigned in court?"

"I think so; but still"--

He reflected a moment, and then suddenly snatched up his broad-brimmedhat, drew it over his head, and cried, --

"In fact, so much the worse for her! There are sacred interests whichoverride every thing. Come!"

XXV. 

Count Claudieuse and his wife had installed themselves, the day afterthe fire, in Mautrec Street. The house which the mayor had taken forthem had been for more than a century in the possession of the greatJulias family, and is still considered one of the finest and mostmagnificent mansions in Sauveterre. 

In less than ten minutes Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat had reached thehouse. From the street, nothing was visible but a tall wall, as old asthe castle, according to the claims of archaeologists, and coveredall over with a mass of wild flowers. In this wall there is a hugeentrance-gate with folding-doors. During the day one-half is opened, anda light, low open-work railing put in, which rings a bell as soon as itis pushed open. 

You then cross a large garden, in which a dozen statues, covered withgreen moss, are falling to pieces on their pedestals, overshadowed bymagnificent old linden-trees. The house has only two stories. A largehall extends from end to end of the lower story; and at the end a widestaircase with stone steps and a superb iron railing leads up stairs. When they entered the hall, Dr. Seignebos opened a door on the righthand. 

"Step in here and wait, " he said to M. Folgat. "I will go up stairs andsee the count, whose room is in the second story, and I will send youthe countess. "

The young advocate did as he was bid, and found himself in a largeroom, brilliantly lighted up by three tall windows that went down to theground, and looked out upon the garden. This room must have been superbformerly. The walls were wainscoted with arabesques and lines in gold. The ceiling was painted, and represented a number of fat little angelssporting in a sky full of golden stars. 

But time had passed its destroying hand over all this splendor of thepast age, had half effaced the paintings, tarnished the gold of thearabesques, and faded the blue of the ceiling and the rosy little loves. Nor was the furniture calculated to make compensation for this decay. The windows had no curtains. On the mantelpiece stood a worn-out clockand half-broken candelabra; then, here and there, pieces of furniturethat would not match, such as had been rescued from the fire atValpinson, --chairs, sofas, arm-chairs, and a round table, all batteredand blackened by the flames. 

But M. Folgat paid little attention to these details. He only thought ofthe grave step on which he was venturing, and which he now only lookedat in its full strangeness and extreme boldness. Perhaps he would havefled at the last moment if he could have done so; and he was only ableby a supreme effort to control his excitement. 

At last he heard a rapid, light step in the hall; and almost immediatelythe Countess Claudieuse appeared. He recognized her at once, such asJacques had described her to him, calm, serious, and serene, as if hersoul were soaring high above all human passions. Far from diminishingher exquisite beauty, the terrible events of the last months had onlysurrounded her, as it were, with a divine halo. She had fallen offa little, however. And the dark semicircle under her eyes, and thedisorder of her hair, betrayed the fatigue and the anxiety of the longnights which she had spent by her husband's bedside. 

As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked, --

"You are M. De Boiscoran's counsel?"

"Yes, madam, " replied the young advocate. 

"The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me. "

"Yes, madam. "

With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself, she said, --

"I hear, sir. "

M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice, --

"I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client's trueposition. "

"That is useless, sir. I know. "

"You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may becondemned?"

She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly, --

"I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a mostinfamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unlessGod works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my childrenwithout a father. "

"But M. De Boiscoran is innocent, madam. "

The features of the countess assumed an expression of profound surprise;and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said, --

"And who, then, is the murderer?"

Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips fromuttering the fatal word, "You, " prompted by his indignant conscience. But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying, he said, --

"To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, anadvocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add thatthe counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secretswhich have been confided to him. "

"I do not understand, sir. "

"My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence. He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honorrather than to betray the honor of another person. "

The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying, --

"My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?"

But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go. 

"I am desired by M. De Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter. "

The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise. 

"To me?" she said. "On what ground?"

Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques's letter from hisportfolio, and handed it to her. 

"Here it is!" he said. 

She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But, as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in herface, and said with flaming eyes, --

"Do you know, sir, what this letter contains?"

"Yes. "

"Do you know that M. De Boiscoran dares call me by my first name, Genevieve, as my husband does, and my father?"

The decisive moment had come, and M. Folgat had all his self-possession. 

"M. De Boiscoran, madame, claims that he used to call you so in formerdays, --in Vine Street, --in days when you called him Jacques. "

The countess seemed to be utterly bewildered. 

"But that is sheer infamy, sir, " she stammered. "What! M. De Boiscoranshould have dared tell you that I, the countess Claudieuse, have beenhis--mistress?"

"He certainly said so, madam; and he affirms, that a few momentsbefore the fire broke out, he was near you, and that, if his hands wereblackened, it was because he had burned your letters and his. "

She rose at these words, and said in a penetrating voice, --

"And you could believe that, --you? Ah! M. De Boiscoran's other crimesare nothing in comparison with this! He is not satisfied with havingburnt our house, and ruined us: he means to dishonor us. He is notsatisfied with having murdered my husband: he must ruin the honor of hiswife also. "

She spoke so loud, that her voice must have been distinctly heard in thevestibule. 

"Lower, madam, I pray you speak lower, " said M. Folgat. 

She cast upon him a crushing glance; and, raising her voice stillhigher, she went on, --

"Yes, I understand very well that you are afraid of being heard. ButI--what have I to fear? I could wish the whole world to hear us, and tojudge between us. Lower, you say? Why should I speak less loud? Do youthink that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letterwould not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon havesatisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! Ihave never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lostalready, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, withoutfriends. "

"But, madam, M. De Boiscoran pledges himself to the most perfectsecrecy. "

"Secrecy in what? In your cowardly insults, your abominable plots, ofwhich this, no doubt, is but a beginning?"

M. Folgat turned livid under this insult. 

"Ah, take care, madam, " he said in a hoarse voice: "we have proof, absolute, overwhelming proof. "

The countess stopped him by an imperious gesture, and with thehaughtiest disdain, grief, and wrath, she said, --

"Well, then, produce your proof. Go, hasten, act as you like. We shallsee if the vile calumnies of an incendiary can stain the pure reputationof an honest woman. We shall see if a single speck of this mud in whichyou wallow can reach up to me. "

And, throwing Jacques's letter at M. Folgat's feet, she went to thedoor. 

"Madam, " said M. Folgat once more, --"madam!"

She did not even condescend to turn round: she disappeared, leaving himstanding in the middle of the room, so overcome with amazement, that hecould not collect his thoughts. Fortunately Dr. Seignebos came in. 

"Upon my word!" he said, "I never thought the countess would take mytreachery so coolly. When she came out from you just now, she asked me, in the same tone as every day, how I had found her husband, and what wasto be done. I told her"--

But the rest of the sentence remained unspoken: the doctor had becomeaware of M. Folgat's utter consternation. 

"Why, what on earth is the matter?" he asked. 

The young advocate looked at him with an utterly bewildered air. 

"This is the matter: I ask myself whether I am awake or dreaming. Thisis the matter: that, if this woman is guilty, she possesses an audacitybeyond all belief. "

"How, if? Have you changed your mind about her guilt?"

M. Folgat looked altogether disheartened. 

"Ah!" he said, "I hardly know myself. Do you not see that I have lost myhead, that I do not know what to think, and what to believe?"

"Oh!"

"Yes, indeed! And yet, doctor, I am not a simpleton. I have now beenpleading five years in criminal courts: I have had to dive down intothe lowest depths of society; I have seen strange things, and met withexceptional specimens, and heard fabulous stories"--

It was the doctor's turn, now, to be amazed; and he actually forgot totrouble his gold spectacles. 

"Why? What did the countess say?" he asked. 

"I might tell you every word, " replied M. Folgat, "and you would be nonethe wiser. You ought to have been here, and seen her, and heard her!What a woman! Not a muscle in her face was moving; her eye remainedlimpid and clear; no emotion was felt in her voice. And with what an airshe defied me! But come, doctor, let us be gone!"

They went out, and had already gone about a third down the long avenuein the garden, when they saw the oldest daughter of the countess comingtowards them, on her way to the house, accompanied by her governess. Dr. Seignebos stopped, and pressing the arm of the young advocate, andbending over to him, he whispered into his ear, --

"Mind!" he said. "You know the truth is in the lips of children. "

"What do you expect?" murmured M. Folgat. 

"To settle a doubtful point. Hush! Let me manage it. "

By this time the little girl had come up to them. It was a very gracefulgirl of eight or nine years, light haired, with large blue eyes, tallfor her age, and displaying all the intelligence of a young girl, without her timidity. 

"How are you, little Martha?" said the doctor to her in his gentlestvoice, which was very soft when he chose. 

"Good-morning, gentlemen!" she replied with a nice little courtesy. 

Dr. Seignebos bent down to kiss her rosy cheeks, and them, looking ather, he said, --

"You look sad, Martha?"

"Yes, because papa and little sister are sick, " she replied with a deepsigh. 

"And also because you miss Valpinson?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Still it is very pretty here, and you have a large garden to play in. "

She shook her head, and, lowering her voice, she said, --

"It is certainly very pretty here; but--I am afraid. "

"And of what, little one?"

She pointed to the statues, and all shuddering, she said, --

"In the evening, when it grows dark, I fancy they are moving. I thinkI see people hiding behind the trees, like the man who wanted to killpapa. "

"You ought to drive away those ugly notions, Miss Martha, " said M. Folgat. 

But Dr. Seignebos did not allow him to go on. 

"What, Martha? I did not know you were so timid. I thought, on thecontrary, you were very brave. Your papa told me the night of the fireyou were not afraid of any thing. "

"Papa was right. "

"And yet, when you were aroused by the flames, it must have beenterrible. "

"Oh! it was not the flames which waked me, doctor. "

"Still the fire had broken out. "

"I was not asleep at that time, doctor. I had been roused by theslamming of the door, which mamma had closed very noisily when she camein. "

One and the same presentiment made M. Folgat tremble and the doctor. 

"You must be mistaken, Martha, " the doctor went on. "Your mamma had notcome back at the time of the fire. "

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"No, you are mistaken. "

The little girl drew herself up with that solemn air which children areapt to assume when their statements are doubted. She said, --

"I am quite sure of what I say, and I remember every thing perfectly. I had been put to bed at the usual hour, and, as I was very tired withplaying, I had fallen asleep at once. While I was asleep, mamma had goneout; but her coming back waked me up. As soon as she came in, she bentover little sister's bed, and looked at her for a moment so sadly, thatI thought I should cry. Then she went, and sat down by the window; andfrom my bed, where I lay silently watching her, I saw the tears runningdown her cheeks, when all of a sudden a shot was fired. "

M. Folgat and Dr. Seignebos looked anxiously at each other. 

"Then, my little one, " insisted Dr. Seignebos, "you are quite sure yourmamma was in your room when the first shot was fired?"

"Certainly, doctor. And mamma, when she heard it, rose up straight, andlowered her head, like one who listens. Almost immediately, the secondshot was fired. Mamma raised her hands to heaven, and cried out, 'GreatGod!' And then she went out, running fast. "

Never was a smile more false than that which Dr. Seignebos forcedhimself to retain on his lips while the little girl was telling herstory. 

"You have dreamed all that, Martha, " he said. 

The governess here interposed, saying, --

"The young lady has not dreamed it, sir. I, also, heard the shots fired;and I had just opened the door of my room to hear what was going on, when I saw madame cross the landing swiftly, and rush down stairs. 

"Oh! I do not doubt it, " said the doctor, in the most indifferent tonehe could command: "the circumstance is very trifling. "

But the little girl was bent on finishing her story. 

"When mamma had left, " she went on, "I became frightened, and raisedmyself on my bed to listen. Soon I heard a noise which I did notknow, --cracking and snapping of wood, and then cries at a distance. Igot more frightened, jumped down, and ran to open the door. But I nearlyfell down, there was such a cloud of smoke and sparks. Still I didnot lose my head. I waked my little sister, and tried to get on thestaircase, when Cocoleu rushed in like a madman, and took us both out. "

"Martha, " called a voice from the house, "Martha!"

The child cut short her story, and said, --

"Mamma is calling me. "

And, dropping again her nice little courtesy, she said, --

"Good-by, gentlemen!"

Martha had disappeared; and Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat, still standingon the same spot, looked at each other in utter distress. 

"We have nothing more to do here, " said M. Folgat. 

"No, indeed! Let us go back and make haste; for perhaps they are waitingfor me. You must breakfast with me. "

They went away very much disheartened, and so absorbed in their defeat, that they forgot to return the salutations with which they were greetedin the street, --a circumstance carefully noticed by several watchfulobservers. 

When the doctor reached home, he said to his servant, --

"This gentleman will breakfast with me. Give us a bottle of medis. "

And, when he had shown the advocate into his study, he asked, --

"And now what do you think of your adventure?"

M. Folgat looked completely undone. 

"I cannot understand it, " he murmured. 

"Could it be possible that the countess should have tutored the child tosay what she told us?"

"No. "

"And her governess?"

"Still less. A woman of that character trusts nobody. She struggles; shetriumphs or succumbs alone. "

"Then the child and the governess have told us the truth?"

"I am convinced of that. "

"So am I. Then she had no share in the murder of her husband?"

"Alas!"

M. Folgat did not notice that his "Alas!" was received by Dr. Seigneboswith an air of triumph. He had taken off his spectacles, and, wipingthem vigorously, he said, --

"If the countess is innocent, Jacques must be guilty, you think? Jacquesmust have deceived us all, then?"

M. Folgat shook his head. 

"I pray you, doctor, do not press me just now. Give me time to collectmy thoughts. I am bewildered by all these conjectures. No, I am sureM. De Boiscoran has not told a falsehood, and the countess has been hismistress. No, he has not deceived us; and on the night of the crime hereally had an interview with the countess. Did not Martha tell us thather mother had gone out? And where could she have gone, except to meetM. De Boiscoran?"

He paused a moment. 

"Oh, come, come!" said the physician, "you need not be afraid of me. "

"Well, it might possibly be, that, after the countess had left M. DeBoiscoran, Fate might have stepped in. Jacques has told us how theletters which he was burning had suddenly blazed up, and with suchviolence that he was frightened. Who can tell whether some burningfragments may not have set a straw-rick on fire? You can judge yourself. On the point of leaving the place, M. De Boiscoran sees this beginningof a fire. He hastens to put it out. His efforts are unsuccessful. The fire increases step by step: it lights up the whole front of thechateau. At that moment Count Claudieuse comes out. Jacques thinks hehas been watched and detected; he sees his marriage broken off, his liferuined, his happiness destroyed; he loses his head, aims, fires, andflees instantly. And thus you explain his missing the count, and alsothis fact which seemed to preclude the idea of premeditated murder, thatthe gun was loaded with small-shot. "

"Great God!" cried the doctor. 

"What, what have I said?"

"Take care never to repeat that! The suggestion you make is so fearfullyplausible, that, if it becomes known, no one will ever believe you whenyou tell the real truth. "

"The truth? Then you think I am mistaken?"

"Most assuredly. "

Then fixing his spectacles on his nose, Dr. Seignebos added, --

"I never could admit that the countess should have fired at her husband. I now see that I was right. She has not committed the crime directly;but she has done it indirectly. "

"Oh!"

"She would not be the first woman who has done so. What I imagine isthis: the countess had made up her mind, and arranged her plan, beforemeeting Jacques. The murderer was already at his post. If she hadsucceeded in winning Jacques back, her accomplice would have put awayhis gun, and quietly gone to bed. As she could not induce Jacques togive up his marriage, she made a sign, and the fire was lighted, and thecount was shot. "

The young advocate did not seem to be fully convinced. 

"In that case, there would have been premeditation, " he objected; "andhow, then, came the gun to be loaded with small-shot?"

"The accomplice had not sense enough to know better. "

Although he saw very well the doctor's drift, M. Folgat started up, --

"What?" he said, "always Cocoleu?"

Dr. Seignebos tapped his forehead with the end of his finger, andreplied, --

"When an idea has once made its way in there, it remains fixed. Yes, thecountess has an accomplice; and that accomplice is Cocoleu; and, if hehas no sense, you see the wretched idiot at least carries his devotionand his discretion very far. "

"If what you say is true, doctor, we shall never get the key of thisaffair; for Cocoleu will never confess. "

"Don't swear to that. There is a way. "

He was interrupted by the sudden entrance of his servant. 

"Sir, " said the latter, "there is a gendarme below who brings you a manwho has to be sent to the hospital at once. "

"Show them up, " said the doctor. 

"And, while the servant was gone to do his bidding, the doctor said, --

"And here is the way. Now mind!"

A heavy step was heard shaking the stairs; and almost immediately agendarme appeared, who in one hand held a violin, and with the otheraided a poor creature, who seemed unable to walk alone. 

"Goudar!" was on M. Folgat's lips. 

It was Goudar, really, but in what a state! His clothes muddy, and torn, pale, with haggard eyes, his beard and his lips covered with a whitefoam. 

"The story is this, " said the gendarme. "This individual was playingthe fiddle in the court of the barrack, and we were looking out ofthe window, when all of a sudden he fell on the ground, rolled about, twisted and writhed, while he uttered fearful howls, and foamed like amad dog. We picked him up; and I bring him to you. "

"Leave us alone with him, " said the physician. 

The gendarme went out; and, as soon as the door was shut, Goudar criedwith a voice full of intense disgust, --

"What a profession! Just look at me! What a disgrace if my wife shouldsee me in this state! Phew!"

And, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face, and drewfrom his mouth a small piece of soap. 

"But the point is, " said the doctor, "that you have played the epilepticso well, that the gendarmes have been taken in. "

"A fine trick indeed, and very creditable. "

"An excellent trick, since you can now quite safely go to the hospital. They will put you in the same ward with Cocoleu, and I shall come andsee you every morning. You are free to act now. "

"Never mind me, " said the detective. "I have my plan. "

Then turning to M. Folgat, he added, --

"I am a prisoner now; but I have taken my precautions. The agent whom Ihave sent to England will report to you. I have, besides, to ask a favorat your hands. I have written to my wife to send her letters to you:you can send them to me by the doctor. And now I am ready to becomeCocoleu's companion, and I mean to earn the house in Vine Street. "

Dr. Seignebos signed an order of admission. He recalled the gendarme;and, after having praised his kindness, he asked him to take "that poordevil" to the hospital. When he was alone once more with M. Folgat, hesaid, --

"Now, my dear friend, let us consult. Shall we speak of what Martha hastold us and of Goudar's plan. I think not; for M. Galpin is watching us;and, if a mere suspicion of what is going on reaches the prosecution, all is lost. Let us content ourselves, then, with reporting to Jacquesyour interview with the countess; and as to the rest, Silence!"

XXVI. 

Like all very clever men, Dr. Seignebos made the mistake of thinkingother people as cunning as he was himself. M. Galpin was, of course, watching him, but by no means with the energy which one would haveexpected from so ambitious a man. He had, of course, been the first tobe notified that the case was to be tried in open court, and from thatmoment he felt relieved of all anxiety. 

As to remorse, he had none. He did not even regret any thing. He did notthink of it, that the prisoner who was thus to be tried had once beenhis friend, --a friend of whom he was proud, whose hospitality he hadenjoyed, and whose favor he had eagerly sought in his matrimonialaspirations. No. He only saw one thing, --that he had engaged in adangerous affair, on which his whole future was depending, and that hewas going to win triumphantly. 

Evidently his responsibility was by no means gone; but his zeal inpreparing the case for trial was no longer required. He need not appearat the trial. Whatever must be the result, he thought he should escapethe blame, which he should surely have incurred if no true bill had beenfound. He did not disguise it from himself that he should be lookedat askance by all Sauveterre, that his social relations were well-nighbroken off, and that no one would henceforth heartily shake hands withhim. But that gave him no concern. Sauveterre, a miserable little townof five thousand inhabitants! He hoped with certainty he would notremain there long; and a brilliant preferment would amply repay him forhis courage, and relieve him from all foolish reproaches. 

Besides, once in the large city to which he would be promoted, hecould hope that distance would aid in attenuating and even effacing theimpression made by his conduct. All that would be remembered aftera time would be his reputation as one of those famous judges, who, according to the stereotyped phrase, "sacrifice every thing to thesacred interests of justice, who put inflexible duty high above all theconsiderations that trouble and disturb the vulgar mind, and whose heartis like a rock, against which all human passions are helplessly brokento pieces. "

With such a reputation, with his knowledge of the world, and hiseagerness to succeed, opportunities would not be wanting to put himselfforward, to make himself known, to become useful, indispensable even. Hesaw himself already on the highest rungs of the official ladder. He wasa judge in Bordeaux, in Lyons, in Paris itself!

With such rose-colored dreams he fell asleep at night. The next morning, as he crossed the streets, his carriage haughtier and stiffer than ever, his firmly-closed lips, and the cold and severe look of his eyes, toldthe curious observers that there must be something new. 

"M. De Boiscoran's case must be very bad indeed, " they said, "or M. Galpin would not look so very proud. "

He went first to the commonwealth attorney. The truth is, he was stillsmarting under the severe reproaches of M. Daubigeon, and he thought hewould enjoy his revenge now. He found the old book-worm, as usual, amonghis beloved books, and in worse humor than ever. He ignored it, handedhim a number of papers to sign; and when his business was over, andwhile he was carefully replacing the documents in his bag with hismonogram on the outside, he added with an air of indifference, --

"Well, my dear sir, you have heard the decision of the court? Which ofus was right?"

M. Daubigeon shrugged his shoulders, and said angrily, --

"Of course I am nothing but an old fool, a maniac: I give it up; and Isay, like Horace's man, --

 'Stultum me fateor, liceat concedere vires Atque etiam insanum. '"

"You are joking. But what would have happened if I had listened to you?"

"I don't care to know. "

"M. De Boiscoran would none the less have been sent to a jury. "

"May be. "

"Anybody else would have collected the proofs of his guilt just as wellas I. "

"That is a question. "

"And I should have injured my reputation very seriously; for they wouldhave called me one of those timid magistrates who are frightened at anothing. "

"That is as good a reputation as some others, " broke in the commonwealthattorney. 

He had vowed he would answer only in monosyllables; but his anger madehim forget his oath. He added in a very severe tone, --

"Another man would not have been bent exclusively upon proving that M. De Boiscoran was guilty. "

"I certainly have proved it. "

"Another man would have tried to solve the mystery. "

"But I have solved it, I should think. "

M. Daubigeon bowed ironically, and said, --

"I congratulate you. It must be delightful to know the secret of allthings, only you may be mistaken. You are an excellent hand at suchinvestigations; but I am an older man than you in the profession. Themore I think in this case, the less I understand it. If you know everything so perfectly well, I wish you would tell me what could have beenthe motive for the crime, for, after all, we do not run the risk oflosing our head without some very powerful and tangible purpose. Wherewas Jacques's interest? You will tell me he hated Count Claudieuse. Butis that an answer. Come, go for a moment to your own conscience. Butstop! No one likes to do that. "

M. Galpin was beginning to regret that he had ever come. He had hoped tofind M. Daubigeon quite penitent, and here he was worse than ever. 

"The Court of Inquiry has felt no such scruples, " he said dryly. 

"No; but the jury may feel some. They are, occasionally, men of sense. "

"The jury will condemn M. De Boiscoran without hesitation. "

"I would not swear to that. "

"You would if you knew who will plead. "

"Oh!"

"The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!"

"Oh, oh!"

"You will not deny that he is a first-class man?"

The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; andin the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness. 

"God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere's eloquence. He is apowerful speaker, and rarely misses his man. But then, you know, casesare like books: they have their luck or ill luck. Jacques will be welldefended. "

"I am not afraid of M. Magloire. "

"But Mr. Folgat?"

"A young man with no weight. I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant. "

"Do you know the plan of the defence?"

This was evidently the place where the shoe pinched; but M. Galpin tookcare not to let it be seen, and replied, --

"I do not. But that does not matter. M. De Boiscoran's friends at firstthought of making capital out of Cocoleu; but they have given that up. I am sure of that! The police-agent whom I have charged to keep his eyeson the idiot tells me that Dr. Seignebos does not trouble himself aboutthe man any more. "

M. Daubigeon smiled sarcastically, and said, much more for the purposeof teasing his visitor than because he believed it himself, --

"Take care! do not trust appearances. You have to do with very cleverpeople. I always told you Cocoleu is probably the mainspring of thewhole case. The very fact that M. Gransiere will speak ought to make youtremble. If he should not succeed, he would, of course, blame you, andnever forgive you in all his life. Now, you know he may fail. 'There ismany a slip between the cup and the lip. '

"And I am disposed to think with Villon, --

'Nothing is so certain as uncertain things. '"

M. Galpin could tell very well that he should gain nothing by prolongingthe discussion, and so he said, --

"Happen what may, I shall always know that my conscience supports me. "

Then he made great haste to take leave, lest an answer should come fromM. Daubigeon. He went out; and as he descended the stairs, he said tohimself, --

"It is losing time to reason with that old fogy who sees in the eventsof the day only so many opportunities for quotations. "

But he struggled in vain against his own feelings; he had lost hisself-confidence. M. Daubigeon had revealed to him a new danger which hehad not foreseen. And what a danger!--the resentment of one of the mosteminent men of the French bar, one of those bitter, bilious men whonever forgive. M. Galpin had, no doubt, thought of the possibility offailure, that is to say, of an acquittal; but he had never consideredthe consequences of such a check. 

Who would have to pay for it? The prosecuting attorney first andforemost, because, in France, the prosecuting attorney makes theaccusation a personal matter, and considers himself insulted andhumiliated, if he misses his man. 

Now, what would happen in such a case?

M. Gransiere, no doubt, would hold him responsible. He would say, --

"I had to draw my arguments from your part of the work. I did not obtaina condemnation, because your work was imperfect. A man like myself oughtnot to be exposed to such an humiliation, and, least of all, in a casewhich is sure to create an immense sensation. You do not understand yourbusiness. "

Such words were a public disgrace. Instead of the hoped-for promotion, they would bring him an order to go into exile, to Corsica, or toAlgiers. 

M. Galpin shuddered at the idea. He saw himself buried under the ruinsof his castles in Spain. And, unluckily, he went once more over allthe papers of the investigation, analyzing the evidence he had, like asoldier, who, on the eve of a battle, furbishes up his arms. However, he only found one objection, the same which M. Daubigeon had made, --whatinterest could Jacques have had in committing so great a crime?

"There, " he said, "is evidently the weak part of the armor; and I woulddo well to point it out to M. Gransiere. Jacques's counsel are capableof making that the turning-point of their plea. "

And, in spite of all he had said to M. Daubigeon, he was very muchafraid of the counsel for the defence. He knew perfectly wellthe prestige which M. Magloire derived from his integrity anddisinterestedness. It was no secret to him, that a cause which M. Magloire espoused was at once considered a good cause. They said ofhim, --

"He may be mistaken; but whatever he says he believes. " He could not buthave a powerful influence, therefore, not on judges who came into courtwith well-established opinions, but with jurymen who are under theinfluence of the moment, and may be carried off by the eloquence of aspeech. It is true, M. Magloire did not possess that burning eloquencewhich thrills a crowd, but M. Folgat had it, and in an uncommon degree. M. Galpin had made inquiries; and one of his Paris friends had writtento him, --

"Mistrust Folgat. He is a far more dangerous logician than Lachant, andpossesses the same skill in troubling the consciences of jurymen, in moving them, drawing tears from them, and forcing them into anacquittal. Mind, especially, any incidents that may happen during thetrial; for he has always some kind of surprise in reserve. "

"These are my adversaries, " thought M. Galpin. "What surprise, I wonder, is there in store for me? Have they really given up all idea of usingCocoleu?"

He had no reason for mistrusting his agent; and yet his apprehensionsbecame so serious, that he went out of his way to look in at thehospital. The lady superior received him, as a matter of course, withall the signs of profound respect; and, when he inquired about Cocoleu, she added, --

"Would you like to see him?"

"I confess I should be very glad to do so. "

"Come with me, then. "

She took him into the garden, and there asked a gardener, --

"Where is the idiot?"

The man put his spade into the ground; and, with that affected reverencewhich characterizes all persons employed in a convent, he answered, --

"The idiot is down there in the middle avenue, mother, in his usualplace, you know, which nothing will induce him to leave. "

M. Galpin and the lady superior found him there. They had taken offthe rags which he wore when he was admitted, and put him into thehospital-dress, which was a large gray coat and a cotton cap. He did notlook any more intelligent for that; but he was less repulsive. He wasseated on the ground, playing with the gravel. 

"Well, my boy, " asked M. Galpin, "how do you like this?"

He raised his inane face, and fixed his dull eye on the lady superior;but he made no reply. 

"Would you like to go back to Valpinson?" asked the lawyer again. Heshuddered, but did not open his lips. 

"Look here, " said M. Galpin, "answer me, and I'll give you a ten-centpiece. "

No: Cocoleu was at his play again. 

"That is the way he is always, " declared the lady superior. "Since heis here, no one has ever gotten a word out of him. Promises, threats, nothing has any effect. One day I thought I would try an experiment;and, instead of letting him have his breakfast, I said to him, 'Youshall have nothing to eat till you say, "I am hungry. "' At the end oftwenty-four hours I had to let him have his pittance; for he would havestarved himself sooner than utter a word. "

"What does Dr. Seignebos think of him?"

"The doctor does not want to hear his name mentioned, " replied the ladysuperior. 

And, raising her eyes to heaven, she added, --

"And that is a clear proof, that, but for the direct intervention ofProvidence, the poor creature would never have denounced the crime whichhe had witnessed. "

Immediately, however, she returned to earthly things, and asked, --

"But will you not relieve us soon of this poor idiot, who is a heavycharge on our hospital? Why not send him back to his village, where hefound his support before? We have quite a number of sick and poor, andvery little room. "

"We must wait, sister, till M. De Boiscoran's trial is finished, "replied the magistrate. 

The lady superior looked resigned, and said, --

"That is what the mayor told me, and it is very provoking, I must say:however, they have allowed me to turn him out of the room which they hadgiven him at first. I have sent him to the Insane Ward. That is the namewe give to a few little rooms, enclosed by a wall, where we keep thepoor insane, who are sent to us provisionally. "

Here she was interrupted by the janitor of the hospital, who came up, bowing. 

"What do you want?" she asked. 

Vaudevin, the janitor, handed her a note. 

"A man brought by a gendarme, " he replied. "Immediately to be admitted. "

The lady superior read the note, signed by Dr. Seignebos. 

"Epileptic, " she said, "and somewhat idiotic: as if we wanted any more!And a stranger into the bargain! Really Dr. Seignebos is too yielding. Why does he not send all these people to their own parish to be takencare of?"

And, with a very elastic step for her age, she went to the parlor, followed by M. Galpin and the janitor. They had put the new patient inthere, and, sunk upon a bench, he looked the picture of utter idiocy. After having looked at him for a minute, she said, --

"Put him in the Insane Ward: he can keep Cocoleu company. And let thesister know at the drug-room. But no, I will go myself. You will excuseme, sir. "

And then she left the room. M. Galpin was much comforted. 

"There is no danger here, " he said to himself. "And if M. Folgat countsupon any incident during the trial, Cocoleu, at all events, will notfurnish it to him. "

XXVII. 

At the same hour when the magistrate left the hospital, Dr. Seignebosand M. Folgat parted, after a frugal breakfast, --the one to visit hispatients, the other to go to the prison. The young advocate was verymuch troubled. He hung his head as he went down the street; and thediplomatic citizens who compared his dejected appearance with thevictorious air of M. Galpin came to the conclusion that Jacques deBoiscoran was irrevocably lost. 

At that moment M. Folgat was almost of their opinion. He had to passthrough one of those attacks of discouragement, to which the mostenergetic men succumb at times, when they are bent upon pursuing anuncertain end which they ardently desire. 

The declarations made by little Martha and the governess had literallyoverwhelmed him. Just when he thought he had the end of the thread inhis hand, the tangle had become worse than ever. And so it had been fromthe commencement. At every step he took, the problem had become morecomplicated than ever. At every effort he made, the darkness, instead ofbeing dispelled, had become deeper. Not that he as yet doubted Jacques'sinnocence. No! The suspicion which for a moment had flashed through hismind had passed away instantly. He admitted, with Dr. Seignebos, thepossibility that there was an accomplice, and that it was Cocoleu, inall probability, who had been charged with the execution of the crime. But how could that fact be made useful to the defence? He saw no way. 

Goudar was an able man; and the manner in which he had introducedhimself into the hospital and Cocoleu's company indicated a master. Buthowever cunning he was, however experienced in all the tricks of hisprofession, how could he ever hope to make a man confess who intrenchedhimself behind the rampart of feigned imbecility? If he had only had anabundance of time before him! But the days were counted, and he wouldhave to hurry his measures. 

"I feel like giving it up, " thought the young lawyer. 

In the meantime he had reached the prison. He felt the necessity ofconcealing his anxiety. While Blangin went before him through the longpassages, rattling his keys, he endeavored to give to his features anexpression of hopeful confidence. 

"At last you come!" cried Jacques. 

He had evidently suffered terribly since the day before. A feverishrestlessness had disordered his features, and reddened his eyes. He wasshaking with nervous tremor. Still he waited till the jailer had shutthe door; and then he asked hoarsely, --

"What did she say?"

M. Folgat gave him a minute account of his mission, quoting the words ofthe countess almost literally. 

"That is just like her!" exclaimed the prisoner. "I think I can hearher! What a woman! To defy me in this way!"

And in his anger he wrung his hands till they nearly bled. 

"You see, " said the young advocate, "there is no use in trying to getoutside of our circle of defence. Any new effort would be useless. "

"No!" replied Jacques. "No, I shall not stop there!"

And after a few moments' reflection, --if he can be said to have beenable to reflect, --he said, --

"I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for having exposed you to suchinsults. I ought to have foreseen it, or, rather, I did foresee it. Iknew that was not the way to begin the battle. But I was a coward, Iwas afraid, I drew back, fool that I was! As if I had not known that weshall at any rate have to come to the last extremity! Well, I am readynow, and I shall do it!"

"What do you mean to do?"

"I shall go and see the Countess Claudieuse. I shall tell her"--

"Oh!"

"You do not think she will deny it to my face? When I once have herunder my eye, I shall make her confess the crime of which I am accused. "

M. Folgat had promised Dr. Seignebos not to mention what Martha and hergoverness had said; but he felt no longer bound to conceal it. 

"And if the countess should not be guilty?" he asked. 

"Who, then, could be guilty?"

"If she had an accomplice?"

"Well, she will tell me who it is. I will insist upon it, I will makeher tell. I will not be disgraced. I am innocent, I will not go to thegalleys!"

To try and make Jacques listen to reason would have been madness justnow. 

"Have a care, " said the young lawyer. "Our defence is difficult enoughalready; do not make it still more so. "

"I shall be careful. "

"A scene might ruin us irrevocably. "

"Be not afraid!"

M. Folgat said nothing more. He thought he could guess by what meansJacques would try to get out of prison. But he did not ask him aboutthe details, because his position as his counsel made it his duty not toknow, or, at least, to seem not to know, certain things. 

"Now, my dear sir, " said the prisoner, "you will render me a service, will you not?"

"What is it?"

"I want to know as accurately as possible how the house in which thecountess lives is arranged. "

Without saying a word, M. Folgat took out a sheet of paper, and drewon it a plan of the house, as far as he knew, --of the garden, theentrance-hall, and the sitting-room. 

"And the count's room, " asked Jacques, "where is that?"

"In the upper story. "

"You are sure he cannot get up?"

"Dr. Seignebos told me so. "

The prisoner seemed to be delighted. 

"Then all is right, " he said, "and I have only to ask you, my dearcounsel, to tell Miss Dionysia that I must see her to-day, as soon aspossible. I wish her to come accompanied by one of her aunts only. And, I beseech you, make haste. "

M. Folgat did hasten; so that, twenty minutes later, he was at the younglady's house. She was in her chamber. He sent word to her that he wishedto see her; and, as soon as she heard that Jacques wanted her, she saidsimply, --

"I am ready to go. "

And, calling one of the Misses Lavarande, she told her, --

"Come, Aunt Elizabeth, be quick. Take your hat and your shawl. I amgoing out, and you are going with me. "

The prisoner counted so fully upon the promptness of his betrothed, thathe had already gone down into the parlor when she arrived at the prison, quite out of breath from having walked so fast. He took her hands, and, pressing them to his lips, he said, --

"Oh, my darling! how shall I ever thank you for your sublime fidelity inmy misfortune? If I escape, my whole life will not suffice to prove mygratitude. "

But he tried to master his emotion, and turning to Aunt Elizabeth, hesaid, --

"Will you pardon me if I beg you to render me once more the service youhave done me before? It is all important that no one should hear what Iam going to say to Dionysia. I know I am watched. "

Accustomed to passive obedience, the good lady left the room withoutdaring to make the slightest remark, and went to keep watch in thepassage. Dionysia was very much surprised; but Jacques did not give hertime to utter a word. He said at once, --

"You told me in this very place, that, if I wished to escape, Blanginwould furnish me the means, did you not?"

The young girl drew back, and stammered with an air of utterbewilderment, --

"You do not want to flee?"

"Never! Under no circumstances! But you ought to remember, that, whileresisting all your arguments, I told you, that perhaps, some day orother, I might require a few hours of liberty. "

"I remember. "

"I begged you to sound the jailer on that point. "

"I did so. For money he will always be ready to do your bidding. "

Jacques seemed to breathe more freely. 

"Well, then, " he said again, "the time has come. To-morrow I shall haveto be away all the evening. I shall like to leave about nine; and Ishall be back at midnight. "

Dionysia stopped him. 

"Wait, " she said; "I want to call Blangin's wife. "

The household of the jailer of Sauveterre was like many others. Thehusband was brutal, imperious, and tyrannical: he talked loud andpositively, and thus made it appear that he was the master. The wife washumble, submissive, apparently resigned, and always ready to obey; butin reality she ruled by intelligence, as he ruled by main force. Whenthe husband had promised any thing, the consent of the wife had still tobe obtained; but, when the wife undertook to do any thing, the husbandwas bound through her. Dionysia, therefore, knew very well that shewould have first to win over the wife. Mrs. Blangin came up in haste, her mouth full of hypocritical assurances of good will, vowing thatshe was heart and soul at her dear mistress's command, recalling withdelight the happy days when she was in M. De Chandore's service, andregretting forevermore. 

"I know, " the young girl cut her short, "you are attached to me. Butlisten!"

And then she promptly explained to her what she wanted; while Jacques, standing a little aside in the shade, watched the impression on thewoman's face. Gradually she raised her head; and, when Dionysia hadfinished, she said in a very different tone, --

"I understand perfectly, and, if I were the master, I should say, 'Allright!' But Blangin is master of the jail. Well, he is not bad; buthe insists upon doing his duty. We have nothing but our place to liveupon. "

"Have I not paid you as much as your place is worth?"

"Oh, I know you do not mind paying. "

"You had promised me to speak to your husband about this matter. "

"I have done so; but"--

"I would give as much as I did before. "

"In gold?"

"Well, be it so, in gold. "

A flash of covetousness broke forth from under the thick brows of thejailer's wife; but, quite self-possessed, she went on, --

"In that case, my man will probably consent. I will go and put himright, and then you can talk to him. "

She went out hastily, and, as soon as she had disappeared, Jacques askedDionysia, --

"How much have you paid Blangin so far?"

"Seventeen thousand francs. "

"These people are robbing you outrageously. "

"Ah, what does the money matter? I wish we were both of us ruined, ifyou were but free. "

But it had not taken the wife long to persuade the husband. Blangin'sheavy steps were heard in the passage; and almost immediately, heentered, cap in hand, looking obsequious and restless. 

"My wife has told me every thing, " he said, "and I consent. Only we mustunderstand each other. This is no trifle you are asking for. "

Jacques interrupted him, and said, --

"Let us not exaggerate the matter. I do not mean to escape: I only wantto leave for a time. I shall come back, I give you my word of honor. "

"Upon my life, that is not what troubles me. If the question was onlyto let you run off altogether, I should open the doors wide, and say, 'Good-by!' A prisoner who runs away--that happens every day; but aprisoner who leaves for a few hours, and comes back again--Supposeanybody were to see you in town? Or if any one came and wanted to seeyou while you are gone? Or if they saw you come back again? What shouldI say? I am quite ready to be turned off for negligence. I have beenpaid for that. But to be tried as an accomplice, and to be put into jailmyself. Stop! That is not what I mean to do. "

This was evidently but a preface. 

"Oh! why lose so many words?" asked Dionysia. "Explain yourself clearly. "

"Well, M. De Boiscoran cannot leave by the gate. At tattoo, at eighto'clock, the soldiers on guard at this season of the year go inside theprison, and until _reveille_ in the morning, or, in others words, tillfive o'clock, I can neither open nor shut the gates without calling thesergeant in command of the post. "

"Did he want to extort more money? Did he make the difficulties outgreater than they really were?"

"After all, " said Jacques, "if you consent, there must be a way. "

The jailer could dissemble no longer: he came out with it bluntly. 

"If the thing is to be done, you must get out as if you were escapingin good earnest. The wall between the two towers is, to my knowledge, at one place not over two feet thick; and on the other side, where thereare nothing but bare grounds and the old ramparts, they never put asentinel. I will get you a crowbar and a pickaxe, and you make a hole inthe wall. "

Jacques shrugged his shoulders. 

"And the next day, " he said, "when I am back, how will you explain thathole?"

Blangin smiled. 

"Be sure, " he replied, "I won't say the rats did it. I have thought ofthat too. At the same time with you, another prisoner will run off, whowill not come back. "

"What prisoner?"

"Trumence, to be sure. He will be delighted to get away, and he willhelp you in making the hole in the wall. You must make your bargain withhim, but, of course, without letting him know that I know any thing. Inthis way, happen what may, I shall not be in danger. "

The plan was really a good one; only Blangin ought not to have claimedthe honor of inventing it: the idea came from his wife. 

"Well, " replied Jacques, "that is settled. Get me the pickaxe and thecrowbar, show me the place where we must make the hole, and I will takecharge of Trumence. To-morrow you shall have the money. "

He was on the point of following the jailer, when Dionysia held himback; and, lifting up her beautiful eyes to him, she said in a tremor, --

"You see, Jacques, I have not hesitated to dare every thing in order toprocure you a few house of liberty. May I not know what you are going todo in that time?"

And, as he made no reply, she repeated, --

"Where are you going?"

A rush of blood colored the face of the unfortunate man; and he said inan embarrassed voice, --

"I beseech you, Dionysia, do not insist upon my telling you. Permit meto keep this secret, the only one I have ever kept from you. "

Two tears trembled for a moment in the long lashes of the young girl, and then silently rolled down her cheeks. 

"I understand you, " she stammered. "I understand but too well. AlthoughI know so little of life, I had a presentiment, as soon as I saw thatthey were hiding something from me. Now I cannot doubt any longer. Youwill go to see a woman to-morrow"--

"Dionysia, " Jacques said with folded hands, --"Dionysia, I beseech you!"

She did not hear him. Gently shaking her heard, she went on, --

"A woman whom you have loved, or whom you love still, at whose feet youhave probably murmured the same words which you whispered at my feet. How could you think of her in the midst of all your anxieties? Shecannot love you, I am sure. Why did she not come to you when she foundthat you were in prison, and falsely accused of an abominable crime?"

Jacques cold bear it no longer. 

"Great God!" he cried, "I would a thousand times rather tell you everything than allow such a suspicion to remain in your heart! Listen, andforgive me. "

But she stopped him, putting her hand on his lips, and saying, all in atremor, --

"No, I do not wish to know any thing, --nothing at all. I believe inyou. Only you must remember that you are every thing to me, --hope, life, happiness. If you should have deceived me, I know but too well--poorme!--that I would not cease loving you; but I should not have long tosuffer. "

Overcome with grief and affection, Jacques repeated, --

"Dionysia, Dionysia, my darling, let me confess to you who this womanis, and why I must see her. "

"No, " she interrupted him, "no! Do what your conscience bids you do. Ibelieve in you. "

And instead of offering to let him kiss her forehead, as usual, shehurried off with her Aunt Elizabeth, and that so quickly, that, when herushed after her, he only saw, as it were, a shadow at the end of thelong passage. 

Never until this moment had Jacques found it in his heart really to hatethe Countess Claudieuse with that blind and furious hatred which dreamsof nothing but vengeance. Many a time, no doubt, he had cursed her inthe solitude of his prison; but even when he was most furious againsther, a feeling of pity had risen in his heart for her whom he had onceloved so dearly; for he did not disguise it to himself, he had onceloved her to distraction. Even in his prison he trembled, as he thoughtof some of his first meetings with her, as he saw before his mind's eyeher features swimming in voluptuous languor, as he heard the silveryring of her voice, or inhaled the perfume she loved ever to have abouther. She had exposed him to the danger of losing his position, hisfuture, his honor even; and he still felt inclined to forgive her. Butnow she threatened him with the loss of his betrothed, the loss of thatpure and chaste love which burnt in Dionysia's heart, and he could notendure that. 

"I will spare her no longer, " he cried, mad with wrath. "I will hesitateno longer. I have not the right to do so; for I am bound to defendDionysia!"

He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day, feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him. 

It was Trumence to-night--perhaps by the jailer's skilfulmanagement--who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and, according to the jail-dictionary, to "curl him up" there. He calledhim in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do. UponBlangin's assurance, he expected the vagabond would jump at the mereidea of escaping from jail. But by no means. Trumence's smilingfeatures grew dark; and, scratching himself behind the ear furiously, hereplied, --

"You see--excuse me, I don't want to run away at all. "

Jacques was amazed. If Trumence refused his cooperation he could not goout, or, at least, he would have to wait. 

"Are you in earnest, Trumence?" he asked. 

"Certainly I am, my dear sir. Here, you see, I am not so badly off: Ihave a good bed, I have two meals a day, I have nothing to do, and Ipick up now and then, from one man or another, a few cents to buy me apinch of tobacco or a glass of wine. "

"But your liberty?"

"Well, I shall get that too. I have committed no crime. I may havegotten over a wall into an orchard; but people are not hanged for that. I have consulted M. Magloire, and he told me precisely how I stand. They will try me in a police-court, and they will give me three or fourmonths. Well, that is not so very bad. But, if I run away, they put thegendarmes on my track; they bring me back here; and then I know how theywill treat me. Besides, to break jail is a grave offence. "

How could he overcome such wise conclusions and such excellent reasons?Jacques was very much troubled. 

"Why should the gendarmes take you again?" he asked. 

"Because they are gendarmes, my dear sir. And then, that is not all. If it were spring, I should say at once, 'I am your man. ' But we haveautumn now; we are going to have bad weather; work will be scarce. "

Although an incurable idler, Trumence had always a good deal to sayabout work. 

"You won't help them in the vintage?" asked Jacques. 

The vagabond looked almost repenting. 

"To be sure, the vintage must have commenced, " he said. 

"Well?"

"But that only lasts a fortnight, and then comes winter. And winter isno man's friend: it's my enemy. I know I have been without a place tolie down when it has been freezing to split stones, and the snow wasa foot deep. Oh! here they have stoves, and the Board gives very warmclothes. "

"Yes; but there are no merry evenings here, Trumence, eh? None of thosemerry evenings, when the hot wine goes round, and you tell the girls allsorts of stories, while you are shelling peas, or shucking corn?"

"Oh! I know. I do enjoy those evenings. But the cold! Where should I gowhen I have not a cent?"

That was exactly where Jacques wanted to lead him. 

"I have money, " he said. 

"I know you have. "

"You do not think I would let you go off with empty pockets? I wouldgive you any thing you may ask. "

"Really?" cried the vagrant. 

And looking at Jacques with a mingled expression of hope, surprise, anddelight, he added, --

"You see I should want a good deal. Winter is long. I should want--letme see, I should want fifty Napoleons!"

"You shall have a hundred, " said Jacques. 

Trumence's eyes began to dance. He probably had a vision of thoseirresistible taverns at Rochefort, where he had led such a merry life. But he could not believe such happiness to be real. 

"You are not making fun of me?" he asked timidly. 

"Do you want the whole sum at once?" replied Jacques. "Wait. "

He drew from the drawer in his table a thousand-franc note. But, at thesight of the note, the vagrant drew back the hand which he had promptlystretched out to take the money. 

"Oh! that kind? No! I know what that paper is worth: I have had some ofthem myself. But what could I do with one of them now? It would not beworth more to me than a leaf of a tree; for, at the first place I shouldwant it changed, they would arrest me. "

"That is easily remedied. By to-morrow I shall have gold, or smallnotes, so you can have your choice. "

This time Trumence clapped his hands in great joy. 

"Give me some of one kind, and some of the other, " he said, "and Iam your man! Hurrah for liberty! Where is that wall that we are to gothrough?"

"I will show you to-morrow; and till then, Trumence, silence. "

It was only the next day that Blangin showed Jacques the place where thewall had least thickness. It was in a kind of cellar, where nobody evercame, and where cast-off tools were stored away. 

"In order that you may not be interrupted, " said the jailer, "I will asktwo of my comrades to dine with me, and I shall invite the sergeant onduty. They will enjoy themselves, and never think of the prisoners. Mywife will keep a sharp lookout; and, if any of the rounds should comethis way, she would warn you, and quick, quick, you would be back inyour room. "

All was settled; and, as soon as night came, Jacques and Trumence, taking a candle with them, slipped down into the cellar, and went towork. It was a hard task to get through this old wall, and Jacques wouldnever have been able to accomplish it alone. The thickness was even lessthan what Blangin had stated it to be; but the hardness was far beyondexpectation. Our fathers built well. In course of time the cement hadbecome one with the stone, and acquired the same hardness. It was as ifthey had attacked a block of granite. The vagrant had, fortunately, astrong arm; and, in spite of the precautions which they had to take toprevent being heard, he had, in less than an hour, made a hole throughwhich a man could pass. He put his head in; and, after a moment'sexamination, he said, --

"All right! The night is dark, and the place is deserted. Upon my word, I will risk it!"

He went through; Jacques followed; and instinctively they hastenedtowards a place where several trees made a dark shadow. Once there, Jacques handed Trumence a package of five-franc notes, and said, --

"Add this to the hundred Napoleons I have given you before. Thank you:you are a good fellow, and, if I get out of my trouble, I will notforget you. And now let us part. Make haste, be careful, and good luck!"

After these words he went off rapidly. But Trumence did not march off inthe opposite direction, as had been agreed upon. 

"Anyhow, " said the poor vagrant to himself, "this is a curious storyabout the poor gentleman. Where on earth can he be going?"

And, curiosity getting the better of prudence, he followed him. 

XXVIII. 

Jacques de Boiscoran went straight to Mautrec Street. But he knew withwhat horror he was looked upon by the population; and in order to avoidbeing recognized, and perhaps arrested, he did not take the most directroute, nor did he choose the more frequented streets. He went a long wayaround, and well-nigh lost himself in the winding, dark lanes of theold town. He walked along in Feverish haste, turning aside from therare passers-by, pulling his felt hat down over his eyes, and, for stillgreater safety, holding his handkerchief over his face. It was nearlyhalf-past nine when he at last reached the house inhabited by Count andCountess Claudieuse. The little gate had been taken out, and the greatdoors were closed. 

Never mind! Jacques had his plan. He rang the bell. 

A maid, who did not know him, came to the door. 

"Is the Countess Claudieuse in?" he asked. 

"The countess does not see anybody, " replied the girl. "She is sittingup with the count, who is very ill to-night. "

"But I must see her. "

"Impossible. "

"Tell her that a gentleman who has been sent by M. Galpin desires to seeher for a moment. It is the Boiscoran affair. "

"Why did you not say so at once?" said the servant. "Come in. " Andforgetting, in her hurry, to close the gates again, she went beforeJacques through the garden, showed him into the vestibule, and thenopened the parlor-door, saying, --

"Will you please go in here and sit down, while I go to tell thecountess?"

After lighting one of the candles on the mantelpiece, she went out. So far, every thing had gone well for Jacques, and even better than hecould have expected. Nothing remained now to be done, except to preventthe countess from going back and escaping, as soon as she should haverecognized Jacques. Fortunately the parlor-door opened into the room. Hewent and put himself behind the open half, and waited there. 

For twenty-four hours he had prepared himself for this interview, andarranged in his head the very words he would use. But now, at the lastmoment, all his ideas flew away, like dry leaves under the breath of atempest. His heart was beating with such violence, that he thought itfilled the whole room with the noise. He imagined he was cool, and, infact, he possessed that lucidity which gives to certain acts of madmenan appearance of sense. 

He was surprised at being kept waiting so long, when, at last, lightsteps, and the rustling of a dress, warned him that the countess wascoming. 

She came in, dressed in a long, dark, undress robe, and took a few stepsinto the room, astonished at not seeing the person who was waiting forher. 

It was exactly as Jacques had foreseen. 

He pushed to, violently, the open half of the door; and, placing himselfbefore her, he said, --

"We are alone!"

She turned round at the noise, and cried, --

"Jacques!"

And terrified, as if she had seen a ghost, she looked all around, hopingto see a way out. One of the tall windows of the room, which went downto the ground, was half open, and she rushed towards it; but Jacquesanticipated her, and said, --

"Do not attempt to escape; for I swear I should pursue you into yourhusband's room, to the foot of his bed. "

She looked at him as if she did not comprehend. 

"You, " she stammered, --"you here!"

"Yes, " he replied, "I am here. You are astonished, are you? You said toyourself, 'He is in prison, well kept under lock and key: I can sleep inpeace. No evidence can be found. He will not speak. I have committed thecrime, and he will be punished for it. I am guilty; but I shall escape. He is innocent, and he is lost. ' You thought it was all settled? Well, no, it is not. I am here!"

An expression of unspeakable horror contracted the beautiful features ofthe countess. She said, --

"This is monstrous!"

"Monstrous indeed!"

"Murderer! Incendiary!"

He burst out laughing, a strident, convulsive, terrible laughter. 

"And you, " he said, "you call me so?"

By one great effort the Countess Claudieuse recovered her energy. 

"Yes, " she replied, "yes, I do! You cannot deny your crime to me. Iknow, I know the motives which the judges do not even guess. You thoughtI would carry out my threats, and you were frightened. When I left youin such haste, you said to yourself, 'It is all over: she will tell herhusband. ' And then you kindled that fire in order to draw my husbandout of the house, you incendiary! And then you fired at my husband, youmurderer!"

He was still laughing. 

"And that is your plan?" he broke in. "Who do you think will believesuch an absurd story? Our letters were burnt; and, if you deny havingbeen my mistress, I can just as well deny having been your lover. And, besides, would the exposure do me any harm? You know very well it wouldnot. You are perfectly aware, that, as society is with us, the samething which disgraces a woman rather raises a man in the estimate of theworld. And as to my being afraid of Count Claudieuse, it is well knownthat I am afraid of nobody. At the time when we were concealing our lovein the house in Vine Street, yes, at that time, I might have been afraidof your husband; for he might have surprised us there, the code in onehand, a revolver in the other, and have availed himself of that stupidand savage law which makes the husband the judge of his own case, andthe executor of the sentence which he himself pronounces. But settingaside such a case, the case of being taken in the act, which allowsa man to kill like a dog another man, who can not or will not defendhimself, what did I care for Count Claudieuse? What did I care for yourthreats or for his hatred?" He said these words with perfect calmness, but with that cold, cutting tone which is as sharp as a sword, and withthat positiveness which enters irresistibly into the mind. The countesswas tottering, and stammered almost inaudibly, --

"Who would imagine such a thing? Is it possible?"

Then, suddenly raising her head, she said, --

"But I am losing my senses. If you are innocent, who, then, could be theguilty man?"

Jacques seized her hands almost madly, and pressing them painfully, andbending over her so closely that she felt his hot breath like a flametouching her face, he hissed into her ear, --

"You, wretched creature, you!"

And then pushing her from him with such violence that she fell into achair, he continued, --

"You, who wanted to be a widow in order to prevent me from breaking thechains in which you held me. At our last meeting, when I thought youwere crushed by grief, and felt overcome by your hypocritical tears, I was weak enough, I was stupid enough, to say that I married Dionysiaonly because you were not free. Then you cried, 'O God, how happy Iam that that idea did not occur to me before!' What idea was that, Genevieve? Come, answer me and confess, that it occurred to you too soonafter all, since you have carried it out?"

And repeating with crushing irony the words just uttered by thecountess, he said, --

"If you are innocent, who, then, would be the guilty man?"

Quite beside herself, she sprang up from her chair, and casting atJacques one of those glances which seem to enter through our eyes intothe very heart of our hearts, she asked, --

"Is it really possible that you have not committed this abominablecrime?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"But then, " she repeated, almost panting, "is it true, can it really betrue, that you think I have committed it?"

"Perhaps you have only ordered it to be committed. "

With a wild gesture she raised her arms to heaven, and cried in aheart-rending voice, --

"O God, O God! He believes it! he really believes it!"

There followed great silence, dismal, formidable silence, such as innature follows the crash of the thunderbolt. 

Standing face to face, Jacques and the Countess Claudieuse looked ateach other madly, feeling that the fatal hour in their lives had come atlast. 

Each felt a growing, a sure conviction of the other. There was no needof explanations. They had been misled by appearances: they acknowledgedit; they were sure of it. 

And this discovery was so fearful, so overwhelming, that neither thoughtof who the real guilty one might be. 

"What is to be done?" asked the countess. 

"The truth must be told, " replied Jacques. 

"Which?"

"That I have been your lover; that I went to Valpinson by appointmentwith you; that the cartridge-case which was found there was used byme to get fire; that my blackened hands were soiled by the half-burntfragment of our letters, which I had tried to scatter. "

"Never!" cried the countess. 

Jacques's face turned crimson, as he said with an accent of mercilessseverity, --

"It shall be told! I will have it so, and it must be done!"

The countess seemed to be furious. 

"Never!" she cried again, "never!"

And with convulsive haste she added, --

"Do you not see that the truth cannot possibly be told. They would neverbelieve in our innocence. They would only look upon us as accomplices. "

"Never mind. I am not willing to die. "

"Say that you will not die alone. "

"Be it so. "

"To confess every thing would never save you, but would most assuredlyruin me. Is that what you want? Would your fate appear less cruel toyou, if there were two victims instead of one?"

He stopped her by a threatening gesture, and cried, --

"Are you always the same? I am sinking, I am drowning; and shecalculates, she bargains! And she said she loved me!"

"Jacques!" broke in the countess. 

And drawing close up to him, she said, --

"Ah! I calculate, I bargain? Well, listen. Yes, it is true. I did valuemy reputation as an honest woman more highly, a thousand times more, than my life; but, above my life and my reputation, I valued you. Youare drowning, you say. Well, then, let us flee. One word from you, and Ileave all, --honor, country, family, husband, children. Say one word, and I follow you without turning my head, without a regret, without aremorse. "

Her whole body was shivering from head to foot; her bosom rose and fell;her eyes shone with unbearable brilliancy. 

Thanks to the violence of her action, her dress, put on in great haste, had opened, and her dishevelled hair flowed in golden masses overher bosom and her shoulders, which matched the purest marble in theirdazzling whiteness. 

And in a voice trembling with pent-up passion, now sweet and soft like atender caress, and now deep and sonorous like a bell, she went on, --

"What keeps us? Since you have escaped from prison, the greatestdifficulty is overcome. I thought at first of taking our girl, yourgirl, Jacques; but she is very ill; and besides a child might betray us. If we go alone, they will never overtake us. We will have money enough, I am sure, Jacques. We will flee to those distant countries whichappear in books of travels in such fairy-like beauty. There, unknown, forgotten, unnoticed, our life will be one unbroken enjoyment. You willnever again say that I bargain. I will be yours, entirely, and solelyyours, body and soul, your wife, your slave. "

She threw her head back, and with half-closed eyes, bending with herwhole person toward him, she said in melting tones, --

"Say, Jacques, will you? Jacques!"

He pushed her aside with a fierce gesture. It seemed to him almost asacrilege that she also, like Dionysia, should propose to him to flee. 

"Rather the galleys!" he cried. 

She turned deadly pale; a spasm of rage convulsed her features; anddrawing back, stiff and stern, she said, --

"What else do you want?"

"Your help to save me, " he replied. 

"At the risk of ruining myself?"

He made no reply. 

Then she, who had just now been all humility, raised herself to her fullheight, and in a tone of bitterest sarcasm said slowly, --

"In other words, you want me to sacrifice myself, and at the same timeall my family. For your sake? Yes, but even more for Miss Chandore'ssake. And you think that it is quite a simple thing. I am the past toyou, satiety, disgust: she is the future to you, desire, happiness. Andyou think it quite natural that the old love should make a footstool ofher love and her honor for the new love? You think little of my beingdisgraced, provided she be honored; of my weeping bitterly, if she butsmile? Well, no, no! it is madness in you to come and ask me to saveyou, so that you may throw yourself into the arms of another. It ismadness, when in order to tear you from Dionysia, I am ready to ruinmyself, provided only that you be lost to her forever. "

"Wretch!" cried Jacques. 

She looked at him with a mocking air, and her eyes beamed with infernalaudacity. 

"You do not know me yet, " she cried. "Go, speak, denounce me! M. Folgatno doubt has told you how I can deny and defend myself. "

Maddened by indignation, and excited to a point where reason loses itspower over us, Jacques de Boiscoran moved with uplifted hand towards thecountess, when suddenly a voice said, --

"Do not strike that woman!"

Jacques and the countess turned round, and uttered, both at the sameinstant, the same kind of sharp, terrible cry, which must have beenheard a great distance. 

In the frame of the door stood Count Claudieuse, a revolver in his hand, and ready to fire. 

He looked as pale as a ghost; and the white flannel dressing-gown whichhe had hastily thrown around him hung like a pall around his lean limbs. The first cry uttered by the countess had been heard by him on the bedon which he lay apparently dying. A terrible presentiment had seizedhim. He had risen from his bed, and, dragging himself slowly along, holding painfully to the balusters, he had come down. 

"I have heard all, " he said, casting crushing looks at both the guiltyones. 

The countess uttered a deep, hoarse sigh, and sank into a chair. ButJacques drew himself up, and said, --

"I have insulted you terribly, sir. Avenge yourself. "

The count shrugged his shoulders. 

"Great God! You would allow me to be condemned for a crime which I havenot committed. Ah, that would be the meanest cowardice. "

The count was so feeble that he had to lean against the door-post. 

"Would it be cowardly?" he asked. "Then, what do you call the act ofthat miserable man who meanly, disgracefully robs another man of hiswife, and palms off his own children upon him? It is true you areneither an incendiary nor an assassin. But what is fire in my house incomparison with the ruin of all my faith? What are the wounds in my bodyin comparison with that wound in my heart, which never can heal? I leaveyou to the court, sir. "

Jacques was terrified; he saw the abyss opening before him that was toswallow him up. 

"Rather death, " he cried, --"death. "

And, baring his breast, he said, --

"But why do you not fire, sir? Why do you not fire? Are you afraid ofblood? Shoot! I have been the lover of your wife: your youngest daughteris my child. "

The count lowered his weapon. 

"The courts of justice are more certain, " he said. "You have robbed meof my honor: now I want yours. And, if you cannot be condemned withoutit, I shall say, I shall swear, that I recognized you. You shall go tothe galleys, M. De Boiscoran. "

He was on the point of coming forward; but his strength was exhausted, and he fell forward, face downward, and arms outstretched. 

Overcome with horror, half mad, Jacques fled. 

XXIX. 

M. Folgat had just risen. Standing before his mirror, hung up to one ofthe windows in his room, he had just finished shaving himself, when thedoor was thrown open violently, and old Anthony appeared quite besidehimself. 

"Ah, sir, what a terrible thing!"

"What?"

"Run away, disappeared!"

"Who?"

"Master Jacques!"

The surprise was so great, that M. Folgat nearly let his razor drop: hesaid, however, peremptorily, --

"That is false!"

"Alas, sir, " replied the old servant, "everybody is full of it in town. All the details are known. I have just seen a man who says he met masterlast night, about eleven o'clock, running like a madman down NationalStreet. "

"That is absurd. "

"I have only told Miss Dionysia so far, and she sent me to you. Youought to go and make inquiry. "

The advice was not needed. Wiping his face hastily, the young advocatewent to dress at once. He was ready in a moment; and, having run downthe stairs, he was crossing the passage when he heard somebody call hisname. He turned round, and saw Dionysia making him a sign to come intothe boudoir in which she was usually sitting. He did so. 

Dionysia and the young advocate alone knew what a desperate ventureJacques had undertaken the night before. They had not said a word aboutit to each other; but each had noticed the preoccupation of the other. All the evening M. Folgat had not spoken ten words, and Dionysia had, immediately after dinner, gone up to her own room. 

"Well?" she asked. 

"The report, madam, must be false, " replied the advocate. 

"Who knows?"

"His evasion would be a confession of his crime. It is only the guiltywho try to escape; and M. De Boiscoran is innocent. You can rest quiteassured, madam, it is not so. I pray you be quiet. "

Who would not have pitied the poor girl at that moment? She was as whiteas her collar, and trembled violently. Big tears ran over her eyes; andat each word a violent sob rose in her throat. 

"You know where Jacques went last night?" she asked again. 

"Yes. "

She turned her head a little aside, and went on, in a hardly audiblevoice, --

"He went to see once more a person whose influence over him is, probably, all powerful. It may be that she has upset him, stunned him. Might she not have prevailed upon him to escape from the disgrace ofappearing in court, charged with such a crime?"

"No, madam, no!"

"This person has always been Jacques's evil genius. She loves him, Iam sure. She must have been incensed at the idea of his becoming myhusband. Perhaps, in order to induce him to flee, she has fled withhim. "

"Ah! do not be afraid, madam: the Countess Claudieuse is incapable ofsuch devotion. "

Dionysia threw herself back in utter amazement; and, raising herwide-open eyes to the young advocate, she said with an air ofstupefaction, --

"The Countess Claudieuse?"

M. Folgat saw his indiscretion. He had been under the impression thatJacques had told his betrothed every thing; and her very manner ofspeaking had confirmed him in his conviction. 

"Ah, it is the Countess Claudieuse, " she went on, --"that lady whom allrevere as if she were a saint. And I, who only the other day marvelledat her fervor in praying, --I who pitied her with all my heart, --I--Ah! Inow see what they were hiding from me. "

Distressed by the blunder which he had committed, the young advocatesaid, --

"I shall never forgive myself, madam, for having mentioned that name inyour presence. "

She smiled sadly. 

"Perhaps you have rendered me a great service, sir. But, I pray, go andsee what the truth is about this report. "

M. Folgat had not walked down half the street, when he became aware thatsomething extraordinary must really have happened. The whole town was inuproar. People stood at their doors, talking. Groups here and there wereengaged in lively discussions. 

Hastening his steps, he was just turning into National Street, when hewas stopped by three or four gentlemen, whose acquaintance he had, insome way or other, been forced to make since he was at Sauveterre. 

"Well, sir?" said one of these amiable friends, "your client, it seems, is running about nicely. "

"I do not understand, " replied M. Folgat in a tone of ice. 

"Why? Don't you know your client has run off?"

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Certainly. The wife of a workman whom I employ was the person throughwhom the escape became known. She had gone on the old ramparts to cutgrass there for her goat; and, when she came to the prison wall, she sawa big hole had been made there. She gave at once the alarm; the guardcame up; and they reported the matter immediately to the commonwealthattorney. "

For M. Folgat the evidence was not satisfactory yet. He asked, --

"Well? And M. De Boiscoran?"

"Cannot be found. Ah, I tell you, it is just as I say. I know it froma friend who heard it from a clerk at the mayor's office. Blangin thejailer, they say, is seriously implicated. "

"I hope soon to see you again, " said the young advocate, and left himabruptly. 

The gentleman seemed to be very grievously offended at such treatment;but the young advocate paid no attention to him, and rapidly crossed theNew-Market Square. 

He was become apprehensive. He did not fear an evasion, but thoughtthere might have occurred some fearful catastrophe. A hundred persons, at least, were assembled around the prison-doors, standing there withopen mouths and eager eyes; and the sentinels had much trouble inkeeping them back. 

M. Folgat made his way through the crowd, and went in. 

In the court-yard he found the commonwealth attorney, the chief ofpolice, the captain of the gendarmes, M. Seneschal, and, finally, M. Galpin, all standing before the janitor's lodge in animated discussion. The magistrate looked paler than ever, and was, as they called it inSauveterre, in bull-dog humor. There was reason for it. 

He had been informed as promptly as M. Folgat, and had, with equalpromptness, dressed, and hastened to the prison. And all along his way, unmistakable evidence had proved to him that public opinion was fiercelyroused against the accused, but that it was as deeply excited againsthimself. 

On all sides he had been greeted by ironical salutations, mockingsmiles, and even expressions of condolence at the loss of his prisoner. Two men, whom he suspected of being in close relations with Dr. Seignebos, had even murmured, as he passed by them, --

"Cheated, Mr. Bloodhound. "

He was the first to notice the young advocate, and at once said tohim, --

"Well, sir, do you come for news?"

But M. Folgat was not the man to be taken in twice the same day. Concealing his apprehensions under the most punctilious politeness, hereplied, --

"I have heard all kinds of reports; but they do not affect me. M. DeBoiscoran has too much confidence in the excellency of his cause and thejustice of his country to think of escaping. I only came to confer withhim. "

"And you are right!" exclaimed M. Daubigeon. "M. De Boiscoran is in hiscell, utterly unaware of all the rumors that are afloat. It was Trumencewho has run off, --Trumence, the light-footed. He was kept in prison forform's sake only, and helped the keeper as a kind of assistant jailer. He it is who has made a hole in the wall, and escaped, thinking, nodoubt, that the heavens are a better roof than the finest jail. "

A little distance behind the group stood Blangin, the jailer, affectinga contrite and distressed air. 

"Take the counsel to the prisoner Boiscoran, " said M. Galpin dryly, fearing, perhaps, that M. Daubigeon might regale the public with all thebitter epigrams with which he persecuted him privately. The jailer bowedto the ground, and obeyed the order; but, as soon as he was alone withM. Folgat in the porch of the building, he blew up his cheek, and thentapped it, saying, --

"Cheated all around. "

Then he burst out laughing. The young advocate pretended not tounderstand him. It was but prudent that he should appear ignorant ofwhat had happened the night before, and thus avoid all suspicion of acomplicity which substantially did not exist. 

"And still, " Blangin went on, "this is not the end of it yet. Thegendarmes are all out. If they should catch my poor Trumence! That manis such a fool, the most stupid judge would worm his secret out of himin five minutes. And then, who would be in a bad box?"

M. Folgat still made no reply; but the other did not seem to mind thatmuch. He continued, --

"I only want to do one thing, and that is to give up my keys as soon aspossible. I am tired of this profession of jailer. Besides, I shall notbe able to stay here much longer. This escape has put a flea into theear of the authorities, and they are going to give me an assistant, aformer police sergeant, who is as bad as a watchdog. Ah! the good daysof M. De Boiscoran are over: no more stolen visits, no more promenades. He is to be watched day and night. "

Blangin had stopped at the foot of the staircase to give all theseexplanations. 

"Let us go up, " he said now, as M. Folgat showed signs of growingimpatience. 

He found Jacques lying on his bed, all dressed; and at the first glancehe saw that a great misfortune had happened. 

"One more hope gone?" he asked. 

The prisoner raised himself up with difficulty, and sat up on the sideof his bed; then he replied in a voice of utter despair, --

"I am lost, and this time hopelessly. "

"Oh!"

"Just listen!"

The young advocate could not help shuddering as he heard the accountgiven by Jacques of what had happened the night before. And when it wasfinished, he said, --

"You are right. If Count Claudieuse carries out his threat, it may be acondemnation. "

"It must be a condemnation, you mean. Well, you need not doubt. He willcarry out his threat. "

And shaking his head with an air of desolation, he added, --

"And the most formidable part of it is this: I cannot blame him fordoing it. The jealousy of husbands is often nothing more than self-love. When they find they have been deceived, their vanity is offended; buttheir heart remains whole. But in this case it is very different. Henot only loved his wife, he worshipped her. She was his happiness, lifeitself. When I took her from him, I robbed him of all he had, --yes, ofall! I never knew what adultery meant till I saw him overcome with shameand rage. He was left without any thing in a moment. His wife had alover: his favorite daughter was not his own! I suffer terribly; butit is nothing, I am sure, in comparison with what he suffers. And youexpect, that, holding a weapon in his hand, he should not use it? It isa treacherous, dishonest weapon, to be sure; but have I been frank andhonest? It would be a mean, ignoble vengeance, you will say; but whatwas the offence? In his place, I dare say, I should do as he does. "

M. Folgat was thunderstruck. 

"But after that, " he asked, "when you left the house?"

Jacques passed his hand mechanically over his forehead, as if to gatherhis thoughts, and then went on, --

"After that I fled precipitately, like a man who has committed a crime. The garden-door was open, and I rushed out. I could not tell you withcertainty in what direction I ran, through what streets I passed. I hadbut one fixed idea, --to get away from that house as quickly and as faras possible. I did not know what I was doing. I went, I went. When Icame to myself, I was many miles away from Sauveterre, on the road toBoiscoran. The instinct of the animal within me had guided me on thefamiliar way to my house. At the first moment I could not comprehend howI had gotten there. I felt like a drunkard whose head is filled with thevapors of alcohol, and who, when he is roused, tries to remember whathas happened during his intoxication. Alas! I recalled the fearfulreality but too soon. I knew that I ought to go back to prison, thatit was an absolute necessity; and yet I felt at times so weary, soexhausted, that I was afraid I should not be able to get back. Still Idid reach the prison. Blangin was waiting for me, all anxiety; for itwas nearly two o'clock. He helped me to get up here. I threw myself, alldressed as I was, on my bed, and I fell fast asleep in an instant. Butmy sleep was a miserable sleep, broken by terrible dreams, in whichI saw myself chained to the galleys, or mounting the scaffold with apriest by my side; and even at this moment I hardly know whether I amawake or asleep, and whether I am not still suffering under a fearfulnightmare. "

M. Folgat could hardly conceal a tear. He murmured, --

"Poor man!"

"Oh, yes, poor man indeed!" repeated Jacques. "Why did I not follow myfirst inspiration last night when I found myself on the high-road. Ishould have gone on to Boiscoran, I should have gone up stairs to myroom, and there I should have blown out my brains. I should then sufferno more. "

Was he once more giving himself up to that fatal idea of suicide?

"And your parents, " said M. Folgat. 

"My parents! And do you think they will survive my condemnation?"

"And Miss Chandore?"

He shuddered, and said fiercely, --

"Ah! it is for her sake first of all that I ought to make an end of it. Poor Dionysia! Certainly she would grieve terribly when she heard ofmy suicide. But she is not twenty yet. My memory would soon fade in herheart; and weeks growing into months, and months into years, she wouldfind comfort. To live means to forget. "

"No! You cannot really think what you are saying!" broke in M. Folgat. "You know very well that she--she would never forget you!"

A tear appeared in the eyes of the unfortunate man, and he said in ahalf-smothered voice, --

"You are right. I believe to strike me down means to strike her downalso. But do you think what life would be after a condemnation? Can youimagine what her sensations would be, if day after day she had to sayto herself, 'He whom alone I love upon earth is at the galleys, mixed upwith the lowest of criminals, disgraced for life, dishonored. ' Ah! deathis a thousand times preferable. "

"Jacques, M. De Boiscoran, do you forget that you have given me yourword of honor?"

"The proof that I have not forgotten it is that you see me here. But, never mind, the day is not very far off when you will see me so wretchedthat you yourself will be the first to put a weapon into my hands. "

But the young advocate was one of those men whom difficulties onlyexcite and stimulate, instead of discouraging. He had already recoveredsomewhat from the first great shock, and he said, --

"Before you throw down your hand, wait, at least, till the game is lost. You are not sentenced yet. Far from it! You are innocent, and thereis divine justice. Who tells us that Count Claudieuse will really giveevidence? We do not even know whether he has not, at this moment, drawnhis last breath upon earth!"

Jacques leaped up as if in a spasm, and turning deadly pale, exclaimed, --

"Ah, don't say that! That fatal thought has already occurred to me, thatperhaps he did not rise again last night. Would to God that that be notso! for then I should but too surely be an assassin. He was my firstthought when I awoke. I thought of sending out to make inquiries. But Idid not dare do it. "

M. Folgat felt his heart oppressed with most painful anxiety, like theprisoner himself. Hence he said at once, --

"We cannot remain in this uncertainty. We can do nothing as long as thecount's fate is unknown to us; for on his fate depends ours. Allow me toleave you now. I will let you know as soon as I hear any thing positive. And, above all, keep up your courage, whatever may happen. "

The young advocate was sure of finding reliable information at Dr. Seignebos's house. He hastened there; and, as soon as he entered, thephysician cried, --

"Ah, there you are coming at last! I give up twenty of my worst patientsto see you, and you keep me waiting forever. I was sure you would come. What happened last night at Count Claudieuse's house?"

"Then you know"--

"I know nothing. I have seen the results; but I do not know the cause. The result was this: last night, about eleven o'clock, I had just goneto bed, tired to death, when, all of a sudden, somebody rings my bellas if he were determined to break it. I do not like people to perform soviolently at my door; and I was getting up to let the man know mymind, when Count Claudieuse's servant rushed in, pushing my own servantunceremoniously aside, and cried out to me to come instantly, as hismaster had just died. "

"Great God!"

"That is what I said, because, although I knew the count was very ill, Idid not think he was so near death. "

"Then, he is really dead?"

"Not at all. But, if you interrupt me continually, I shall never be ableto tell you. "

And taking off his spectacles, wiping them, and putting them on again, he went on, --

"I was dressed in an instant, and in a few minutes I was at the house. They asked me to go into the sitting-room down stairs. There I found, tomy great amazement, Count Claudieuse, lying on a sofa. He was pale andstiff, his features fearfully distorted, and on his forehead a slightwound, from which a slender thread of blood was trickling down. Upon myword I thought it was all over. "

"And the countess?"

"The countess was kneeling by her husband; and, with the help of herwomen, she was trying to resuscitate him by rubbing him, and puttinghot napkins on his chest. But for these wise precautions she would bea widow at this moment; whilst, as it is, he may live a long time yet. This precious count has a wonderful tenacity of life. We, four of us, then took him and carried him up stairs, and put him to bed, afterhaving carefully warmed it first. He soon began to move; he opened hiseyes; and a quarter of an hour later he had recovered his consciousness, and spoke readily, though with a somewhat feeble voice. Then, of course, I asked what had happened, and for the first time in my life I saw themarvellous self-possession of the countess forsake her. She stammeredpitifully, looking at her husband with a most frightened air, as if shewished to read in his eyes what she should say. He undertook to answerme; but he, also was evidently very much embarrassed. He said, thatbeing left alone, and feeling better than usual, he had taken it intohis head to try his strength. He had risen, put on his dressing-gown, and gone down stairs; but, in the act of entering the room, he hadbecome dizzy, and had fallen so unfortunately as to hurt his foreheadagainst the sharp corner of a table. I affected to believe it, and said, 'You have done a very imprudent thing, and you must not do it again. 'Then he looked at his wife in a very singular way, and replied, 'Oh! youcan be sure I shall not commit another imprudence. I want too much toget well. I have never wished it so much as now. '"

M. Folgat was on the point of replying; but the doctor closed his lipswith his hand, and said, --

"Wait, I have not done yet. "

And, manipulating his spectacles most assiduously, he added, --

"I was just going home, when suddenly a chambermaid came in with afrightened air to tell the countess that her older daughter, littleMartha, whom you know, had just been seized with terrible convulsions. Of course I went to see her, and found her suffering from a trulyfearful nervous attack. It was only with great difficulty I could quiether; and when I thought she had recovered, suspecting that there mightbe some connection between her attack and the accident that had befallenher father, I said in the most paternal tone I could assume, 'Now mychild, you must tell me what was the matter. ' She hesitated a while, andthen she said, 'I was frightened. '--'Frightened at what, my darling?'She raised herself on her bed, trying to consult her mother's eyes; butI had placed myself between them, so that she could not see them. When Irepeated my question, she said, 'Well, you see, I had just gone to bed, when I heard the bell ring. I got up, and went to the window to seewho could be coming so late. I saw the servant go and open the door, a candlestick in her hand, and come back to the house, followed by agentleman, whom I did not know. ' The countess interrupted her here, saying, 'It was a messenger from the court, who had been sent to me withan urgent letter. ' But I pretended not to hear her; and, turning stillto Martha, I asked again, 'And it was this gentleman who frightened youso?'--'Oh, no!'--'What then?' Out of the corner of my eye I was watchingthe countess. She seemed to be terribly embarrassed. Still she did notdare to stop her daughter. 'Well, doctor, ' said the little girl, 'nosooner had the gentleman gone into the house than I saw one of thestatues under the trees there come down from its pedestal, move on, andglide very quietly along the avenue of lime-trees. '"

M. Folgat trembled. 

"Do you remember, doctor, " he said, "the day we were questioning littleMartha, she said she was terribly frightened by the statutes in thegarden?"

"Yes, indeed!" replied the doctor. "But wait a while. The countesspromptly interrupted her daughter, saying to me, 'But, dear doctor, youought to forbid the child to have such notions in her head. At Valpinsonshe never was afraid, and even at night, quite alone, and without alight, all over the house. But here she is frightened at every thing;and, as soon as night comes, she fancies the garden is full of ghosts. You are too big now, Martha, to think that statues, which are made ofstone, can come to life, and walk about. ' The child was shuddering. 

"'The other times, mamma, ' she said, 'I was not quite sure; but thistime I am sure. I wanted to go away from the window, and I could not doit. It was too strong for me: so that I saw it all, saw it perfectly. Isaw the statue, the ghost, come up the avenue slowly and cautiously, andthen place itself behind the last tree, the one that is nearest to theparlor window. Then I heard a loud cry, then nothing more. The ghostremained all the time behind the tree, and I saw all it did: it turnedto the left and the right; it drew itself up; and it crouched down. Then, all of a sudden, two terrible cries; but, O mamma, such cries!Then the ghost raised one arm, this way, and all of a sudden itwas gone; but almost the same moment another one came out, and thendisappeared, too. '"

M. Folgat was utterly overcome with amazement. 

"Oh, these ghosts!" he said. 

"You suspect them, do you? I suspected them at once. Still I pretendedto turn Martha's whole story into a joke, and tried to explain to herhow the darkness made us liable to have all kinds of optical illusions;so that when I left, and a servant was sent with a candle to light me onmy way, the countess was quite sure that I had no suspicion. I had none;but I had more than that. As soon as I entered the garden, therefore, Idropped a piece of money which I had kept in my hand for the purpose. Ofcourse I set to work looking for it at the foot of the tree nearest tothe parlor-window, while the servant helped with his candle. Well, M. Folgat, I can assure you that it was not a ghost that had been walkingabout under the trees; and, if the footmarks which I found there weremade by a statue, that statue must have enormous feet, and wear hugeiron-shod shoes. "

The young advocate was prepared for this. He said, --

"There is no doubt: the scene had a witness. "

XXX. 

"What scene? What witness? That is what I wanted to hear from you, andwhy I was waiting so impatiently for you, " said Dr. Seignebos to M. Folgat. "I have seen and stated the results: now it is for you to giveme the cause. "

Nevertheless, he did not seem to be in the least surprised by what theyoung advocate told him of Jacques's desperate enterprise, and of thetragic result. As soon as he had heard it all, he exclaimed, --

"I thought so: yes, upon my word! By racking my brains all night long, I had very nearly guessed the whole story. And who, in Jacques's place, would not have been desirous to make one last effort? But certainly fateis against him. "

"Who knows?" said M. Folgat. And, without giving the doctor time toreply, he went on, --

"In what are our chances worse than they were before? In no way. We canto-day, just as well as we could yesterday, lay our hands upon thoseproofs which we know do exist, and which would save us. Who tells usthat at this moment Sir Francis Burnett and Suky Wood may not have beenfound? Is your confidence in Goudar shaken?"

"Oh, as to that, not at all! I saw him this morning at the hospital, when I paid my usual visit; and he found an opportunity to tell me thathe was almost certain of success. "

"Well?"

"I am persuaded Cocoleu will speak. But will he speak in time? That isthe question. Ah, if we had but a month's time, I should say Jacques issafe. But our hours are counted, you know. The court will be heldnext week. I am told the presiding judge has already arrived, and M. Gransiere has engaged rooms at the hotel. What do you mean to do ifnothing new occurs in the meantime?"

"M. Magloire and I will obstinately adhere to our plan of defence. "

"And if Count Claudieuse keeps his promise, and declares that herecognized Jacques in the act of firing at him?"

"We shall say he is mistaken. "

"And Jacques will be condemned. "

"Well, " said the young advocate. 

And lowering his voice, as if he did not wish to be overheard, headded, --

"Only the sentence will not be a fatal sentence. Ah, do not interruptme, doctor, and upon your life, upon Jacques's life, do not say aword of what I am going to tell you. A suspicion which should crossM. Galpin's mind would destroy my last hope; for it would give him anopportunity of correcting a blunder which he has committed, and whichjustifies me in saying to you, 'Even if the count should give evidence, even if sentence should be passed, nothing would be lost yet. '"

He had become animated; and his accent and his gestures made you feelthat he was sure of himself. 

"No, " he repeated, "nothing would be lost; and then we should have timebefore us, while waiting for a second trial, to hunt up our witnesses, and to force Cocoleu to tell the truth. Let the count say what hechooses, I like it all the better: I shall thus be relieved of my lastscruples. It seemed to me odious to betray the countess, because Ithought the most cruelly punished would be the count. But, if the countattacks us, we are on the defence; and public opinion will be on ourside. More than that, they will admire us for having sacrificed ourhonor to a woman's honor, and for having allowed ourselves to becondemned rather than to give up the name of her who has given herselfto us. "

The physician did not seem to be convinced; but the young advocate paidno attention. He went on, --

"No, our success in a second trial would be almost certain. The scenein Mautrec Street has been seen by a witness: his iron-shod shoes haveleft, as you say, their marks under the linden-trees nearest to theparlor-window, and little Martha has watched his movements. Who can thiswitness be unless it is Trumence? Well, we shall lay hands upon him. Hewas standing so that he could see every thing, and hear every word. He will tell what he saw and what he heard. He will tell how CountClaudieuse called out to M. De Boiscoran, 'No, I do not want to killyou! I have a surer vengeance than that: you shall go to the galleys. '"

Dr. Seignebos sadly shook his head as he said, --

"I hope your expectations may be realized, my dear sir. "

But they came again for the doctor the third time to-day. Shaking handswith the young advocate, he parted with his young friend, who after ashort visit to M. Magloire, whom he thought it his duty to keep wellinformed of all that was going on, hastened to the house of M. DeChandore. As soon as he looked into Dionysia's face, he knew that hehad nothing to tell her; that she knew all the facts, and how unjust hersuspicions had been. 

"What did I tell you, madam?" he said very modestly. 

She blushed, ashamed at having let him see the secret doubts which hadtroubled her so sorely, and, instead of replying, she said, --

"There are some letters for you, M. Folgat. They have carried them upstairs to your room. "

He found two letters, --one from Mrs. Goudar, the other from the agentwho had been sent to England. 

The former was of no importance. Mrs. Goudar only asked him to send anote, which she enclosed, to her husband. 

The second, on the other hand, was of the very greatest interest. Theagent wrote, --

"Not without great difficulties, and especially not without a heavyoutlay of money, I have at length discovered Sir Francis Burnett'sbrother in London, the former cashier of the house of Gilmour andBenson. 

"Our Sir Francis is not dead. He was sent by his father to Madras, toattend to very important financial matters, and is expected back by thenext mail steamer. We shall be informed of his arrival on the very dayon which he lands. 

"I have had less trouble in discovering Suky Wood's family. They arepeople very well off, who keep a sailor's tavern in Folkstone. Theyhad news from their daughter about three weeks ago; but, althoughthey profess to be very much attached to her, they could not tell meaccurately where she was just now. All they know is, that she has goneto Jersey to act as barmaid in a public house. 

"But that is enough for me. The island is not very large; and I know itquite well, having once before followed a notary public there, who hadrun off with the money of his clients. You may consider Suky as safe. 

"When you receive this letter, I shall be on my way to Jersey. 

"Send me money there to the Golden Apple Hotel, where I propose tolodge. Life is amazingly dear in London; and I have very little left ofthe sum you gave me on parting. "

Thus, in this direction, at least, every thing was going well. 

Quite elated by this first success, M. Folgat put a thousand-franc noteinto an envelope, directed it as desired, and sent it at once to thepost-office. Then he asked M. De Chandore to lend him his carriage, andwent out to Boiscoran. 

He wanted to see Michael, the tenant's son, who had been so promptin finding Cocoleu, and in bringing him into town. He found him, fortunately, just coming home, bringing in a cart loaded with straw;and, taking him aside, he asked him, --

"Will you render M. De Boiscoran a great service?"

"What must I do?" replied the young man in a tone of voice which said, better than all protestations could have done, that he was ready to doany thing. 

"Do you know Trumence?"

"The former basket-weaver of Tremblade?"

"Exactly. "

"Upon my word, don't I know him? He has stolen apples enough from me, the scamp! But I don't blame him so much, after all; for he is a goodfellow, in spite of that. "

"He was in prison at Sauveterre. "

"Yes, I know; he had broken down a gate near Brechy and"--

"Well, he has escaped. "

"Ah, the scamp!"

"And we must find him again. They have put the gendarmes on his track;but will they catch him?"

Michael burst out laughing. 

"Never in his life!" he said. "Trumence will make his way to Oleron, where he has friends; the gendarmes will be after him in vain. "

M. Folgat slapped Michael amicably on the shoulder, and said, --

"But you, if you choose? Oh! do not look angry at me. We do not want tohave him arrested. All I want you to do is to hand him a letter from me, and to bring me back his answer. "

"If that is all, then I am your man. Just give me time to change myclothes, and to let father know, and I am off. "

Thus M. Folgat began, as far as in him lay, to prepare for futureaction, trying to counteract all the cunning measures of the prosecutionby such combinations as were suggested to him by his experience and hisgenius. 

Did it follow from this, that his faith in ultimate success was strongenough to make him speak of it to his most reliable friends, even, sayto Dr. Seignebos, to M. Magloire, or to good M. Mechinet?

No; for, bearing all the responsibility on his own shoulders, he hadcarefully weighed the contrary chances of the terrible game in which heproposed to engage, and in which the stakes were the honor and the lifeof a man. He knew, better than anybody else, that a mere nothing mightdestroy all his plans, and that Jacques's fate was dependent on the mosttrivial accident. 

Like a great general on the eve of a battle, he managed to control hisfeelings, affecting, for the benefit of others, a confidence which hedid not really feel, and allowing no feature of his face to betray thegreat anxiety which generally kept him awake more than half the night. 

And certainly it required a character of marvellous strength to remainimpassive and resolute under such circumstances. 

Everybody around him was in despair, and gave up all hope. 

The house of M. De Chandore, once so full of life and merriment, hadbecome as silent and sombre as a tomb. 

The last two months had made of M. De Chandore an old man in goodearnest. His tall figure had begun to stoop, and he looked bent andbroken. He walked with difficulty, and his hands began to tremble. 

The Marquis de Boiscoran had been hit even harder. He, who only a fewweeks before looked robust and hearty, now appeared almost decrepit. Hedid not eat, so to say, and did not sleep. He became frightfully thin. It gave him pain to utter a word. 

As to the marchioness, the very sources of life seemed to have beensapped within her. She had had to hear M. Magloire say that Jacques'ssafety would have been put beyond all doubt if they had succeeded inobtaining a change of venue, or an adjournment of the trial. And it washer fault that such a change had not been applied for. That thought wasdeath to her. She had hardly strength enough left to drag herself everyday as far as the jail to see her son. 

The two Misses Lavarande had to bear all the practical difficultiesarising from this sore trial: they went and came, looking as pale asghosts, whispering in a low voice, and walking on tiptoe, as if therehad been a death in the house. 

Dionysia alone showed greater energy as the troubles increased. She didnot indulge in much hope. 

"I know Jacques will be condemned, " she said to M. Folgat. But shesaid, also, that despair belonged to criminals only, and that the fatalmistake for which Jacques was likely to suffer ought to inspire hisfriends with nothing but indignation and thirst for vengeance. 

And, while her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran went out aslittle as possible, she took pains to show herself in town, astonishingthe ladies "in good society" by the way in which she received theirfalse expressions of sympathy. But it was evident that she was onlyheld up by a kind of feverish excitement, which gave to her cheeks theirbright color, to her eyes their brilliancy, and to her voice its clear, silvery ring. Ah! for her sake mainly, M. Folgat longed to end thisuncertainty which is so much more painful than the greatest misfortune. 

The time was drawing near. 

As Dr. Seignebos had announced, the president of the tribunal, M. Domini, had already arrived in Sauveterre. 

He was one of those men whose character is an honor to the bench, fullof the dignity of his profession, but not thinking himself infallible, firm without useless rigor, cold and still kind-hearted, having noother mistress but Justice, and knowing no other ambition but that ofestablishing the truth. 

He had examined Jacques, as he was bound to do; but the examination hadbeen, as it always is, a mere formality, and had led to no result. 

The next step was the selection of a jury. 

The jurymen had already begun to arrive from all parts of thedepartment. They lodged at the Hotel de France, where they took theirmeals in common in the large back dining-room, which is always speciallyreserved for their use. 

In the afternoon one might see them, looking grave and thoughtful, takea walk on the New-Market Square, or on the old ramparts. 

M. Gransiere, also, had arrived. But he kept strictly in retirementin his room at the Hotel de la Poste, where M. Galpin every day spentseveral hours in close conference with him. 

"It seems, " said Mechinet in confidence to M. Folgat, --"it seems theyare preparing an overwhelming charge. "

The day after, Dionysia opened "The Sauveterre Independent, " and foundin it an announcement of the cases set down for each day, --

 MONDAY. .. .. Fraudulent bankruptcy, defalcation, forgery. TUESDAY. .. . Murder, theft. WEDNESDAY. . Infanticide, domestic theft. THURSDAY. .. Incendiarism, and attempted assassination (case of M. De Boiscoran). 

This was, therefore, the great day on which the good people ofSauveterre expected to enjoy the most delightful emotions. Hence therewas an immense pressure brought to bear upon all the principal membersof the court to obtain tickets of admission. People who, the nightbefore, had refused to speak to M. Galpin, would stop him the next dayin the street, and beg him to give them a ticket, not for themselves, but for "their lady. " Finally, the unheard-of fact became known, that tickets were openly sold for money! One family had actually theincomprehensible courage to write to the Marquis de Boiscoran forthree tickets, promising, in return, "by their attitude in court" tocontribute to the acquittal of the accused. 

In the midst of all these rumors, the city was suddenly startled bya list of subscriptions in behalf of the families of the unfortunatefiremen who had perished in the fire at Valpinson. 

Who had started this paper? M. Seneschal tried in vain to discover thehand that had struck this blow. The secret of this treacherous trick waswell kept. But it was a most atrocious trick to revive thus, on the eveof the trial, such mournful memories and such bitter hatred. 

"That man Galpin had a hand in it, " said Dr. Seignebos, grinding histeeth. "And to think that he may, after all, be triumphant! Ah, why didnot Goudar commence his experiment a little sooner?"

For Goudar, while assuring everybody of certain success, asked for time. To disarm the mistrust of an idiot like Cocoleu was not the work of aday or a week. He declared, that, if he should be overhasty, he wouldmost assuredly ruin every thing. 

Otherwise, nothing new occurred. 

Count Claudieuse was getting rather better. 

The agent in Jersey had telegraphed that he was on Suky's track; that hewould certainly catch her, but that he could not say when. 

Michael, finally, had in vain searched the whole district, and been allover Oleron; no one had been able to give him any news of Trumence. 

Thus, on the day when the session began, a council was held, in whichall of Jacques's friends took part; and here it was resolved that hiscounsel would not mention the name of the Countess Claudieuse, andwould, even if the count should offer to give evidence, adhere to theplan of defence suggested by M. Folgat. 

Alas! the chances of success seemed hourly to diminish; for the jury, very much against the usual experience, appeared to be excessivelysevere. The bankrupt was sentenced to twenty years' hard labor. Theman accused of murder could not even obtain the plea of "extenuatingcircumstances, " and was sentenced to death. 

This was on Wednesday. 

It was decided that M. De Chandore and the Marquis and the Marchionessde Boiscoran should attend the trial. They wanted to spare Dionysia theterrible excitement; but she declared that, in that case, she shouldgo alone to the court-house; and thus they were forced to submit to herwill. 

Thanks to an order from M. Domini, M. Folgat and M. Magloire could spendthe evening with Jacques in order to determine all the details, and toagree upon certain replies to be given. 

Jacques looked excessively pale, but was quite composed. And when hiscounsel left him, saying, --

"Keep up your courage and hope, " he replied, --

"Hope I have none; but courage--I assure you, I have courage!"

XXXI. 

At last, in his dark cell, Jacques de Boiscoran saw the day break thatwas to decide his fate. 

He was to be tried to-day. 

The occasion was, of course, too good to be neglected by "The SauveterreIndependent. " Although a morning paper, it published, "in view ofthe gravity of the circumstances, " an evening edition, which a dozennewsboys cried out in the streets up to mid-night. And this was what itsaid, --

ASSIZES AT SAUVETERRE. 

THURSDAY, 23. 

Presiding Judge. --M. DOMINI. 

ASSASSINATION! INCENDIARISM!

[Special Correspondence of the Independent. ]

Whence this unusual commotion, this uproar, this great excitement, inour peaceful city? Whence these gatherings of our public squares, thesegroups in front of all the houses! Whence this restlessness on allfaces, this anxiety in all eyes?

The reason is, that to-day this terrible Valpinson case will be broughtup in court, after having for so many weeks now agitated our people. 

To-day this man who is charged with such fearful crimes is to be tried. 

Hence all steps are eagerly turned towards the court-house: the peopleall hurry, and rush in the same direction. 

The court-house! Long before daylight it was surrounded by an eagermultitude, which the constables and the gendarmes could only withdifficulty keep within bounds. 

They press and crowd and push. Coarse words fly to and fro. From wordsthey pass to gestures, from gestures to blows. A row is imminent. Womencry, men swear, and two peasants from Brechy are arrested on the spot. 

It is well known that there will be few only, happy enough to get in. The great square would not contain all these curious people, who havegathered here from all parts of the district: how should the court-roombe able to hold them?

And still our authorities, always anxious to please their constituents, who have bestowed their confidence upon them, have resorted to heroicmeasures. They have had two partition walls taken down, so that a partof the great hall is added to the court-room proper. 

M. Lautier, the city architect, who is a good judge in such matters, assures us that this immense hall will accommodate twelve hundredpersons. 

But what are twelve hundred persons?

Long before the hour fixed for the opening of the court, every thing isfull to overflowing. A pin might be thrown into the room, and it couldnot fall to the ground. 

Not an inch of space is lost. All around, along the wall men arestanding in close ranks. On both sides of the platform, chairs have beenput, which are occupied by a large number of our first ladies in goodsociety, not only of Sauveterre, however, but also of the neighborhoodand even other cites. Some of them appear in magnificent toilettes. 

A thousand reports are current, a thousand conjectures are formed, whichwe shall take care not to report. Why should we? Let us say, however, that the accused has not availed himself of his right to reject acertain number of jurymen. He has accepted all the names which weredrawn by lot, and which the prosecuting attorney did not object to. 

We obtained this information from an attorney, a friend of ours; and, just as he had told us all about it, a great noise rose at the door, which was followed by rapid moving of chairs, and half-smotheredexclamations. 

It was the family of the accused, who had come in, and now occupied theseats assigned them close by the platform. 

The Marquis de Boiscoran had on his arm Miss Chandore, who wore withgreat grace and dignity a dark gray dress, trimmed with cherry-coloredribbons. M. De Chandore escorted the Marchioness de Boiscoran. Themarquis and the baron looked cold and reserved. The mother of theaccused appears utterly overcome. Miss Chandore, on the contrary, islively, does not seem in the least concerned, and returns with abright smile the few greetings she receives from various parts of thecourt-room. 

But soon they are no longer an object of curiosity. 

The attention of all is now directed towards a large table standingbefore the judges, and on which may be seen a number of articles coveredby large red cloth. 

These are the articles to be used in evidence. 

In the meantime it strikes eleven o'clock. The sheriff's officers moveabout the room, seeing that every thing is in order. 

Then a small door opens on the left, and the counsel for the defenceenter. 

Our readers know who they are. One is M. Magloire, the ornament of ourbar; the other, an advocate from the capital, M. Folgat, quite young, but already famous. 

M. Magloire looks as he does on his best days, and smilingly converseswith the mayor of Sauveterre; while M. Folgat opens his blue bag, andconsults his papers. 

Half-past eleven!

An usher announces, --

The court. 

M. Domini takes the chair. M. Gransiere occupies the seat of theprosecuting attorney. 

Behind them the jurymen sit down, looking grave and solemn. 

Everybody rises, everybody strains his eyes to see, and stands ontiptoe. Some persons in the back rows even get upon their chairs. 

The president has ordered the prisoner to be brought in. 

He appears. 

He is dressed in black, and with great elegance. It is noticed that hewears in his buttonhole the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. 

He looks pale; but his eye is clear and open, full of confidence, yetnot defiant. His carriage is proud, though melancholy. 

He has hardly taken his seat when a gentleman passes over three rows ofchairs, and, in spite of the officers of the court, succeeds in shakinghands with him. It is Dr. Seignebos. 

The president orders the sheriff to proclaim silence; and, afterhaving reminded the audience that all expressions of approbation ordisapprobation are strictly prohibited, he turns to the accused, andasks him, --

"Tell me your first names, your family name, your age, your profession, and your domicile. "

The accused replies, --

"Louis Trivulce Jacques de Boiscoran, twenty-seven years, land-owner, residing at Boiscoran, district of Sauveterre. "

"Sit down, and listen to the charges which are brought against you. "

The clerk, M. Mechinet, thereupon reads the charges, which, in theirterrible simplicity, cause a shudder to pass through the whole audience. 

We shall not repeat them here, as all the incidents which they relateare well known to our readers. 

[Examination of the Accused. ]

PRESIDENT. --Accused, rise and answer clearly. During the preliminaryinvestigation, you have refused to answer several questions. Now thematter must be cleared up. And I am bound to tell you it is to yourinterest to answer frankly. 

ACCUSED. --No one desires more than I do that the truth be known. I amready to answer. 

P. --Why were you so reticent in your first examination?

A. --I though it important for my interests to answer only in court. 

P. --You have heard of what crimes you are accused?

A. --I am innocent. And, first of all, I beg you will allow me to say onething. The crime committed at Valpinson is an atrocious, cowardly crime;but it is at the same time an absurdly stupid crime, more like theunconscious act of a madman. Now, I have always been looked upon as notlacking exactly in intelligence. 

P. --That is a discussion. 

A. --Still, Mr. President--

P. --Hereafter you shall have full liberty to state your argument. Forthe present you must be content to answer the questions which I shallask you. 

A. --I submit. 

P. --Were you not soon to be married?

At this question all eyes are turned towards Miss Chandore, who blushestill she is as red as a poppy, but does not cast down her eyes. 

A. --(In a low voice. ) Yes. 

P. --Did you not write to your betrothed a few hours before the crime wascommitted?

A. --Yes, sir; and I sent her my letter by the son of one of my tenants, Michael. 

P. --What did you write to her?

A. --That important business would prevent me from spending the eveningwith her. 

P. --What was that business?

At the moment when the accused opened his lips to reply, the presidentstopped him by a gesture, and said, --

P. --Take care! You were asked this question during the preliminaryinvestigation, and you replied that you had to go to Brechy to see yourwood-merchant. 

A. --I did indeed make that reply on the spur of the moment. It was notexact. 

P. --Why did you tell a falsehood?

A. --(After an expression of indignation, which was noticed by all. ) Icould not believe that I was in danger. It seemed to me impossible thatI should be reached by an accusation, which nevertheless, has broughtme into this court. Hence I did not deem it necessary to make my privateaffairs public. 

P. --But you very soon found out that you were in danger?

A. --Yes, I did. 

P. --Why did you not tell the truth then?

A. --Because the magistrate who carried on the investigation had been toointimate a friend of mine to inspire me with confidence. 

P. --Explain yourself more fully. 

A. --I must ask leave to say no more. I might, in speaking of M. Galpin, be found to be wanting in moderation. 

A low murmur accompanies this reply made by the accused. 

P. --Such murmurs are improper, and I remind the audience of the respectdue to the court. 

M. Gransiere, the prosecuting attorney, rises, --

"We cannot tolerate such recriminations against a magistrate who hasdone his duty nobly, and in spite of the pain it caused him. If theaccused had well-founded objections to the magistrate, why did he notmake them known? He cannot plead ignorance: he knows the law, he is alawyer himself. His counsel, moreover, are men of experience. "

M. Magloire replies, in his seat, --

"We were of the opinion that the accused ought to ask for a change ofvenue. He declined to follow our advice, being confident, as he said, that his cause was a good one. "

M. Gransiere, resuming his seat, --

"The jury will judge of this plea. "

P. --(To the accused. ) And now are you ready to tell the truth withregard to that business which prevented you from spending the eveningwith your betrothed?

A. --Yes, sir. My wedding was to take place at the church in Brechy, andI had to make my arrangements with the priest about the ceremony. I had, besides, to fulfil certain religious duties. The priest at Brechy, who is a friend of mine, will tell you, that, although no day hadbeen fixed, it had been agreed upon between us that I should come toconfession on one of the evenings of the week since he insisted upon it. 

The audience, which had been expecting some very exciting revelations, seemed to be much disappointed; and ironical laughter was heard invarious directions. 

P. --(In a severe tone of voice. ) This laughter is indecent andobjectionable. Sheriff, take out the persons who presume to laugh. Andonce more I give notice, that, at the first disturbance, I shall orderthe room to be cleared. 

Then, turning again to the accused, he said, --

P. --Go on!

A. --I went therefore to the priest at Brechy, that evening: unluckilythere was no one at home at the parsonage when I got there. I wasringing the third or fourth time in vain, when a little peasant-girlcame by, who told me that she had just met the priest at the Marshalls'Cross-roads. I thought at once I would go and meet him, and went inthat direction. But I walked more than four miles without meeting him. Ithought the girl must have been mistaken, and went home again. 

P. --Is that your explanation?

A. --Yes. 

P. --And you think it a plausible one?

A. --I have promised to say not what is plausible, but what is true. I may confess, however, that, precisely because the explanation is sosimple, I did not venture at first to give it. And yet if no crime hadbeen committed, and I had said the day after, "Yesterday I went to seethe priest at Brechy, and did not find him, " who would have seen anything unnatural in my statement?

P. --And, in order to fulfil so simple a duty, you chose a roundaboutway, which is not only troublesome, but actually dangerous, right acrossthe swamps?

A. --I chose the shortest way. 

P. --Then, why were you so frightened upon meeting young Ribot at theSeille Canal?

A. --I was not frightened, but simply surprised, as one is apt to bewhen suddenly meeting a man where no one is expected. And, if I wassurprised, young Ribot was not less so. 

P. --You see that you hoped to meet no one?

A. --Pardon me, I did not say so. To expect is not the same as to hope. 

P. --Why, then did you take such pains to explain your being there?

A. --I gave no explanations. Young Ribot first told me, laughingly, wherehe was going, and then I told him that I was going to Brechy. 

P. --You told him, also, that you were going through the marshes to shootbirds, and, at the same time you showed him your gun?

A. --That may be. But is that any proof against me? I think just thecontrary. If I had had such criminal intentions as the prosecutionsuggests, I should certainly have gone back after meeting people, knowing that I was exposed to great danger. But I was only going to seemy friend, the priest. 

P. --And for such a visit you took your gun?

A. --My land lies in the woods and marshes, and there was not a day whenI did not bag a rabbit or a waterfowl. Everybody in the neighborhoodwill tell you that I never went out without a gun. 

P. --And on your return, why did you go through the forest ofRochepommier?

A. --Because, from the place where I was on the road, it was probably theshortest way to Boiscoran. I say probably, because just then I did notthink much about that. A man who is taking a walk would be very muchembarrassed, in the majority of cases, if he had to give a preciseaccount why he took one road rather than another. 

P. --You were seen in the forest by a woodcutter, called Gaudry?

A. --So I was told by the magistrate. 

P. --That witness deposes that you were in a state of great excitement. You were tearing leaves from the branches, you were talking loud. 

A. --I certainly was very much vexed at having lost my evening, andparticularly vexed at having relied on the little peasant-girl. It isquite likely that I might have exclaimed, as I walked along, "Plagueupon my friend, the priest, who goes and dines in town!" or some suchwords. 

There was a smile in the assembly, but not such as to attract thepresident's attention. 

P. --You know that the priest of Brechy was dining out that day?

M. Magloire rose, and said, --

"It is through us, sir, that the accused has found out this fact. Whenhe told us how he had spent the evening, we went to see the priestat Brechy, who told us how it came about that neither he nor hisold servant was at the parsonage. At our request the priest has beensummoned. We shall also produce another priest, who at that time passedthe Marshalls' Cross-roads, and was the one whom the little girl hadseen. "

Having made a sign to counsel to sit down again, the president once moreturns to the accused. 

P. --The woman Courtois who met you deposes that you looked very curious. You did not speak to her: you were in great haste to escape from her. 

A. --The night was much too dark for the woman to see my face. She askedme to render her a slight service, and I did so. I did not speak to her, because I had nothing to say to her. I did not leave her suddenly, butonly got ahead of her, because her ass walked very slowly. 

At a sign from the president, the ushers raise the red cloth which coverthe objects on the table. 

Great curiosity is manifested by the whole audience; and all rise, andstretch their necks to see better. On the table are displayed clothes, a pair of velveteen trousers, a shooting-jacket of maroon-coloredvelveteen, an old straw hat, and a pair of dun-colored leather boots. Bytheir side lie a double-barrelled gun, packages of cartridges, two bowlsfilled with small-shot, and, finally, a large china basin, with a darksediment at the bottom. 

P. --(Showing these objects to the accused. ) Are those the clothes whichyou wore the evening of the crime?

A. --Yes, sir. 

P. --A curious costume in which to visit a venerable ecclesiastic, and toperform religious duties. 

A. --The priest at Brechy was my friend. Our intimacy will explain, evenif it does not justify, the liberty I took. 

P. --Do you also recognize this basin? The water has been allowed toevaporate, and the residue alone remains there on the bottom. 

A. --It is true, that, when the magistrate appeared at my house, he foundthere the basin full of dark water, which was thick with half-burnt_debris_. He asked me about this water, and I did not hesitate a momentto tell him that I had washed my hands in it the evening before, aftermy return home. 

Is it not evident, that if I had been guilty, my first effort wouldhave been to put every evidence of my crime out of the way? And yet thiscircumstance is looked upon as the strongest evidence of my guilt, andthe prosecution produces it as the most serious charge against me. 

P. --It is very strong and serious indeed. 

A. --Well, nothing can be more easily explained than that. I am a greatsmoker. When I left home the evening of the crime, I took cigars inabundance; but, when I was about to light one, I found that I had nomatches. 

M. Magloire rises, and says, --

"And I wish to point out that this is not one of those explanationswhich are invented, after the fact, to meet the necessities of adoubtful case. We have absolute and overwhelming proof of it. M. DeBoiscoran did not have the little match-box which he usually carriesabout him, at that time, because he had left it at M. De Chandore'shouse, on the mantelpiece, where I have seen it, and where it still is. "

P. --That is sufficient, M. Magloire. Let the defendant go on. 

A. --I wanted to smoke; and so I resorted to the usual expedient, whichall sportsmen know. I tore open one of my cartridges, put, instead ofthe lead, a piece of paper inside, and set it on fire. 

P. --And thus you get a light?

A. --Not always, but certainly in one case out of three. 

P. --And the operation blackens the hands?

A. --Not the operation itself. But, when I had lit my cigar, I could notthrow away the burning paper as it was: I might have kindled a regularfire. 

P. --In the marshes?

A. --But, sir, I smoked five or six cigars during the evening, whichmeans that I had to repeat the operation a dozen times at least, andin different places, --in the woods and on the high-road. Each time Iquenched the fire with my fingers; and, as the powder is always greasy, my hands naturally became soon as black as those of a charcoal-burner. 

The accused gives this explanation in a perfectly natural but stillrather excited manner, which seems to make a great impression. 

P. --Let us go on to your gun. Do you recognize it?

A. --Yes, sir. May I look at it?

P. --Yes. 

The accused takes up the gun with feverish eagerness, snaps the twococks, and puts one of his fingers inside the barrels. 

He turns crimson, and, bending down to his counsel, says a few words tothem so quickly and so low, that they do not reach us. 

P. --What is the matter?

M. MAGLOIRE. --(Rising. ) A fact has become patent which at onceestablishes the innocence of M. De Boiscoran. By providentialintercession, his servant Anthony had cleaned the gun two days beforethe day of the crime. It appears now that one of the barrels is stillclean, and in good condition. Hence it cannot be M. De Boiscoran who hasfired twice at Count Claudieuse. 

During this time the accused has gone up to the table on which theobjects are lying. He wraps his handkerchief around the ramrod, slips itinto one of the barrels, draws it out again, and shows that it is hardlysoiled. 

The whole audience is in a state of great excitement. 

P. --Do the same thing to the other barrel. 

The accused does it. The handkerchief remains clean. 

P. --You see, and still you have told us that you had burnt, perhaps, adozen cartridges to light your cigars. But the prosecution had foreseenthis objection, and they are prepared to meet it. Sheriff, bring in thewitness, Maucroy. 

Our readers all know this gentleman, whose beautiful collection ofweapons, sporting-articles, and fishing-tackle, is one of the ornamentsof our great Square. He is dressed up, and without hesitation takes therequired oath. 

P. --Repeat your deposition with regard to this gun. 

WITNESS. --It is an excellent gun, and very costly: such guns are notmade in France, where people are too economical. 

At this answer the whole audience laughs. M. Maucroy is not exactlyfamous for cheap bargains. Even some of the jurymen can hardly controltheir laughter. 

P. --Never mind your reflections on that object. Tell us only what youknow about the peculiarities of this gun. 

WITNESS. --Well, thanks to a peculiar arrangement of the cartridges, andthanks, also, to the special nature of the fulminating material, thebarrels hardly ever become foul. 

A. --(Eagerly. ) You are mistaken, sir. I have myself cleaned my gunfrequently; and I have, just on the contrary, found the barrelsextremely foul. 

WITNESS. --Because you had fired too often. But I mean to say that youcan use up two or three cartridges without a trace being left in thebarrels. 

A. --I deny that positively. 

P. --(To witness. ) And if a dozen cartridges were burnt?

WITNESS. --Oh, then, the barrels would be very foul. 

P. --Examine the barrels, and tell us what you see. 

WITNESS. --(After a minute examination. ) I declare that two cartridgescannot have been used since the gun was cleaned. 

P. --(To the accused. ) Well, what becomes of that dozen cartridges whichyou have used up to light your cigars, and which had blackened yourhands so badly?

M. MAGLOIRE. --The question is too serious to be left entirely in thehands of a single witness. 

THE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY. --We only desire the truth. It is easy to makean experiment. 

WITNESS. --Oh, certainly!

P. --Let it be done. 

Witness puts a cartridge into each barrel, and goes to the window toexplode them. The sudden explosion is followed by the screams of severalladies. 

WITNESS. --(Returning, and showing that the barrels are no more foul thanthey were before. ) Well, you see I was right. 

P. --(To the accused. ) You see this circumstance on which you relied sosecurely, so far from helping you, only proves that your explanation ofthe blackened state of your hands was a falsehood. 

Upon the president's order, witness is taken out, and the examination ofthe accused is continued. 

P. --What were your relations with Count Claudieuse?

A. --We had no intercourse with each other. 

P. --But it was known all over the country that you hated him?

A. --That is a mistake. I declare, upon my honor, that I always lookedupon him as the best and most honorable of men. 

P. --There, at least, you agree with all who knew him. Still you are atlaw with him?

A. --I have inherited that suit from my uncle, together with his fortune. I carried it on, but very quietly. I asked for nothing better than acompromise. 

P. --And, when Count Claudieuse refused, you were incensed?

A. --No. 

P. --You were so irritated against him, that you once actually aimed yourgun at him. At another time you said, "He will not leave me alone till Iput a ball into him. " Do not deny! You will hear what the witnesses say. 

Thereupon, the accused resumes his place. He looks as confident asever, and carries his head high. He has entirely overcome any feelingof discouragement, and converses with his counsel in the most composedmanner. 

There can be no doubt, that, at this stage of the proceedings, publicopinion is on his side. He has won the good-will even of those who camethere strongly prejudiced. No one can help being impressed by his proudbut mournful expression of fate; and all are touched by the extremesimplicity of his answers. 

Although the discussion about the gun has not turned out to hisadvantage, it does not seem to have injured him. People are eagerlydiscussing the question of the fouling of guns. A number of incredulouspersons, whom the experiment has not convinced, maintain that M. Maucroyhas been too rash in his statements. Others express surprise at thereserve shown by counsel, --less by that of M. Folgat, who is unknownhere, than by that of M. Magloire, who usually allows no opportunity toescape, but is sure to profit by the smallest incident. 

The proceedings are not exactly suspended; but there is a pause, whilstthe ushers cover the articles on the table once more with red cloth, and, after several comings and goings, roll a large arm-chair in frontof the judge's seat. 

At last one of the ushers comes up to the president, and whisperssomething into his ear. 

The president only nods his head. 

When the usher has left the room, M. Domini says, --

"We shall now proceed to hear the witnesses, and we propose to beginwith Count Claudieuse. Although seriously indisposed, he has preferredto appear in court. "

At these words Dr. Seignebos is seen to start up, as if he wished toaddress the court; but one of his friends, sitting by him, pulls himdown by his coat. M. Folgat makes a sign to him, and he sits down again. 

P. --Sheriff, bring in Count Claudieuse. 

[Examination of Witnesses. ]

The small door through which the armorer Maucroy had been admitted opensonce more, and Count Claudieuse enters. Supported and almost carried byhis man-servant. 

He is greeted by a murmur of sympathetic pity. He is frightfully thin;and his features look as haggard as if he were about to give up theghost. The whole vitality of his system seems to have centred in hiseyes, which shine with extraordinary brilliancy. 

He takes the oath in an almost inaudible voice. 

But the silence is so deep, that when the president asks him the usualquestion, "Do you swear to tell the whole truth?" and he answers, "Iswear, " the words are distinctly heard all over the court-room. 

P. --(Very kindly. ) We are very much obliged to you, sir, for the effortwhich you have made. That chair has been brought in for you: please sitdown. 

COUNT CLAUDIEUSE. --I thank you, sir; but I am strong enough to stand. 

P. --Please tell us, then, what you know of the attempt made on yourlife. 

C. C. --It might have been eleven o'clock: I had gone to bed a littlewhile before, and blown out my light. I was in that half state which isneither waking nor sleeping, when I saw my room lighted up by a dazzlingglare. I saw it was fire. I jumped out of bed, and, only lightlydressed, rushed down the stairs. I found some difficulty in opening theouter door, which I had locked myself. At last I succeeded. But I had nosooner put my foot outside than I felt a terrible pain in my right side, and at the same time I heard an explosion of fire-arms. Instinctively Irushed towards the place from which the shot seemed to have been fired;but, before I had taken three steps, I was struck once more in myshoulder, and fell down unconscious. 

P. --How long a time was there between the first and the second shots?

C. C. --Almost three or four seconds. 

P. --Was that time enough to distinguish the murderer?

C. C. --Yes; and I saw him run from behind a wood-pile, where he had beenlying in ambush, and escape into the country. 

P. --You can tell us, no doubt, how he was dressed?

C. C. --Certainly. He had on a pair of light gray trousers, a dark coat, and a large straw hat. 

At a sign from the president, and in the midst of the most profoundsilence, the ushers remove the red cloth from the table. 

P. --(Pointing at the clothes of the accused. ) Does the costume which youdescribe correspond with those cloths?

C. C. --Of course; for they are the same. 

P. --Then you must have recognized the murderer. 

C. C. --The fire was so large at that time, that it was as bright asdaylight. I recognized M. Jacques de Boiscoran. 

There was, probably, in the whole vast audience assembled under thatroof, not a heart that was not seized with unspeakable anguish whenthese crushing words were uttered. 

We were so fully prepared for them, that we could watch the accusedclosely. 

Not a muscle in his face seemed to move. His counsel showed as littleany signs of surprise or emotion. 

Like ourselves, the president also, and the prosecuting attorney, hadbeen watching the accused and his counsel. Did they expect a protest, ananswer, any thing at all? Perhaps they did. 

But, as nothing came, the president continued, turning to witness, --

P. --Your declaration is a very serious one, sir. 

C. C. --I know its weight. 

P. --It is entirely different from your first deposition made before theinvestigating magistrate. 

C. C. --It is. 

P. --When you were examined a few hours after the crime, you declaredthat you had not recognized the murderer. More than that, when M. DeBoiscoran's name was mentioned, you seemed to be indignant of such asuspicion, and almost became surety yourself for his innocence. 

C. C. --That was contrary to truth. I felt a very natural sense ofcommiseration, and tried to save a man who belonged to a highly esteemedfamily from disgraceful punishment. 

P. --But now?

C. C. --Now I see that I was wrong, and that the law ought to have itscourse. And this is my reason for coming here, --although afflicted by adisease which never spares, and on the point of appearing before God--inorder to tell you M. De Boiscoran is guilty. I recognized him. 

P. --(To the accused. ) Do you hear?

The accused rises and says, --

A. --By all that is dear and sacred to me in the world, I swear that Iam innocent. Count Claudieuse says he is about to appear before God: Iappeal to the justice of God. 

Sobs well-nigh drown the voice of the accused. The Marchioness deBoiscoran is overcome by a nervous attack. She is carried out stiff andinanimate; and Dr. Seignebos and Miss Chandore hasten after her. 

A. --(To Count Claudieuse. ) You have killed my mother!

Certainly, all who had hoped for scenes of thrilling interest were notdisappointed. Everybody looks overcome with excitement. Tears appear inthe eyes of almost all the ladies. 

And yet those who watch the glances which are exchanged between M. DeBoiscoran and Count Claudieuse cannot help asking themselves, if thereis not something else between these two men, besides what the trial hasmade known. We cannot explain to ourselves these singular answers givento the president's questions, nor does any one understand the silenceobserved by M. De Boiscoran's counsel. Do they abandon their client? No;for we see them go up to him, shake hands with him, and lavish upon himevery sign of friendly consolation and encouragement. 

We may even be permitted to say, that, to all appearances, the presidenthimself and the prosecuting attorney were, for a moment, perfectlyovercome with surprise. At all events, we thought so at the moment. 

But the president continues, --

P. --I have but just been asking the accused, count, whether there wasany ground of enmity between you. 

C. C. --(In a steadily declining voice. ) I know no other ground except ourlawsuit about a little stream of water. 

P. --Has not the accused once threatened to fire at you?

C. C. --Yes; but I did not think he was in earnest, and I never resentedthe matter. 

P. Do you persist in your declaration?

C. C. --I do. And once more, upon my oath, I declare solemnly that Irecognized, in such a manner as to prevent any possible mistake, M. Jacques Boiscoran. 

It was evidently time that Count Claudieuse should end his evidence. Hebegins to totter; his eyes close; his head rolls from side to side; andtwo ushers have to come to his assistance to enable him, with the helpof his own servant, to leave the room. 

Is the Countess Claudieuse to be called next?

It was thought so; but it was not so. The countess being kept by thebedside of one of her daughters, who is most dangerously ill, will notbe called at all; and the clerk of the court is ordered to read herdeposition. 

Although her description of the terrible event is very graphic, it contains no new facts, and will remain without influence on theproceedings. 

The next witness is Ribot. 

This is a fine handsome countryman, a regular village cock, with apink-and-blue cravat around his neck, and a huge gold chain danglingfrom his watch-pocket. He seems to be very proud of his appearance andlooks around with an air of the most perfect self-satisfaction. 

In the same way he relates his meeting with the accused in a tone ofgreat importance. He knows every thing and explains every thing. Witha little encouragement he would, no doubt, declare that the accused hadconfided to him all his plans of incendiarism and murder. His answersare almost all received with great hilarity, which bring down upon theaudience another and very severe reprimand from the president. 

The witness Gaudry, who succeeds him, is a small, wretched-looking man, with a false and timid eye, who exhausts himself in bows and scrapes. Quite different from Ribot, he seems to have forgotten every thing. Itis evident he is afraid of committing himself. He praises the count; buthe does not speak the less well of M. De Boiscoran. He assures the courtof his profound respect for them all, --for the ladies and gentlemenpresent, for everybody, in fine. 

The woman Courtois, who comes next, evidently wishes she were a thousandmiles away. The president has to make the very greatest efforts toobtain, word by word, her evidence, which, after all, amounts to next tonothing. 

Then follow two farmers from Brechy, who have been present at theviolent altercation which ended in M. De Boiscoran's aiming with his gunat Count Claudieuse. 

Their account, interrupted by numberless parentheses, is very obscure. One of the counsel of the defendant requests them to be more explicit;and thereupon they become utterly unintelligible. Besides, theycontradict each other. One has looked upon the act of the accused as amere jest: the other has looked upon it so seriously as to throw himselfbetween the two men, in order to prevent M. De Boiscoran from killinghis adversary then and there. 

Once more the accused protests, energetically, he never hated CountClaudieuse: there was no reason why he should hate him. 

The obstinate peasant insists upon it that a lawsuit is always asufficient reason for hating a man. And thereupon he undertakes toexplain the lawsuit, and how Count Claudieuse, by stopping the water ofthe Seille, overflowed M. De Boiscoran's meadows. 

The president at last stops the discussion, and orders another witnessto be brought in. 

This man swears he has heard M. De Boiscoran say, that, sooner or later, he would put a ball into Count Claudieuse. He adds, that the accusedis a terrible man, who threatened to shoot people upon the slightestprovocation. And, to support his evidence, he states that once before, to the knowledge of the whole country, M. De Boiscoran has fired at aman. 

The accused undertakes to explain this. A scamp, who he thinks was noone else but the witness on the stand, came every night and stole histenants' fruit and vegetables. One night he kept watch, and gave him aload of salt. He does not know whether he hit him. At all events, thethief never complained, and thus was never found out. 

The next witness is a constable from Brechy. He deposes that once CountClaudieuse, by stopping up the waters of the little stream, theSeille, had caused M. De Boiscoran a loss of twenty thousand weight offirst-rate hay. He confesses that such a bad neighbor would certainlyhave exasperated him. 

The prosecuting attorney does not deny the fact, but adds, that CountClaudieuse offered to pay damages. M. De Boiscoran had refused withinsulting haughtiness. 

The accused replies, that he had refused upon the advice of his lawyer, but that he had not used insulting words. 

Next appeared the witnesses summoned by the defence. 

The first is the excellent priest from Brechy. He confirms the statementof the accused. He was dining, the evening of the crime, at the houseof M. De Besson; his servant had come for him; and the parsonage wasdeserted. He states that he had really arranged with M. De Boiscoranthat the latter should come some evening of that week to fulfil thereligious duties which the church requires before it allows a marriageto be consecrated. He has known Jacques de Boiscoran from a child, andknows no better and no more honorable man. In his opinion, that hatred, of which so much has been said, never had any existence. He cannotbelieve, and does not believe, that the accused is guilty. 

The second witness is the priest of an adjoining parish. He states, that, between nine and ten o'clock, he was on the road, near theMarshalls' Cross-roads. The night was quite dark. He is of the same sizeas the priest at Brechy; and the little girl might very well have takenhim for the latter, thus misleading M. De Boiscoran. 

Three other witnesses are introduced; and then, as neither the accusednor his counsel have any thing to add, the prosecuting attorney beginshis speech. 

[The Charge. ]

M. Gransiere's eloquence is so widely known, and so justly appreciated, that we need not refer to it here. We will only say that he surpassedhimself in this charge, which, for more than an hour, held the largeassembly in anxious and breathless suspense, and caused all hearts tovibrate with the most intense excitement. 

He commences with a description of Valpinson, "this poetic and charmingresidence, where the noble old trees of Rochepommier are mirrored in thecrystal waves of the Seille. 

"There, " he went on to say, --"there lived the Count and the CountessClaudieuse, --he one of those noblemen of a past age who worshippedhonor, and were devoted to duty; she one of those women who are theglory of their sex, and the perfect model of all domestic virtues. 

"Heaven had blessed their union, and given them two children, to whomthey were tenderly attached. Fortune smiled upon their wise efforts. Esteemed by all, cherished, and revered, they lived happy, and mighthave counted upon long years of prosperity. 

"But no. Hate was hovering over them. 

"One evening, a fatal glare arouses the count. He rushes out; he hearsthe report of a gun. He hears it a second time, and he sinks down, bathed in his blood. The countess also is alarmed by the explosion, andhastens to the spot: she stumbles; she sees the lifeless body of herhusband, and sinks unconscious to the ground. 

"Are the children also to perish? No. Providence watches. A flash ofintelligence pierces the night of an insane man, who rushes throughthe flames, and snatches the children from the fire that was alreadythreatening their couch. 

"Their lives are saved; but the fire continues its destructive march. 

"At the sound of the terrible fire-bell, all the inhabitants of theneighboring villages hurry to the spot. But there is no one to directtheir efforts; there are no engines; and they can do nothing. 

"But all of a sudden a distant rumbling sound revives hope in theirhearts. They know the fire-engines are coming. They come; they reach thespot; and whatever men can do is done at once. 

"But great God! What mean those cries of horror which suddenly rise onall sides? The roof of the house is falling, and buries under its ruinstwo men, the most zealous and most courageous of all the zealous andcourageous men, --Bolton the drummer, who had just now summoned hisneighbors to come to the rescue, and Guillebault, a father with fivechildren. 

"High above the crash and the hissing of flames rise their heart-rendingcries. They call for help. Will they be allowed to perish? A gendarmerushes forward, and with him a farmer from Brechy. But their heroismis useless: the monster keeps its prey. The two men also are apparentlydoomed; and only by unheard-of efforts, and at great peril of life, canthey be rescued from the furnace. But they are so grievously wounded, that they will remain infirm for the rest of their lives, compelled toappeal to public charity for their subsistence. "

Then the prosecuting attorney proceeds to paint the whole of thedisaster at Valpinson in the sombrest colors, and with all the resourcesof his well-known eloquence. He describes the Countess Claudieuse asshe kneels by the side of her dying husband, while the crowd is eagerlypressing around the wounded man and struggling with the flames for thecharred remains of the unfortunate firemen. With increasing vehemence, he says next, --

"And during all this time what becomes of the author of these fearfulmisdeeds? When his hatred is gratified, he flees through the wood, andreturns to his home. Remorse, there is none. As soon as he reaches thehouse, he eats, drinks, smokes his cigar. His position in the country issuch, and the precautionary measures he had taken appear to him so wellchosen, that he thinks he is above suspicion. He is calm. He feels soperfectly safe, that he neglects the commonest precautions, and does noteven take the trouble of pouring out the water in which he has washedhis hands, blackened as they are by the fire he has just kindled. 

"He forgets that Providence whose torch on great occasions illumines andguides human justice. 

"And how, indeed, could the law ever have expected to find the guiltyman in one of the most magnificent chateaux of the country but for adirect intervention of Providence?

"For the incendiary, the assassin, was actually there, at the ChateauBoiscoran. 

"And let no one come and tell us that the past life of Jacques deBoiscoran is such as to protect him against the formidable charges thatare brought against him. We know his past life. 

"A perfect model of those idle young men who spend in riotous living afortune painfully amassed by their fathers, Jacques de Boiscoran had noteven a profession. Useless to society, a burden to himself, he passedthrough life like a ship without rudder and without compass, indulgingin all kinds of unhealthy fashions in order to spend the hours that wereweighing heavily upon him. 

"And yet he was ambitious; but his ambition lay in the direction ofthose dangerous and wicked intrigues which inevitably lead men to crime. 

"Hence we see him mixed up with all those sterile and wanton partymovements which discredit our days, uttering over and over again hollowphrases in condemnation of all that is noble and sacred, appealing tothe most execrable passions of the multitude"--

M. MAGLOIRE. --If this is a political affair, we ought to be informedbeforehand. 

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. --There is no question of politics here. We speak ofthe life of a man who has been an apostle of strife. 

M. MAGLOIRE. --Does the attorney-general fancy he is preaching peace?

PRESIDENT. --I request counsel for the defence not to interrupt. 

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. --And it is in this ambition of the accused that wemust look for a key to that terrible hatred which has led him tocommit such crimes. That lawsuit about a stream of water is a matter ofcomparatively little importance. But Jacques de Boiscoran was preparingto become a candidate for election. 

A. --I never dreamed of it. 

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. --(Not noticing the interruption. ) He did not say so;but his friends said it for him, and went about everywhere, repeatingthat by his position, his wealth, and his opinions, he was the man bestworthy of the votes of Republicans. And he would have had an excellentchance, if there had not stood between him and the object of his desiresCount Claudieuse, who had already more than once succeeded in defeatingsimilar plots. 

M. MAGLOIRE. --(Warmly. ) Do you refer to me?

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. --I allude to no one. 

M. MAGLOIRE. --You might just as well say at once, that my friends aswell as myself are all M. De Boiscoran's accomplices; and that we haveemployed him to rid us of a formidable adversary. 

ATTORNEY-GENERAL. --(Continues. ) Gentlemen, this is the real motive ofthe crime. Hence that hatred which the accused soon is unable to concealany longer, which overflows in invectives, which breaks forth in threatsof death, and which actually carries him so far that he points his gunat Count Claudieuse. 

The attorney-general next passes on to examine the charges, which, hedeclares, are overwhelming and irrefutable. Then he goes on, --

"But what need is there of such questions after the crushing evidence ofCount Claudieuse? You have heard it, --on the point of appearing beforeGod!

"His first impulse was to follow the generous nature of his heart, andto pardon the man who had attempted his life. He desired to save him;but, as he felt death come nearer, he saw that he had no right to shielda criminal from the sword of justice: he remembered that there wereother victims beside himself. 

"And then, rising from his bed of agony, he dragged himself here intocourt, in order to tell you. 'That is the man! By the light of the firewhich he had kindled, I saw him and recognized him. He is the man!'

"And could you hesitate after such evidence? No! I can not and will notbelieve it. After such crimes, society expects that justice should bedone, --justice in the name of Count Claudieuse on his deathbed, --justicein the name of the dead, --justice in the name of Bolton's mother, and ofGuillebault's widow and her five children. "

A murmur of approbation accompanied the last words of M. Gransiere, andcontinued for some time after he had concluded. There is not a woman inthe whole assembly who does not shed tears. 

P. --The counsel for the defence. 

[Pleading. ]

As M. Magloire had so far alone taken an active part in the defence, itwas generally believed that he would speak. But it was not so. M. Folgatrises. 

Our court-house here in Sauveterre has at various times reechoed thewords of almost all our great masters of forensic eloquence. We haveheard Berryer, Dufaure, Jules Favre, and others; but, even after theseillustrious orators, M. Folgat still succeeds in astonishing and movingus deeply. 

We can, of course, report here only a few of his phrases; and we mustutterly abandon all hope of giving an idea of his proud and disdainfulattitude, his admirable manner, full of authority, and especially of hisfull, rich voice, which found its way into every heart. 

"To defend certain men against certain charges, " he began, "would beto insult them. They cannot be touched. To the portrait drawn by theprosecuting attorney, I shall simply oppose the answer given by thevenerable priest of Brechy. What did he tell you? M. De Boiscoran is thebest and most honorable of men. There is the truth; they wish to makehim out a political intriguant. He had, it is true, a desire tobe useful to his country. But, while others debated, he acted. TheSauveterre Volunteers will tell you to what passions he appealed beforethe enemy, and by what intrigues he won the cross which Chausy himselffastened to his breast. He wanted power, you say. No: he wished forhappiness. You speak of a letter written by him, the evening of thecrime, to his betrothed. I challenge you to read it. It covers fourpages: before you have read two, you will be forced to abandon thecase. "

Then the young advocate repeats the evidence given by the accused; andreally, under the influence of his eloquence, the charges seem to fallto the ground, and to be utterly annihilated. 

"And now, " he went on, "what other evidence remains there? The evidencegiven by Count Claudieuse. It is crushing, you say. I say it issingular. What! here is a witness who sees his last hour drawing nigh, and who yet waits for the last minute of his life before he speaks. Andyou think that is natural! You pretend that it was generosity which madehim keep silent. I, I ask you how the most cruel enemy could have actedmore atrociously?

"'Never was a case clearer, ' says the prosecution. On the contrary, I maintain that never was a case more obscure; and that, so far fromfathoming the secret of the whole affair, the prosecution has not foundout the first word of it. "

M. Folgat takes his seat, and the sheriff's officers have to interfereto prevent applause from breaking out. If the vote had been taken atthat moment, M. De Boiscoran would have been acquitted. 

But the proceedings are suspended for fifteen minutes; and in themeantime the lamps are lit, for night begins to fall. 

When the president resumes his chair, the attorney-general claims hisright to speak. 

"I shall not reply as I had at first proposed. Count Claudieuse isabout to pay with his life for the effort which he has made to place hisevidence before you. He could not even be carried home. He is perhapsat this very moment drawing his last breath upon earth in the adjoiningroom. "

The counsel for the defence do not desire to address the jury; and, asthe accused also declares that he has nothing more to say, the presidentsums up, and the jurymen withdrew to their room to deliberate. 

The heat is overwhelming, the restraint almost unbearable; and all facesbear the marks of oppressive fatigue; but nobody thinks of leaving thehouse. A thousand contradictory reports circulate through the excitedcrowd. Some say that Count Claudieuse has died; others, on the contrary, report him better, and add that he has sent for the priest from Brechy. 

At last, a few minutes after nine o'clock, the jury reappears. 

Jacques de Boiscoran is declared guilty, and, on the score ofextenuating circumstances, sentenced to twenty years' penal labor. 

THIRD PART--COCOLEU

I. 

Thus M. Galpin triumphed, and M. Gransiere had reason to be proud of hiseloquence. Jacques de Boiscoran had been found guilty. 

But he looked calm, and even haughty, as the president, M. Domini, pronounced the terrible sentence, a thousand times braver at thatmoment than the man who, facing the squad of soldiers from whom he is toreceive death, refuses to have his eyes bandaged, and himself gives theword of command with a firm voice. 

That very morning, a few moments before the beginning of the trial, hehad said to Dionysia, --

"I know what is in store for me; but I am innocent. They shall not seeme turn pale, nor hear me ask for mercy. "

And, gathering up all the energy of which the human heart is capable, hehad made a supreme effort at the decisive moment, and kept his word. 

Turning quietly to his counsel at the moment when the last words of thepresident were lost among the din of the crowd, he said, --

"Did I not tell you that the day would come when you yourself would bethe first to put a weapon into my hands?"

M. Folgat rose promptly. 

He showed neither the anger nor the disappointment of an advocate whohas just had a cause which he knew to be just. 

"That day has not come yet, " he replied. "Remember your promise. As longas there remains a ray of hope, we shall fight. Now we have much morethan mere hope at this moment. In less than a month, in a week, perhapsto-morrow, we shall have our revenge. "

The unfortunate man shook his head. 

"I shall nevertheless have undergone the disgrace of a condemnation, " hemurmured. 

The taking the ribbon of the Legion of Honor from his buttonhole, hehanded it to M. Folgat, saying--

"Keep this in memory of me, and if I never regain the right to wearit"--

In the meantime, however, the gendarmes, whose duty it was to guard theprisoner, had risen; and the sergeant said to Jacques, --

"We must go, sir. Come, come! You need not despair. You need not losecourage. All is not over yet. There is still the appeal for you, andthen the petition for pardon, not to speak of what may happen, andcannot be foreseen. "

M. Folgat was allowed to accompany the prisoner, and was getting readyto do so; but the latter said, with a pained voice, --

"No, my friend, please leave me alone. Others have more need of yourpresence than I have. Dionysia, my poor father, my mother. Go to them. Tell them that the horror of my condemnation lies in the thought ofthem. May they forgive me for the affliction which I cause them, and forthe disgrace of having me for their son, for her betrothed!"

Then, pressing the hands of his counsel, he added, --

"And you, my friends, how shall I ever express to you my gratitude? Ah!if incomparable talents, and matchless zeal and ability, had sufficed, I know I should be free. But instead of that"--he pointed at the littledoor through which he was to pass, and said in a heartrending tone, --

"Instead of that, there is the door to the galleys. Henceforth"--

A sob cut short his words. His strength was exhausted; for if there are, so to say, no limits to the power of endurance of the spirit, the energyof the body has its bounds. Refusing the arm which the sergeant offeredhim, he rushed out of the room. 

M. Magloire was well-nigh beside himself with grief. 

"Ah! why could we not save him?" he said to his young colleague. "Letthem come and speak to me again of the power of conviction. But we mustnot stay here: let us go!"

They threw themselves into the crowd, which was slowly dispersing, allpalpitating yet with the excitement of the day. 

A strange reaction was already beginning to set in, --a reactionperfectly illogic, and yet intelligible, and by no means rare undersimilar circumstances. 

Jacques de Boiscoran, an object of general execration as long as hewas only suspected, regained the sympathy of all the moment he wascondemned. It was as if the fatal sentence had wiped out the horror ofthe crime. He was pitied; his fate was deplored; and as they thoughtof his family, his mother, and his betrothed, they almost cursed theseverity of the judges. 

Besides, even the least observant among those present had been struck bythe singular course which the proceedings had taken. There was notone, probably, in that vast assembly who did not feel that there wasa mysterious and unexplored side of the case, which neither theprosecution nor the defence had chosen to approach. Why had Cocoleu beenmentioned only once, and then quite incidentally? He was an idiot, to besure; but it was nevertheless through his evidence alone that suspicionshad been aroused against M. De Boiscoran. Why had he not been summonedeither by the prosecution or by the defence?

The evidence given by Count Claudieuse, also, although apparently soconclusive at the moment, was now severely criticised. 

The most indulgent said, --

"That was not well done. That was a trick. Why did he not speak outbefore? People do not wait for a man to be down before they strike him. "

Others added, --

"And did you notice how M. De Boiscoran and Count Claudieuse looked ateach other? Did you hear what they said to each other? One might havesworn that there was something else, something very different from amere lawsuit, between them. "

And on all sides people repeated, --

"At all events, M. Folgat is right. The whole matter is far frombeing cleared up. The jury was long before they agreed. Perhaps M. De Boiscoran would have been acquitted, if, at the last moment, M. Gransiere had not announced the impending death of Count Claudieuse inthe adjoining room. "

M. Magloire and M. Folgat listened to all these remarks, as they heardthem in the crowd here and there, with great satisfaction; for in spiteof all the assertions of magistrates and judges, in spite of all thethundering condemnations against the practice, public opinion will findan echo in the court-room; and, more frequently than we think, publicopinion does dictate the verdict of the jury. 

"And now, " said M. Magloire to his young colleague, "now we can becontent. I know Sauveterre by heart. I tell you public opinion ishenceforth on our side. "

By dint of perseverance they made their way, at last, out through thenarrow door of the court-room, when one of the ushers stopped them. 

"They wish to see you, " said the man. 

"Who?"

"The family of the prisoner. Poor people! They are all in there, inM. Mechinet's office. M. Daubigeon told me to keep it for them. TheMarchioness de Boiscoran also was carried there when she was taken illin the court-room. "

He accompanied the two gentlemen, while telling them this, to the end ofthe hall; then he opened a door, and said, --

"They are in there, " and withdrew discreetly. 

There, in an easy-chair, with closed eyes, and half-open lips, layJacques's mother. Her livid pallor and her stiff limbs made her looklike a dead person; but, from time to time, spasms shook her whole body, from head to foot. M. De Chandore stood on one side, and the marquis, her husband, on the other, watching her with mournful eyes and inperfect silence. They had been thunderstruck; and, from the moment whenthe fatal sentence fell upon their ears, neither of them had uttered aword. 

Dionysia alone seemed to have preserved the faculty of reasoning andmoving. But her face was deep purple; her dry eyes shone with a painfullight; and her body shook as with fever. As soon as the two advocatesappeared, she cried, --

"And you call this human justice?"

And, as they were silent, she added, ---

"Here is Jacques condemned to penal labor; that is to say, he isjudicially dishonored, lost, disgraced, forever cut off from humansociety. He is innocent; but that does not matter. His best friendswill know him no longer: no hand will touch his hand hereafter; andeven those who were most proud of his affection will pretend to haveforgotten his name. "

"I understand your grief but too well, madam, " said M. Magloire. 

"My grief is not as great as my indignation, " she broke in. "Jacquesmust be avenged, and he shall be avenged! I am only twenty, and he isnot thirty yet: there is a whole life before us which we can devote tothe work of his rehabilitation; for I do not mean to abandon him. I!His undeserved misfortunes make him a thousand times dearer to me, andalmost sacred. I was his betrothed this morning: this evening I am hiswife. His condemnation was our nuptial benediction. And if it is true, as grandpapa says, that the law prohibits a prisoner to marry the womanhe loves, well, I will be his without marriage. "

Dionysia spoke all this aloud, so loud that it seemed she wanted all theearth to hear what she was saying. 

"Ah! let me reassure you by a single word, madam, " said M. Folgat. "Wehave not yet come to that. The sentence is not final. "

The Marquis de Boiscoran and M. De Chandore started. 

"What do you mean?"

"An oversight which M. Galpin has committed makes the whole proceedingnull and void. You will ask how a man of his character, so painstakingand so formal, should have made such a blunder. Probably because he wasblinded by passion. Why had nobody noticed this oversight? Because fateowed us this compensation. There can be no question about the matter. The defect is a defect of form; and the law provides expressly for thecase. The sentence must be declared void, and we shall have anothertrial. "

"And you never told us anything of that?" asked Dionysia. 

"We hardly dared to think of it, " replied M. Magloire. "It was one ofthose secrets which we dare not confide to our own pillow. Remember, that, in the course of the proceedings, the error might have beencorrected at any time. Now it is too late. We have time before us;and the conduct of Count Claudieuse relieves us from all restraint ofdelicacy. The veil shall be torn now. "

The door opened violently, interrupting his words. Dr. Seignebosentered, red with anger, and darting fiery glances from under his goldspectacles. 

"Count Claudieuse?" M. Folgat asked eagerly. 

"Is next door, " replied the doctor. "They have had him down on amattress, and his wife is by his side. What a profession ours is! Hereis a man, a wretch, whom I should be most happy to strangle with my ownhands; and I am compelled to do all I can to recall him to life: Imust lavish my attentions upon him, and seek every means to relieve hissufferings. "

"Is he any better?"

"Not at all! Unless a special miracle should be performed in his behalf, he will leave the court-house only feet forward, and that in twenty-fourhours. I have not concealed it from the countess; and I have told her, that, if she wishes her husband to die in peace with Heaven, she has butjust time to send for a priest. "

"And has she sent for one?"

"Not at all! She told me her husband would be terrified by theappearance of a priest, and that would hasten his end. Even whenthe good priest from Brechy came of his own accord, she sent him offunceremoniously. "

"Ah the miserable woman!" cried Dionysia. 

And, after a moment's reflection, she added, --

"And yet that may be our salvation. Yes, certainly. Why should Ihesitate? Wait for me here: I am coming back. "

She hurried out. Her grandpapa was about to follow her; but M. Folgatstopped him. 

"Let her do it, " he said, --"let her do it!"

It had just struck ten o'clock. The court-house, just now as full and asnoisy as a bee-hive, was silent and deserted. In the immense hall, badlylighted by a smoking lamp, there were only two men to be seen. One wasthe priest from Brechy, who was praying on his knees close to a door;and the other was the watchman, who was slowly walking up and down, andwhose steps resounded there as in a church. 

Dionysia went straight up to the latter. 

"Where is Count Claudieuse?" she asked. 

"There, madam, " replied the man, pointing at the door before which thepriest was praying, --"there, in the private office of the commonwealthattorney. "

"Who is with him?"

"His wife, madam, and a servant. "

"Well, go in and tell the Countess Claudieuse, --but so that herhusband does not hear you, --that Miss Chandore desires to see her a fewmoments. "

The watchman made no objection, and went in. But, when he came back, hesaid to the young girl, --

"Madam, the countess sends word that she cannot leave her husband, whois very low. "

She stopped him by an impatient gesture, and said, --

"Never mind! Go back and tell the countess, that, if she does not comeout, I shall go in this moment; that, if it must be, I shall force myway in; that I shall call for help; that nothing will keep me. I mustabsolutely see her. "

"But, madam"--

"Go! Don't you see that it is a question of life and death?"

There was such authority in her voice, that the watchman no longerhesitated. He went in once more, and reappeared a moment after. 

"Go in, " he said to the young girl. 

She went in, and found herself in a little anteroom which preceded theoffice of the commonwealth attorney. A large lamp illuminated the room. The door leading to the room in which the count was lying was closed. 

In the centre of the room stood the Countess Claudieuse. All thesesuccessive blows had not broken her indomitable energy. She looked pale, but calm. 

"Since you insist upon it, madam, " she began, "I come to tell youmyself that I cannot listen to you. Are you not aware that I am standingbetween two open graves, --that of my poor girl, who is dying at myhouse, and that of my husband, who is breathing his last in there?"

She made a motion as if she were about to retire; but Dionysia stoppedher by a threatening look, and said with a trembling voice, --

"If you go back into that room where your husband is, I shall go backwith you, and I shall speak before him. I shall ask you right beforehim, how you dare order a priest away from his bedside at the momentof death, and whether, after having robbed him of all his happiness inlife, you mean to make him unhappy in all eternity. "

Instinctively the countess drew back. 

"I do not understand you, " she said. 

"Yes, you do understand me, madam. Why will you deny it? Do you not seethat I know every thing, and that I have guessed what you have not toldme? Jacques was your lover; and your husband has had his revenge. "

"Ah!" cried the countess, "that is too much; that is too much!"

"And you have permitted it, " Dionysia went on with breathless haste;"and you did not come, and cry out in open court that your husband wasa false witness! What a woman you must be! You do not mind it, that yourlove carries a poor unfortunate man to the galleys. You mean to live onwith this thought in your heart, that the man whom you love is innocent, and nevertheless, disgraced forever, and cut off from human society. Apriest might induce the count to retract his statement, you know verywell; and hence you refuse to let the priest from Brechy come to hisbedside. And what is the end and aim of all your crimes? To save yourfalse reputation as an honest woman. Ah! that is miserable; that ismean; that is infamous!"

The countess was roused at last. What all M. Folgat's skill and abilityhad not been able to accomplish, Dionysia obtained in an instant by theforce of her passion. Throwing aside her mask, the countess exclaimedwith a perfect burst of rage, --

"Well, then, no, no! I have not acted so, and permitted all this tohappen, because I care for my reputation. My reputation!--what does itmatter? It was only a week ago, when Jacques had succeeded in escapingfrom prison, I offered to flee with him. He had only to say a word, andI should have given up my family, my children, my country, every thing, for him. He answered, 'Rather the galleys!'"

In the midst of all her fearful sufferings, Dionysia's heart filled withunspeakable happiness as she heard these words. Ah! now she could nolonger doubt Jacques. 

"He has condemned himself, you see, " continued the countess. "I wasquite willing to ruin myself for him, but certainly not for anotherwoman. "

"And that other woman--no doubt you mean me!"

"Yes!--you for whose sake he abandoned me, --you whom he was goingto marry, --you with whom he hoped to enjoy long happy years, and ahappiness not furtive and sinful like ours, but a legitimate, honesthappiness. "

Tears were trembling in Dionysia's eyes. She was beloved: she thought ofwhat she must suffer who was not beloved. 

"And yet I should have been generous, " she murmured. The countess brokeout into a fierce, savage laugh. 

"And the proof of it is, " said the young girl, "that I came to offer youa bargain. "

"A bargain?"

"Yes. Save Jacques, and, by all that is sacred to me in the world, Ipromise I will enter a convent: I will disappear, and you shall neverhear my name any more. "

Intense astonishment seized the countess, and she looked at Dionysiawith a glance full of doubt and mistrust. Such devotion seemed to hertoo sublime not to conceal some snare. 

"You would really do that?" she asked. 

"Unhesitatingly. "

"You would make a great sacrifice for my benefit?"

"For yours? No, madam, for Jacques's. "

"You love him very dearly, do you?"

"I love him dearly enough to prefer his happiness to my own a thousandtimes over. Even if I were buried in the depths of a convent, I shouldstill have the consolation of knowing that he owed his rehabilitation tome; and I should suffer less in knowing that he belonged to another thanthat he was innocent, and yet condemned. "

But, in proportion as the young girl thus confirmed her sincerity, the brow of the countess grew darker and sterner, and passing blushesmantled her cheek. At last she said with haughty irony, --

"Admirable!"

"Madam!"

"You condescend to give up M. De Boiscoran. Will that make him loveme? You know very well he will not. You know that he loves you alone. Heroism with such conditions is easy enough. What have you to fear?Buried in a convent, he will love you only all the more ardently, and hewill execrate me all the more fervently. "

"He shall never know any thing of our bargain!"

"Ah! What does that matter? He will guess it, if you do not tell him. No: I know what awaits me. I have felt it now for two years, --this agonyof seeing him becoming daily more detached from me. What have I not doneto keep him near me! How I have stooped to meanness, to falsehood, to keep him a single day longer, perhaps a single hour! But all wasuseless. I was a burden to him. He loved me no longer; and my lovebecame to him a heavier load than the cannon-ball which they will fastento his chains at the galleys. "

Dionysia shuddered. 

"That is horrible!" she murmured. 

"Horrible! Yes, but true. You look amazed. That is because you have asyet only seen the morning dawn of your love: wait for the dark evening, and you will understand me. Is not the story of all of us women thesame! I have seen Jacques at my feet as you see him at yours: the vowshe swears to you, he once swore to me; and he swore them to me with thesame voice, tremulous with passion, and with the same burning glances. But you think you will be his wife, and I never was. What does thatmatter? What does he tell you? That he will love you forever, becausehis love is under the protection of God and of men. He told me, precisely because our love was not thus protected, that we should beunited by indissoluble bonds, --bonds stronger than all others. You havehis promise: so had I. And the proof of it is that I gave him everything, --my honor and the honor of my family, and that I would havegiven him still more, if there had been any more to give. And now to bebetrayed, forsaken, despised, to sink lower and lower, until at lastI must become the object of your pity! To have fallen so low, that youshould dare come and offer me to give up Jacques for my benefit! Ah, that is maddening! And I should let the vengeance I hold in my handsslip from me at your bidding! I should be stupid enough, blind enough, to allow myself to be touched by your hypocritical tears! I shouldsecure your happiness by the sacrifice of my reputation! No, madam, cherish no such hope!"

Her voice expired in her throat in a kind of toneless rattle. She walkedup and down a few times in the room. Then she placed herself straightbefore Dionysia, and, looking fixedly into her eyes, she asked, --

"Who suggested to you this plan of coming here, this supreme insultwhich you tried to inflict upon me?"

Dionysia was seized with unspeakable horror, and hardly found heart toreply. 

"No one, " she murmured. 

"M. Folgat?"

"Knows nothing of it. "

"And Jacques?"

"I have not seen him. The thought occurred to me quite suddenly, like aninspiration on high. When Dr. Seignebos told me that you had refusedto admit the priest from Brechy, I said to myself, 'This is the lastmisfortune, and the greatest of them all! If Count Claudieuse dieswithout retracting, Jacques can never be fully restored, whatever mayhappen hereafter, not even if his innocence should be established. ' ThenI made up my mind to come to you. Ah! it was a hard task. But I wasin hopes I might touch your heart, or that you might be moved by thegreatness of my sacrifice. "

The countess was really moved. There is no heart absolutely bad, asthere is none altogether good. As she listened to Dionysia's passionateentreaty, her resolution began to grow weaker. 

"Would it be such a great sacrifice?" she asked. 

Tears sprang to the eyes of the poor young girl. 

"Alas!" she said, "I offer you my life. I know very well you will not belong jealous of me. "

She was interrupted by groans, which seemed to come from the room inwhich the count was lying. 

The countess half-opened the door; and immediately a feeble, and yetimperious voice was heard calling out, --

"Genevieve, I say, Genevieve!"

"I am coming, my dear, in a moment, " replied the countess. 

"What security can you give me, " she said, in a hard and stern voice, after having closed the door again, --"what security do you give me, thatif Jacques's innocence were established, and he reinstated, you wouldnot forget your promises?"

"Ah, madam! How or upon what do you want me to swear that I am readyto disappear. Choose your own securities, and I will do whatever yourequire. "

Then, sinking down on her knees, before the countess, she went on, --

"Here I am at your feet, madam, humble and suppliant, --I whom you accuseof a desire to insult you. Have pity on Jacques! Ah! if you loved him asmuch as I do, you would not hesitate. "

The countess raised her suddenly and quickly, and holding her hands inher own, looked at her for more than a minute without saying a word, but with heaving bosom and trembling lips. At last she asked in a voicewhich was so deeply affected, that it was hardly intelligible. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"Induce Count Claudieuse to retract. "

The countess shook her head. 

"It would be useless to try. You do not know the count. He is a man ofiron. You might tear his flesh inch by inch with hot iron pincers, andhe would not take back one of his words. You cannot conceive what hehas suffered, nor the depth of the hatred, the rage, and the thirst ofvengeance, which have accumulated in his heart. It was to torture methat he brought me here to his bedside. Only five minutes ago he told methat he died content, since Jacques was declared guilty, and condemnedthrough his evidence. "

She was conquered: her energy was exhausted, and tears came to her eyes. 

"He has been so cruelly tried!" she went on. "He loved me todistraction; he loved nothing in the world but me. And I--Ah, if wecould know, if we could foresee! No, I shall never be able to induce himto retract. "

Dionysia almost forgot her own great grief. 

"Nor do I expect you to obtain that favor, " she said very gently. 

"Who, then?"

"The priest from Brechy. He will surely find words to shake even thefirmest resolution. He can speak in the name of that God, who, even onthe cross, forgave those who crucified Him. "

One moment longer the countess hesitated; and then, overcoming finallythe last rebellious impulses of her pride, she said, --

"Well, I will call the priest. "

"And I, madam, I swear I will keep my promise. "

But the countess stopped her, and said, making a supreme effort overherself, --

"No: I shall try to save Jacques without making conditions. Let him beyours. He loves you, and you were ready to sacrifice your life for hissake. He forsakes me; but I sacrifice my honor to him. Farewell!"

And hastening to the door, while Dionysia returned to her friends, shesummoned the priest from Brechy. 

II. 

M. Daubigeon, the commonwealth attorney, learned that morning from hischief clerk what had happened, and how the proceedings in the Boiscorancase were necessarily null and void on account of a fatal error in form. The counsel of the defence had lost no time, and, after spending thewhole night in consultation, had early that morning presented theirapplication for a new trial to the court. 

The commonwealth attorney took no pains to conceal his satisfaction. 

"Now, " he cried, "this will worry my friend Galpin, and clip his wingsconsiderably; and yet I had called his attention to the lines of Horace, in which he speaks of Phaeton's sad fate, and says, --

'Terret ambustus Phaeton avaras Spes. '

But he would not listen to me, forgetting, that, without prudence, forceis a danger. And there he is now, in great difficulty, I am sure. "

And at once he made haste to dress, and to go and see M. Galpin inorder to hear all the details accurately, as he told his clerk, but, inreality, in order to enjoy to his heart's content the discomfiture ofthe ambitious magistrate. 

He found him furious, and ready to tear his hair. 

"I am disgraced, " he repeated: "I am ruined; I am lost. All myprospects, all my hopes, are gone. I shall never be forgiven for such anoversight. "

To look at M. Daubigeon, you would have thought he was sincerelydistressed. 

"Is it really true, " he said with an air of assumed pity, --"is it reallytrue, what they tell me, that this unlucky mistake was made by you?"

"By me? Yes, indeed! I forgot those wretched details which a scholarknows by heart. Can you understand that? And to say that no one noticedmy inconceivable blindness! Neither the first court of inquiry, northe attorney-general himself, nor the presiding judge, ever said a wordabout it. It is my fate. And that is to be the result of my labors. Everybody, no doubt, said, 'Oh! M. Galpin has the case in hand; he knowsall about it: no need to look after the matter when such a man has takenhold of it. ' And here I am. Oh! I might kill myself. "

"It is all the more fortunate, " replied M. Daubigeon, "that yesterdaythe case was hanging on a thread. "

The magistrate gnashed his teeth, and replied, --

"Yes, on a thread, thanks to M. Domini! whose weakness I cannotcomprehend, and who did not know at all, or who was not willing to know, how to make the most of the evidence. But it was M. Gransiere's faultquite as much. What had he to do with politics to drag them into theaffair? And whom did he want to hit? No one else but M. Magloire, theman whom everybody respects in the whole district, and who had threewarm personal friends among the jurymen. I foresaw it, and I told himwhere he would get into trouble. But there are people who will notlisten. M. Gransiere wants to be elected himself. It is a fancy, amonomania of our day: everybody wants to be a deputy. I wish Heavenwould confound all ambitious men!"

For the first time in his life, and no doubt for the last time also, the commonwealth attorney rejoiced at the misfortune of others. Takingsavage pleasure in turning the dagger in his poor friend's wounds, hesaid, --

"No doubt M. Folgat's speech had something to do with it. "

"Nothing at all. "

"He was brilliantly successful. "

"He took them by surprise. It was nothing but a big voice, and grand, rolling sentences. "

"But still"--

"And what did he say, after all? That the prosecution did not know thereal secret of the case. That is absurd!"

"The new judges may not think so, however. "

"We shall see. "

"This time M. De Boiscoran's defence will be very different. He willspare nobody. He is down now, and cannot fall any lower. "

"That may be. But he also risks having a less indulgent jury, and notgetting off with twenty years. "

"What do his counsel say?"

"I do not know. But I have just sent my clerk to find out; and, if youchoose to wait"--

M. Daubigeon did wait, and he did well; for M. Mechinet came in verysoon after, with a long face for the world, but inwardly delighted. 

"Well?" asked M. Galpin eagerly. 

He shook his head, and said in a melancholy tone of voice, --

"I have never seen any thing like this. How fickle public opinion is, after all! Day before yesterday M. De Boiscoran could not have passedthrough the town without being mobbed. If he should show himself to-day, they would carry him in triumph. He has been condemned, and now he isa martyr. It is known already that the sentence is void, and they aredelighted. My sisters have just told me that the ladies in good societypropose to give to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and to Miss Chandoresome public evidence of their sympathy. The members of the bar will giveM. Folgat a public dinner. "

"Why that is monstrous!" cried M. Galpin. 

"Well, " said M. Daubigeon, "'the opinions of men are more fickle andchangeable than the waves of the sea. '"

But, interrupting the quotation, M. Galpin asked his clerk, --

"Well, what else?"

"I went to hand M. Gransiere the letter which you gave me for him"--

"What did he say?"

"I found him in consultation with the president, M. Domini. He took theletter, glanced at it rapidly, and told me in his most icy tone, 'Verywell!' To tell the truth, I thought, that, in spite of his stiff andgrand air, he was in reality furious. "

The magistrate looked utterly in despair. 

"I can't stand it, " he said sighing. "These men whose veins have noblood in them, but poison, never forgive. "

"Day before yesterday you thought very highly of him. "

"Day before yesterday he did not look upon me as the cause of a greatmisfortune for him. "

M. Mechinet went on quite eagerly, --

"After leaving M. Gransiere, I went to the court-house, and there Ihead the great piece of news which has set all the town agog. CountClaudieuse is dead. "

M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin looked at each other, and exclaimed in thesame breath, --

"Great God! Is that so?"

"He breathed his last this morning, at two or three minutes before sixo'clock. I saw his body in the private room of the attorney-general. The priest from Brechy was there, and two other priests from his parish. They were waiting for a bier to have him carried to his house. "

"Poor man!" murmured M. Daubigeon. 

"But I heard a great deal more, " Mechinet said, "from the watchman whowas on guard last night. He told me that when the trial was over, andit became known that Count Claudieuse was likely to die, the priestfrom Brechy came there, and asked to be allowed to offer him the lastconsolations of his church. The countess refused to let him come to thebedside of her husband. The watchman was amazed at this; and just thenMiss Chandore suddenly appeared, and sent word to the countess that shewanted to speak to her. "

"Is it possible?"

"Quite certain. They remained together for more than a quarter ofan hour. What did they say? The watchman told me he was dying withcuriosity to know; but he could hear nothing, because there was thepriest from Brechy, all the while, kneeling before the door, andpraying. When they parted, they looked terribly excited. Then thecountess immediately called in the priest, and he stayed with the counttill he died. "

M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin had not yet recovered from their amazement atthis account, when somebody knocked timidly at the door. 

"Come in!" cried Mechinet. 

The door opened, and the sergeant of gendarmes appeared. 

"I have been sent here by the attorney-general, " he said; "and theservant told me you were up here. We have just caught Trumence. "

"That man who had escaped from jail?"

"Yes. We were about to carry him back there, when he told us that hehad a secret to reveal, a very important, urgent secret, concerning thecondemned prisoner, Boiscoran. "

"Trumence?"

"Yes. Then we carried him to the court-house, and I came for orders. "

"Run and say that I am coming to see him!" cried M. Daubigeon. "Makehaste! I am coming after you. "

But the gendarme, a model of obedience, had not waited so long: he wasalready down stairs. 

"I must leave you, Galpin, " said M. Daubigeon, very much excited. "Youheard what the man said. We must know what that means at once. "

But the magistrate was not less excited. 

"You permit me to accompany you, I hope?" he asked. 

He had a right to do so. 

"Certainly, " replied the commonwealth attorney. "But make haste!"

The recommendation was not needed. M. Galpin had already put on hisboots. He now slipped his overcoat over his home dress, as he was; andoff they went. 

Mechinet followed the two gentlemen as they hastened down the street;and the good people of Sauveterre, always on the lookout, were not alittle scandalized at seeing their well-known magistrate, M. Galpin, inhis home costume, --he who generally was most scrupulously precise in hisdress. 

Standing on their door-steps, they said to each other, --

"Something very important must have happened. Just look at thesegentlemen!"

The fact was, they were walking so fast, that people might well wonder;and they did not say a word all the way. 

But, ere they reached the court-house, they were forced to stop; forsome four or five hundred people were filling the court, crowding on thesteps, and actually pressing against the doors. 

Immediately all became silent; hats were raised; the crowd parted; and apassage was opened. 

On the porch appeared the priest from Brechy, and two other priests. 

Behind them came attendants from the hospital, who bore a bier coveredwith black cloth; and beneath the cloth the outlines of a human bodycould be seen. 

The women began to cry; and those who had room enough knelt down. 

"Poor countess!" murmured one of them. "Here is her husband dead, andthey say one of her daughters is dying at home. "

But M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and Mechinet were too preoccupied withtheir own interests to think of stopping for more reliable news. The waywas open: they went in, and hastened to the clerk's office, where thegendarmes had taken Trumence, and now were guarding him. 

He rose as soon as he recognized the gentlemen, and respectfully tookoff his cap. It was really Trumence; but the good-for-nothing vagrantdid not present his usual careless appearance. He looked pale, and wasevidently very much excited. 

"Well, " said M. Daubigeon, "so you have allowed yourself to be retaken?"

"Beg pardon, judge, " replied the poor fellow, "I was not retaken. I cameof my own accord. "

"Involuntarily, you mean?"

"Quite by my own free will! Just ask the sergeant. "

The sergeant stepped forward, touched his cap, and reported, --

"That is the naked truth. Trumence came himself to our barrack, andsaid, 'I surrender as a prisoner. I wish to speak to the commonwealthattorney, and give importance evidence. '"

The vagabond drew himself up proudly, --

"You see, sir, that I did not lie. While these gentlemen were gallopingall over the country in search of me, I was snugly ensconced in a garretat the Red Lamb, and did not think of coming out from there till Ishould be entirely forgotten. "

"Yes; but people who lodge at the Red Lamb have to pay, and you had nomoney. "

Trumence very quietly drew from his pocket a handful of Napoleons, andof five-and-twenty-franc notes, and showed them. 

"You see that I had the wherewithal to pay for my room, " he said. "But Isurrendered, because, after all, I am an honest man, and I would rathersuffer some trouble myself than see an innocent gentleman go to thegalleys. "

"M. De Boiscoran?"

"Yes. He is innocent! I know it; I am sure of it; and I can prove it. And, if he will not tell, I will tell, --tell every thing!"

M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin were utterly astounded. 

"Explain yourself, " they both said in the same breath. 

But the vagrant shook his head, pointing at the gendarmes; and, as a manwho is quite cognizant of all the formalities of the law, he replied, --

"But it is a great secret; and, when one confesses, one does not likeanybody else to hear it but the priest. Besides, I should like mydeposition to be taken down in writing. "

Upon a sign made by M. Galpin, the gendarmes withdrew; and Mechinet tookhis seat at a table, with a blank sheet of paper before him. 

"Now we can talk, " said Trumence: "that's the way I like it. I was notthinking myself of running away. I was pretty well off in jail; winteris coming, I had not a cent; and I knew, that, if I were retaken, Ishould fare rather badly. But M. Jacques de Boiscoran had a notion tospend a night outside. "

"Mind what you are saying, " M. Galpin broke in severely. "You cannotplay with the law, and go off unpunished. "

"May I die if I do not tell the truth!" cried Trumence. "M. Jacques hasspent a whole night out of jail. "

The magistrate trembled. 

"What a story that is!" he said again. 

"I have my proof, " replied Trumence coldly, "and you shall hear. Well, as he wanted to leave, M. Jacques came to me, and we agreed, that inconsideration of a certain sum of money which he has paid me, and ofwhich you have seen just now all that is left, I should make a hole inthe wall, and that I should run off altogether, while he was to comeback when he had done his business. "

"And the jailer?" asked M. Daubigeon. 

Like a true peasant of his promise, Trumence was far too cunningto expose Blangin unnecessarily. Assuming, therefore, the wholeresponsibility of the evasion, he replied, --

"The jailer saw nothing. We had no use for him. Was not I, so to say, under-jailer? Had not I been charged by you yourself, M. Galpin, withkeeping watch over M. Jacques? Was it not I who opened and locked hisdoor, who took him to the parlor, and brought him back again?"

That was the exact truth. 

"Go on!" said M. Galpin harshly. 

"Well, " said Trumence, "every thing was done as agreed upon. Oneevening, about nine o'clock, I make my hole in the wall, and here weare, M. Jacques and I, on the ramparts. There he slips a package ofbanknotes into my hand, and tells me to run for it, while he goes abouthis business. I thought he was innocent then; but you see I should notexactly have gone through the fire for him as yet. I said to myself, that perhaps he was making fun of me, and that, once on the wing, hewould not be such a fool as to go back into the cage. This made mecurious, as he was going off, to see which way he was going, --and thereI was, following him close upon his heels!"

The magistrate and the commonwealth attorney, accustomed as they bothwere, by the nature of their profession, to conceal their feelings, could hardly restrain now, --one, the hope trembling within him, and theother, the vague apprehensions which began to fill his heart. 

Mechinet, who knew already all that was coming, laughed in his sleevewhile his pen was flying rapidly over the paper. 

"He was afraid he might be recognized, " continued the vagrant, "and soM. Jacques had been running ever so fast, keeping close to the wall, andchoosing the narrowest lanes. Fortunately, I have a pair of very goodlegs. He goes through Sauveterre like a race-horse; and, when he reachesMautrec Street, he begins to ring the bell at a large gate. "

"At Count Claudieuse's house!"

"I know now what house it was; but I did not know then. Well, he rings. A servant comes and opens. He speaks to her, and immediately she inviteshim in, and that so eagerly, that she forgets to close the gate again. "

M. Daubigeon stopped him by a gesture. 

"Wait!" he said. 

And, taking up a blank form, he filled it up, rang the bell, and saidto an usher of the court who had hastened in, giving him the printedpaper, --

"I want this to be taken immediately. Make haste; and not a word!"

Then Trumence was directed to go on; and he said, --

"There I was, standing in the middle of the street, feeling like a fool. I thought I had nothing left me but to go and use my legs: that wassafest for me. But that wretched, half-open gate attracted me. I said tomyself, 'If you go in, and they catch you, they will think you havecome to steal, and you'll have to pay for it. ' That was true; but thetemptation was too strong for me. My curiosity broke my heart, so tosay, and, 'Come what may, I'll risk it, ' I said. I push the huge gatejust wide enough to let me in, and here I am in a large garden. It waspitch dark; but, quite at the bottom of the garden, three windows in thelower story of the house were lighted up. I had ventured too far nowto go back. So I went on, creeping along stealthily, until I reached atree, against which I pressed closely, about the length of my arm fromone of the windows, which belonged to a beautiful parlor. I look--and Isee whom? M. De Boiscoran. As there were no curtains to the windows, I could see as well as I can see you. His face looked terrible. I wasasking myself for whom he could be waiting there, when I saw him hidingbehind the open door of the room, like a man who is lying in wait forsomebody, with evil intentions. This troubled me very much; but the nextmoment a lady came in. Instantly M. Jacques shuts the door behind her;the lady turns round, sees him, and wants to run, uttering at the sametime a loud cry. That lady was the Countess Claudieuse!"

He looked as if he wished to pause to watch the effect of hisrevelation. But Mechinet was so impatient, that he forgot the modestcharacter of his duty, and said hastily, --

"Go on; go on!"

"One of the windows was half open, " continued the vagrant, "and thusI could hear almost as well as I saw. I crouched down on all-fours andkept my head on a level with the ground, so as not to lose a word. Oh, it was fearful! At the first word I understood it all: M. Jacques andthe Countess Claudieuse had been lovers. "

"This is madness!" cried M. Galpin. 

"Well, I tell you I was amazed. The Countess Claudieuse--such a piouslady! But I have ears; don't you think I have? M. Jacques reminded herof the night of the crime, how they had been together a few minutesbefore the fire broke out, as they had agreed some days before to meetnear Valpinson at that very time. At this meeting they had burnt theirlove-letters, and M. Jacques had blackened his fingers badly in burningthem. "

"Did you really hear that?" asked M. Daubigeon. 

"As I hear you, sir. "

"Write it down, Mechinet, " said the commonwealth attorney with greateagerness, --"write that down carefully. "

The clerk was sure to do it. 

"What surprised me most, " continued Trumence, "was, that the countessseemed to consider M. Jacques guilty, and he thought she was. Eachaccused the other of the crime. She said, 'You attempted the life of myhusband, because you were afraid of him!' And he said, 'You wanted tokill him, so as to be free, and to prevent my marriage!'"

M. Galpin had sunk into a chair: he stammered, --

"Did anybody ever hear such a thing?"

"However, they explained; and at last they found out that they were bothof them innocent. Then M. Jacques entreated the countess to save him;and she replied that she would certainly not save him at the expense ofher reputation, and so enable him, as soon as he was free once more, tomarry Miss Chandore. Then he said to her, 'Well, then I must tell all;'and she, 'You will not be believed. I shall deny it all, and you haveno proof!' In his despair, he reproached her bitterly, and said she hadnever loved him at all. Then she swore she loved him more than ever; andthat, as he was free now, she was ready to abandon every thing, and toescape with him to some foreign country. And she conjured him to flee, in a voice which moved my heart, with loving words such as I have neverheard before in my life, and with looks which seemed to be burning fire. What a woman! I did not think he could possibly resist. And yet he didresist; and, perfectly beside himself with anger, he cried, 'Rather thegalleys!' Then she laughed, mocking him, and saying, 'Very well, youshall go to the galleys!'"

Although Trumence entered into many details, it was quite evident thathe kept back many things. 

Still M. Daubigeon did not dare question him, for fear of breaking thethread of his account. 

"But that was nothing at all, " said the vagrant. "While M. Jacques andthe countess were quarrelling in this way, I saw the door of the parlorsuddenly open as if by itself, and a phantom appear in it, dressed in afuneral pall. It was Count Claudieuse himself. His face looked terrible;and he had a revolver in his hand. He was leaning against the side ofthe door; and he listened while his wife and M. Jacques were talking oftheir former love-affairs. At certain words, he would raise his pistolas if to fire; then he would lower it again, and go on listening. It wasso awful, I had not a dry thread on my body. It was very hard not to cryout to M. Jacques and the countess, 'You poor people, don't you see thatthe count is there?' But they saw nothing; for they were both besidethemselves with rage and despair: and at last M. Jacques actually raisedhis hand to strike the countess. 'Do not strike that woman!' suddenlysaid the count. They turn round; they see him, and utter a fearful cry. The countess fell on a chair as if she were dead. I was thunderstruck. I never in my life saw a man behave so beautifully as M. Jacques did atthat moment. Instead of trying to escape, he opened his coat, and baringhis breast, he said to the husband, 'Fire! You are in your right!' Thecount, however, laughed contemptuously, and said, 'The court will avengeme!'--'You know very well that I am innocent. '--'All the better. '--'Itwould be infamous to let me be condemned. '--'I shall do more than that. To make your condemnation sure, I shall say that I recognized you. 'The count was going to step forward, as he said this; but he was dying. Great God, what a man! He fell forward, lying at full-length on thefloor. Then I got frightened, and ran away. "

By a very great effort only could the commonwealth attorney controlhis intense excitement. His voice, however, betrayed him as he askedTrumence, after a solemn pause, --

"Why did you not come and tell us all that at once?"

The vagabond shook his head, and said, --

"I meant to do so; but I was afraid. You ought to understand what Imean. I was afraid I might be punished very severely for having runoff. "

"Your silence has led the court to commit a grievous mistake. "

"I had no idea M. Jacques would be found guilty. Big people like him, who can pay great lawyers, always get out of trouble. Besides, I didnot think Count Claudieuse would carry out his threat. To be betrayed byone's wife is hard; but to send an innocent man to the galleys"--

"Still you see"--

"Ah, if I could have foreseen! My intentions were good; and I assureyou, although I did not come at once to denounce the whole thing, I wasfirmly resolved to make a clean breast of it if M. Jacques should getinto trouble. And the proof of it is, that instead of running off, andgoing far away, I very quietly lay concealed at the Red Lamb, waitingfor the sentence to be published. As soon as I heard what was donelast night, I did not lose an hour, and surrendered at once to thegendarmes. "

In the meantime, M. Galpin had overcome his first amazement, and nowbroke out furiously, --

"This man is an impostor. The money he showed us was paid him to bearfalse witness. How can we credit his story?"

"We must investigate the matter, " replied M. Daubigeon. He rang thebell; and, when the usher came in, he asked, --

"Have you done what I told you?"

"Yes, sir, " replied the man. "M. De Boiscoran and the servant of CountClaudieuse are here. "

"Bring in the woman: when I ring, show M. De Boiscoran in. "

This woman was a big country-girl, plain of face, and square of figure. She seemed to be very much excited, and looked crimson in her face. 

"Do you remember, " asked M. Daubigeon, "that one night last week a mancame to your house, and asked to see your mistress?"

"Oh, yes!" replied the honest girl. "I did not want to let him in atfirst; but he said he came from the court, and then I let him in. "

"Would you recognize him?"

"Certainly. "

The commonwealth attorney rang again; the door opened, and Jacques camein, his face full of amazement and wonder. 

"That is the man!" cried the servant. 

"May I know?" asked the unfortunate man. 

"Not yet!" replied M. Daubigeon. "Go back, and be of good hope!"

But Jacques remained standing where he was, like a man who has suddenlybeen overcome, looking all around with amazed eyes, and evidently unableto comprehend. 

How could he have comprehended what was going on?

They had taken him out of his cell without warning; they had carried himto the court-house; and here he was confronted with Trumence, whom hethought he should never see again, and with the servant of the CountessClaudieuse. 

M. Galpin looked the picture of consternation; and M. Daubigeon, radiantwith delight, bade him be of good hope. 

Hopeful of what? How? To what purpose?

And Mechinet made him all kinds of signs. 

The usher who had brought him in had actually to take him out. 

Immediately the commonwealth attorney turned again to the servant-girland said, --

"Now, my good girl, can you tell me if any thing special happened inconnection with this gentleman's visit at your house?"

"There was a great quarrel between him and master and mistress. "

"Were you present?"

"No. But I am quite certain of what I say. "

"How so?"

"Well, I will tell you. When I went up stairs to tell the countess thatthere was a gentleman below who came from the courts, she was in a greathurry to go down, and told me to stay with the count, my master. Ofcourse, I did what she said. But no sooner was she down than I hearda loud cry. Master, who had looked all in a stupor, heard it too: heraised himself on his pillow, and asked me where my mistress was. I toldhim, and he was just settling down to try and fall asleep again, whenthe sound of loud voices came up to us. 'That is very singular, ' saidmaster. I offered to go down and see what was the matter: but he toldme sharply not to stir an inch. And, when the voices became louder andlouder, he said, 'I will go down myself. Give me my dressing-gown. '

"Sick as he was, exhausted, and almost on his deathbed, it was veryimprudent in him, and might easily have cost him his life. I ventured tospeak to him; but he swore at me, and told me to hush, and to do what heordered me to do. 

"The count--God be merciful to his soul!--was a very good man, certainly; but he was a terrible man also, and when he got angry, andtalked in a certain way, everybody in the house began to tremble, evenmistress. 

"I obeyed, therefore, and did what he wanted. Poor man! He was so weakhe could hardly stand up, and had to hold on to a chair while I helpedhim just to hang his dressing-gown over his shoulders. 

"Then I asked him if he would not let me help him down. But looking atme with awful eyes, he said, 'You will do me the favor to stay here, and, whatever may happen, if you dare so much as open the door while Iam away, you shall not stay another hour in my service. '

"Then he went out, holding on to the wall; and I remained alone in thechamber, all trembling, and feeling as sick as if I had known that agreat misfortune was coming upon us. 

"However, I heard nothing more for a time; and as the minutes passedaway, I was just beginning to reproach myself for having been sofoolishly alarmed, when I heard two cries; but, O sir! two such fearful, sharp cries, that I felt cold shivers running all over me. 

"As I did not dare leave the room, I put my ear to the door, and Iheard distinctly the count's voice, as he was quarrelling with anothergentleman. But I could not catch a single word, and only made out thatthey were angry about a very serious matter. 

"All of a sudden, a great but dull noise, like that of the fall of aheavy body, then another awful cry, I had not a drop of blood left in myveins at that moment. 

"Fortunately, the other servants, who had gone to bed, had heardsomething. They had gotten up, and were now coming down the passage. 

"I left the room at all hazards, and went down stairs with the others, and there we found my mistress fainting in an armchair, and my masterstretched out at full-length, lying on the floor like a dead man. "

"What did I say?" cried Trumence. 

But the commonwealth attorney made him a sign to keep quiet; and, turning again to the girl, he asked, --

"And the visitor?"

"He was gone, sir. He had vanished. "

"What did you do then?"

"We raised up the count: we carried him up stairs and laid him on hisbed. Then we brought mistress round again; and the valet went in hasteto fetch Dr. Seignebos. "

"What said the countess when she recovered her consciousness?"

"Nothing. Mistress looked like a person who has been knocked in thehead. "

"Was there any thing else?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"What?"

"The oldest of the young ladies, Miss Martha, was seized with terribleconvulsions. "

"How was that?"

"Why, I only know what miss told us herself. "

"Let us hear what she said. "

"Ah! It is a very singular story. When this gentleman whom I have justseen here rang the bell at our gate, Miss Martha, who had already goneto bed, got up again, and went to the window to see who it was. She sawme go and open, with a candle in my hand, and come back again with thegentleman behind me. She was just going to bed again, when she thoughtshe saw one of the statues in the garden move, and walk right off. Wetold her it could not be so; but she did not mind us. She told us overand over again that she was quite sure that she saw that statue comeup the avenue, and take a place behind the tree which is nearest to theparlor-window. "

Trumence looked triumphant. 

"That was I!" he cried. 

The girl looked at him, and said, only moderately surprised, --

"That may very well be. "

"What do you know about it?" asked M. Daubigeon. 

"I know it must have been a man who had stolen into the garden, and whohad frightened Miss Martha so terribly, because Dr. Seignebos dropped, in going out, a five-franc piece just at the foot of that tree, wheremiss said she had seen the man standing. The valet who showed the doctorout helped him look for his money; and, as they sought with the candle, they saw the footprints of a man who wore iron-shod shoes. "

"The marks of my shoes!" broke in Trumence again; and sitting down, andraising his legs, he said to the magistrate, --

"Just look at my shoes, and you will see there is no lack of ironnails!"

But there was no need for such evidence; and he was told, --

"Never mind that! We believe you. "

"And you, my good girl, " said M. Daubigeon again, "can you tell us, if, after these occurrences, Count Claudieuse had any explanation with yourmistress?"

"No, I do not know. Only I saw that the count and the countess were nolonger as they used to be with each other. "

That was all she knew. She was asked to sign her deposition; and then M. Daubigeon told her she might go. 

Then, turning to Trumence, he said, --

"You will be taken to jail now. But you are an honest man, and you neednot give yourself any trouble. Go now. "

The magistrate and the commonwealth attorney remained alone now, since, of course, a clerk counts for nothing. 

"Well, " said M. Daubigeon, "what do you think of that?"

M. Galpin was dumfounded. 

"It is enough to make one mad, " he murmured. 

"Do you begin to see how that M. Folgat was right when he said the casewas far from being so clear as you pretended?"

"Ah! who would not have been deceived as I was? You yourself, at onetime at least, were of my opinion. And yet, if the Countess Claudieuseand M. De Boiscoran are both innocent, who is the guilty one?"

"That is what we shall know very soon; for I am determined I will notallow myself a moment's rest till I have found out the truth of thewhole matter. How fortunate it was that this fatal error in form shouldhave made the sentence null and void!"

He was so much excited, that he forgot his never-failing quotations. Turning to the clerk, he said, --

"But we must not lose a minute. Put your legs into active motion, mydear Mechinet, and run and ask M. Folgat to come here. I will wait forhim here. "

III. 

When Dionysia, after leaving the Countess Claudieuse, came back toJacques's parents and his friends, she said, radiant with hope, --

"Now victory is on our side!"

Her grandfather and the Marquis de Boiscoran urged her to explain;but she refused to say any thing, and only later, towards evening, sheconfessed to M. Folgat what she had done with the countess, and that itwas more than probable that the count would, before he died, retract hisevidence. 

"That alone would save Jacques, " said the young advocate. 

But his hope only encouraged him to make still greater efforts; and, allovercome as he was by his labors and emotions of the trial, he spentthe night in Grandpapa Chandore's study, preparing with M. Magloire theapplication they proposed to make for a new trial. 

They finished only when it was already broad daylight: so he did notcare to go to bed, and installed himself in a large easy-chair for thepurpose of getting a few hours' rest. 

He had, however, not slept more than an hour, when old Anthony rousedhim to tell him that there was an unknown man down stairs who asked tosee him instantly. 

M. Folgat rubbed his eyes, and at once went down: in the passage hefound himself face to face with a man of some fifty years, of rathersuspicious appearance, who wore his mustache and his chin-beard, and wasdressed in a tight coat and large trousers, such as old soldiers affect. 

"You are M. Folgat?" asked this man. 

"Yes. "

"Well, I--I am the agent whom friend Goudar sent to England. "

The young lawyer started, and asked, --

"Since when are you here?"

"Since this morning, by express. Twenty-four hours too late, I know;for I bought a newspaper at the station. M. De Boiscoran has been foundguilty. And yet I swear I did not lose a minute; and I have well earnedthe gratuity which I was promised in case of success. "

"You have been successful, have you?"

"Of course. Did I not tell you in my letter from Jersey that I was sureof success?"

"You have found Suky?"

"Twenty-four hours after I wrote to you, --in a public-house at BonlyBay. She would not come, the wretch!"

"You have brought her, however?"

"Of course. She is at the Hotel de France, where I have left her till Icould come and see you. "

"Does she know any thing?"

"Every thing. "

"Make haste and bring her here. "

From the time when M. Folgat first hoped for this recovery of theservant-girl, he had made up his mind to make the most of her evidence. 

He had slipped a portrait of the Countess Claudieuse into an album ofDionysia's, amidst some thirty photographs. He now went for this album, and had just put it upon the centre-table in the parlor when the agentcame back with his captive. 

She was a tall, stout woman of some forty years, with hard features, masculine manners, and dressed, as all common English-women are, withgreat pretensions to fashion. 

When M. Folgat questioned her, she answered in very fair, intelligibleFrench, which was only marred by her strong English accent, --

"I stayed four years at the house in Vine Street; and I should be therestill, but for the war. As soon as I entered upon my duties, I becameaware that I was put in charge of a house in which two lovers had theirmeetings. I was not exactly pleased, because, you know, we have ourself-respect; but it was a good place. I had very little to do, and so Istaid. However, my master mistrusted me: I saw that very clearly. Whena meeting was to take place, my master sent me on some errand toVersailles, to Saint Germain, or even to Orleans. This hurt me so much, that I determined I would find out what they tried so hard to concealfrom me. It was not very difficult; and the very next week I knew thatmy master was no more Sir Francis Burnett than I was; and that he hadborrowed the name from a friend of his. "

"How did you go about to find it out?"

"Oh! very simply. One day, when my master went away on foot, I followedhim, and saw him go into a house in University Street. Before the houseopposite, some servants were standing and talking. I asked them whothe gentleman was; and they told me it was the son of the Marquis deBoiscoran. "

"So much for the master; but the lady. "

Suky Wood smiled. 

"As for the lady, " she replied, "I did the same thing to find herout. It cost me, however, a great deal more time and a great deal morepatience, because she took the very greatest precautions; and I lostmore than one afternoon in watching her. But, the more she tried tohide, the more I was curious to know, as a matter of course. At last, one evening when she left the house in her carriage, I took a cab andfollowed her. I traced her thus to her house; and next morning I talkedto the servants there, and they told me that she was a lady who livedin the province, but came every year to Paris to spend a month with herparents, and that her name was Countess Claudieuse. "

And Jacques had imagined and strongly maintained that Suky would notknow any thing, in fact, could not know any thing!

"But did you ever see this lady?" asked M. Folgat. 

"As well as I see you. "

"Would you recognize her?"

"Among thousands. "

"And if you saw her portrait?"

"I should know it at once. "

M. Folgat handed her the album. 

"Well, look for her, " he said. 

She had found the likeness in a moment. 

"Here she is!" cried Suky, putting her finger on the photograph. 

There was no doubt any longer. 

"But now, Miss Suky, " said the young advocate, "you will have to repeatall that before a magistrate. "

"I will do so with pleasure. It is the truth. "

"If that is so, they will send for you at your lodgings, and you willplease stay there till you are called. You need not trouble yourselfabout any thing. You shall have whatever you want, and they will pay youyour wages as if you were in service. "

M. Folgat had not time to say more; for Dr. Seignebos rushed in like atempest, and cried out at the top of his voice, --

"Victory! We are victorious now! Great Victory!"

But he could not speak before Suky and the agent. They were sent off;and, as soon as they had left the room, he said to M. Folgat, --

"I am just from the hospital. I have seen Goudar. He had done it. He hadmade Cocoleu talk. "

"And what does he say?"

"Well, exactly what I knew he would say, as soon as they could loosehis tongue. But you will hear it all; for it is not enough that Cocoleushould confess it to Goudar: there must be witnesses present to certifyto the confessions of the wretch. "

"He will not talk before witnesses. "

"He must not see them: they can be concealed. The place is admirablyadapted for such a purpose. "

"But how, if Cocoleu refuses to talk after the witnesses have beenintroduced?"

"He will not. Goudar has found out a way to make him talk whenever hewants it. Ah! that man is a clever man, and understands his businessthoroughly. Have you full confidence in him?"

"Oh, entire!"

"Well, he says he is sure he will succeed. 'Come to-day, ' he said to me, 'between one and two, with M. Folgat, the commonwealth attorney, and M. Galpin: put yourself where I will show you, and then let me go to work. 'Then he showed me the place where he wants us to remain, and told me howwe should let him know when we are all ready. "

M. Folgat did not hesitate. 

"We have not a moment to lose. Let me go at once to the court-house. "

But they were hardly in the passage when they were met by Mechinet, whocame running up out of breath, and half mad with delight. 

"M. Daubigeon sends me to say you must come to him at once. Great news!Great news!"

And immediately he told them in a few words what had happened in themorning, --Trumence's statement, and the deposition of the maid ofCountess Claudieuse. 

"Ah, now we are safe!" cried Dr. Seignebos. 

M. Folgat was pale with excitement. Still he proposed, --

"Let us tell the marquis and Miss Dionysia what is going on before weleave the house. "

"No, " said the doctor, "no! Let us wait till every thing is quite safe. Let us go quick; let us go at once. "

They were right to make haste. The magistrate and the commonwealthattorney were waiting for them with the greatest impatience. As soonas they came into the small room of the clerk's office, M. Daubigeoncried, --

"Well, I suppose Mechinet has told you all?"

"Yes, " replied M. Folgat; "but we have some information of which youhave heard as yet nothing. "

Then he told them that Suky Wood had arrived, and what she had given inas evidence. 

M. Galpin had sunk into a chair, completely crushed by the weight ofso many proofs of his misapprehension of the case. There he sat withoutsaying a word, without moving a muscle. But M. Daubigeon was radiant. 

"Most assuredly, " he cried, "Jacques must be innocent!"

"Most assuredly he is innocent!" said Dr. Seignebos; "and the proof ofit is, that I know who is guilty. "

"Oh!"

"And you will know too, if you will take the trouble of following me, with M. Galpin, to the hospital. "

It was just striking one; and not one of them all had eaten any thingthat morning. But they had no time to think of breakfast. 

Without a shadow of hesitation, M. Daubigeon turned to M. Galpin, andsaid, --

"Will you come, Galpin?"

The poor magistrate rose mechanically, after the manner of an automaton, and they went out, creating no small sensation among the good people ofSauveterre, when they appeared thus all in a group. 

M. Daubigeon spoke first to the lady superior of the hospital; and, when he had explained to her what their purpose was in coming there, sheraised her eyes heavenward, and said with a sigh of resignation, --

"Well, gentlemen, do as you like, and I hope you will be successful;for it is a sore trial for us poor sisters to have these continualvisitations in the name of the law. "

"Please follow me, then, to the Insane Ward, gentlemen, " said thedoctor. 

They call the Insane Ward at the Sauveterre hospital a small, lowbuilding, with a sanded court in front, and a tall wall around thewhole. The building is divided into six cells, each of which has twodoors, --one opening into the court, and the other an outside door forthe assistants and servants. 

It was to one of these latter doors that Dr. Seignebos led his friends. And after having recommended to them the most perfect silence, so as notto rouse Cocoleu's suspicions, he invited them into one of the cells, in which the door leading into the court had been closed. There was, however, a little grated window in the upper part of the door, so thatthey could, without being seen, both see and hear all that was said anddone in the court reserved for the use of the insane. 

Not two yards from the little window, Goudar and Cocoleu were sitting ona wooden bench in the bright sunlight. 

By long study and a great effort of will, Goudar had succeeded in givingto his face a most perfect expression of stupidity: even the peoplebelonging to the hospital thought he was more idiotic than the other. 

He held in his hand his violin, which the doctor had ordered to be leftto him; and he accompanied himself with a few notes, as he repeated thesame familiar song which he had sung on the New-Market Square when hefirst accosted M. Folgat. 

Cocoleu, a large piece of bread-and-butter in one hand, and a bigclasp-knife in the other, was finishing his meal. 

But this music delighted him so intensely, that he actually forgot toeat, and, with hanging lip and half-closed eyes, rocked himself to andfro, keeping time with the measure. 

"They look hideous!" M. Folgat could not keep from whispering. In themeantime Goudar, warned by the preconcerted signal, had finished hissong. He bent over, and drew from under the bench an enormous bottle, from which he seemed to draw a considerable quantity of somethingpleasant. 

Then he passed it to Cocoleu, who likewise began to pull, eagerly andlong, and with an expression of idiotic beatitude. Then patting hisstomach with his hands, he said, --

"That's--that's--that's--good!"

M. Daubigeon whispered into Dr. Seignebos's ear, --

"Ah, I begin to see! I notice from Cocoleu's eyes, that this practicewith the bottle must have been going on for some time already. Cocoleuis drunk. "

Goudar again took up his violin and repeated his song. 

"I--I--want--want to--to drink!" stammered Cocoleu. 

Goudar kept him waiting a little while, and then handed him the bottle. The idiot threw back his head, and drank till he had lost his breath. Then Goudar asked, --

"Ah! you did not have such good wine to drink at Valpinson?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Cocoleu. 

"But as much as you wanted?"

"Yes. Quite--enough. "

And, laughing with some difficulty, he stammered, and stuttered out, --

"I got--got into the cellar through one of the windows; and Idrank--drank through--through a--a straw. "

"You must be sorry you are no longer there?"

"Oh, yes!"

"But, if you were so well off at Valpinson, why did you set it on fire?"

The witnesses of the strange scene crowded to the little window of thecell, and held their breath with eager expectation. 

"I wanted to burn some fagots only, to make the count come out. It wasnot my fault, if the whole house got on fire. "

"And why did you want to kill the count?"

"Because I wanted the great lady to marry M. De Boiscoran. "

"Ah! She told you to do it, did she?"

"Oh, no! But she cried so much; and then she told me she would be sohappy if her husband were dead. And she was always good to Cocoleu; andthe count was always bad; and so I shot him. "

"Well! But why, then, did you say it was M. De Boiscoran who shot thecount?"

"They said at first it was me. I did not like that. I would rather theyshould cut off his head than mine. "

He shuddered as he said this, so that Goudar, afraid of having gonerather too fast, took up his violin, and gave him a verse of his songto quiet him. Then accompanying his words still now and then with a fewnotes, and after having allowed Cocoleu to caress his bottle once more, he asked again, --

"Where did you get a gun?"

"I--I had taken it from the count to shoot birds: and I--I have itstill--still. It is hid in the hole where Michael found me. "

Poor Dr. Seignebos could not stand it any longer. He suddenly pushedopen the door, and, rushing into the court, he cried, --

"Bravo, Goudar! Well done!"

At the noise, Cocoleu had started up. He evidently understood it all;for terror drove the fumes of the wine out of his mind in an instant, and he looked frightened to death. 

"Ah, you scoundrel!" he howled. 

And, throwing himself upon Goudar, he plunged his knife twice into him. 

The movement was so rapid and so sudden, that it had been impossible toprevent it. Pushing M. Folgat violently back as he tried to disarm him, Cocoleu leaped into a corner of the court, and there, looking like awild beast driven to bay, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth foaming, hethreatened with his formidable knife to kill any one who should comenear him. 

At the cries of M. Daubigeon and M. Galpin, the assistants in thehospital came rushing in. The struggle, however, would probably havebeen a long one, notwithstanding their numbers, if one of the keepershad not, with great presence of mind, climbed up to the top of thewall, and caught the arm of the wretch in a noose. By these means he wasthrown down in a moment, disarmed, and rendered harmless. 

"You--you may--may do--do what you--you choose; I--I won't say--sayanother w-w-word!"

In the meantime, poor Dr. Seignebos, who had unwillingly caused thecatastrophe, was distressed beyond measure; still he hastened to theassistance of Goudar, who lay insensible on the sand of the court. Thetwo wounds which the detective had received were quite serious, but notfatal, or even very dangerous, as the knife had been turned aside bythe ribs. He was at once carried into one of the private rooms of thehospital, and soon recovered his consciousness. 

When he saw all four of the gentlemen bending anxiously over his bed, hemurmured with a mournful smile, --

"Well, was I not right when I said that my profession is a rascallyprofession?"

"But you are at liberty now to give it up, " replied M. Folgat, "providedalways a certain house in Vine Street should not prove too small foryour ambition. "

The pale face of the detective recovered its color for a moment. 

"Will they really give it to me?" he asked. 

"Since you have discovered the real criminal, and handed him over tojustice. "

"Well, then, I will bless these wounds: I feel that I shall be upagain in a fortnight. Give me quick pen and ink, that I may write myresignation immediately, and tell my wife the good news. "

He was interrupted by the entrance of one of the officers of thecourt, who, walking up to the commonwealth attorney, said to himrespectfully, --

"Sir, the priest from Brechy is waiting for you at your office. "

"I am coming directly, " replied M. Daubigeon. 

And, turning to his companions, he said, --

"Let us go, gentlemen. "

The priest was waiting, and rose quickly from his chair when he saw M. Daubigeon enter, accompanied by M. Galpin, M. Folgat, and Dr. Seignebos. 

"Perhaps you wish to speak to me alone, sir?" asked M. Daubigeon. 

"No, sir, " replied the old priest, "no! The words of reparation whichhave been intrusted to me must be uttered publicly. " And handing him aletter, he added, --

"Read this. Please read it aloud. "

The commonwealth attorney tore the envelope with a tremulous hand, anthen read, --

"Being about to die as a Christian, as I have lived as a Christian, Iowe it to myself, I owe it to God whom I have offended, and I owe it tothose men whom I have deceived, to declare the truth. 

"Actuated by hatred, I have been guilty of giving false evidence incourt, and of stating wrongfully that M. De Boiscoran is the man whoshot at me, and that I recognized him in the act. 

"I did not only not recognize him, but I know that he is innocent. I amsure of it; and I swear it by all I hold sacred in this world which Iam about to leave, and in that world in which I must appear before mysovereign Judge. 

"May M. De Boiscoran pardon me as I pardon myself. 

"TRIVULCE COUNT CLAUDIEUSE. "

"Poor man!" murmured M. Folgat. 

The priest at once went on, --

"You see, gentlemen, Count Claudieuse withdraws his chargeunconditionally. He asks for nothing in return: he only wants the truthto be established. And yet I beg leave to express the last wishes of adying man. I beseech you, in the new trial, to make no mention of thename of the countess. "

Tears were seen in all eyes. 

"You may rest assured, reverend father, " said M. Daubigeon, "that CountClaudieuse's last wishes shall be attended to. The name of the countessshall not appear. There will be no need for it. The secret of her wrongsshall be religiously kept by those who know it. "

It was four o'clock now. 

An hour later there arrived at the court-house a gendarme and Michael, the son of the Boiscoran tenant, who had been sent out to ascertain ifCocoleu's statement was true. They brought back the gun which the wretchhad used, and which he had concealed in that den which he had dugout for himself in the forest of Rochepommier, and where Michael haddiscovered him the day after the crime. 

Henceforth Jacques's innocence was as clear as daylight; and althoughhe had to bear the burden of his sentence till the judgment was declaredvoid, it was decided, with the consent of the president of the court, M. Domini, and the active cooperation of M. Gransiere, that he should beset free that same evening. 

M. Folgat and M. Magloire were charged with the pleasant duty ofinforming the prisoner of this happy news. They found him walking up anddown in his cell like a madman, devoured by unspeakable anguish, and notknowing what to make of the words of hope which M. Daubigeon had spokento him in the morning. 

He was hopeful, it is true; and yet when he was told that he was safe, that he was free, he sank, an inert mass, into a chair, being less ableto bear joy than sorrow. 

But such emotions are not apt to last long. A few moments later, andJacques de Boiscoran, arm in arm with his counsel, left his prison, in which he had for several months suffered all that an honest man cansuffer. He had paid a fearful penalty for what, in the eyes of so manymen, is but a trifling wrong. 

When they reached the street in which the Chandores lived, M. Folgatsaid to his client, --

"They do not expect you, I am sure. Go slowly, while I go ahead toprepare them. "

He found Jacques's parents and friends assembled in the parlor, suffering great anxiety; for they had not been able to ascertain ifthere were any truth in the vague rumors which had reached them. 

The young advocate employed the utmost caution in preparing them for thetruth; but at the first words Dionysia asked, --

"Where is Jacques?"

Jacques was kneeling at her feet, overcome with gratitude and love. 

V. 

The next day the funeral of Count Claudieuse took place. His youngestdaughter was buried at the same time; and in the evening the Countessleft Sauveterre, to make her home henceforth with her father in Paris. 

In the proper course of the law, the sentence which condemned Jacqueswas declared null and void; and Cocoleu, found guilty of havingcommitted the crime at Valpinson, was sentenced to hard labor for life. 

A month later Jacques de Boiscoran was married at the church in Brechyto Dionysia de Chandore. The witnesses for the bridegroom were M. Magloire and Dr. Seignebos; the witnesses for the bride, M. Folgat andM. Daubigeon. 

Even the excellent commonwealth attorney laid aside on that day some ofhis usual gravity. He continually repeated, --

 "Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero Pulsanda tellus. "

And he really did drink his glass of wine, and opened the ball with thebride. 

M. Galpin, who was sent to Algiers, was not present at the wedding. ButM. Mechinet was there, quite brilliant, and, thanks to Jacques, freefrom all pecuniary troubles. 

The two Blangins, husband and wife, have well-nigh spent the whole ofthe large sums of money which they extorted from Dionysia. Trumence, private bailiff at Boiscoran, is the terror of all vagrants. 

And Goudar, in his garden and nursery, sells the finest peaches inParis.