"I believe he is asleep," replied the prisoner. "Poor man! Who knows but he dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?"M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. He had 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 down from 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 quick yesterday, 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 your candor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go into court, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shall prefer 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, from the beginning believed in your innocence,--I who, now that I have seen you, adhere to my conviction."Quicker than thought, M. de Boiscoran had seized the young advocate's hand, and, pressing it convulsively, said,--"Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faith you have in me!"This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felt a 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 has told 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 court would refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, Ishould be ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spoken of, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted. It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous and dishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended."What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such a decision?
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 have relations, friends, and"--A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as he broke in,--"What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first expression 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 my judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when Iendeavored to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied."Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it was in vain.
"Relations!" continued Jacques with a voice trembling with indignation --"oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother. Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?
"My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usual pleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; and she 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 crime is no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I stand alone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose of myself."M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It would have been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said,--"You forget Miss Chandore, sir."
Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all his limbs,--"Dionysia!"
"Yes, Dionysia," said the young advocate. "You forget her courage, her devotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandons and denies you,--she who set aside all her reserve and her timidity for your sake, and came and spent a whole night in this prison? She was risking nothing less than her maidenly honor; for she might have been discovered or betrayed. She knew that very well, nevertheless she did not 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 misery is all the greater as I know but too well what bliss I am losing? Do you not see that I love Dionysia as woman never was loved before? Ah, if my life alone was at stake! I, at least, I have to make amends for a great wrong; 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 have told her all. They have told her how I came to be at Valpinson the night of the crime.""You are mistaken, Jacques," said M. Magloire. "Miss Chandore knows nothing.""Is it possible?"
"M. Magloire did not speak in her presence," added M. Folgat; "and we have bound over M. de Chandore to secrecy. I insisted upon it that you alone 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."