"Very well," they had replied each time.
At last, as they did not come down yet, Jacques"s mother had come to the conclusion that something extraordinary had occurred.
"Now, what could this be, that they should keep it from her?" she thought. If it were something good, they would not have concealed it from her. She had come up stairs, therefore, with the firm resolution to force them to let her come in. When M. Folgat opened the door, she said instantly,--
"I mean to know all!"
Dionysia replied to her,--
"Whatever you may hear, my dear mother, pray remember, that if you allow a single word to be torn from you, by joy or by sorrow, you cause the ruin of an honest man, who has put us all under such obligations as can never be fully discharged. I have been fortunate enough to establish a correspondence 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed at the letter. But, as she read on, it was fearful to see how the blood receded from her face, how her eyes grew dim, her lips turned pale, and at last her 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 accent of her voice, as she said,--
"Why don"t you say at once, my mother, that Jacques is an incendiary and an a.s.sa.s.sin?"
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 his days of prosperity, had so many friends? Well, so be it!"
Naturally, M. Folgat had been less deeply moved than either the marchioness or M. de Chandore; and hence he was also the first to recover his calmness.
"We shall be two, madam, at all events," he said; "for I should never forgive myself, if I allowed myself to be influenced by that letter.
It would be inexcusable, since I know by experience what your heart has told you instinctively. Imprisonment has horrors which affect the strongest and stoutest of minds. The days in prison are interminable, and the nights have nameless terrors. The innocent man in his lonely cell feels as if he were becoming guilty, as the man of soundest intellect 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 clearly as you do."
Ashamed at their lack of courage, M. de Chandore and the marchioness made an effort to recover from the doubts which, for a moment, had well-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 the preliminary examination."
"I beg your pardon," said M. de Chandore, "we have to try to get the case handed over to another magistrate."
M. Folgat shook his head.
"Unfortunately, that is not to be dreamt of. A magistrate acting in his official 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 a court 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 wishes it"--
"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 for a change of venue would prevent M. Galpin from carrying on the proceedings? Not at all. He would go on until the decision comes from the Court of Appeals. He could, it is true, issue no final order; but that is the very thing M. de Boiscoran ought to desire, since such an order would make an end to his close confinement, and enable him to see an 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 the young advocate,--
"I have understood you perfectly, and to-morrow your objections shall be known to M. de Boiscoran."
"Above all," said the lawyer, "explain to him clearly that any such steps as he proposes to take will turn to his disadvantage. M. Galpin is our enemy; but we can make no specific charge against him. They would always 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-powerful still under the present government. He was, in former years, very intimate 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 not easily approached."
"We might send Boiscoran to see him, at least. Since he remained in Paris for the purpose of a.s.sisting us there, now he will have an opportunity. I will write to him to-night."
Since the name of Margeril had been mentioned, the marchioness had become, if possible, paler than ever. At the old gentleman"s last words she rose, and said anxiously,--
"Do not write, sir: it would be useless. I do not wish it."
Her embarra.s.sment was so evident, that the others were quite surprised.
"Have Boiscoran and M. de Margeril had any difficulty?" asked M. de Chandore.
"Yes."
"But," cried Dionysia, "it is a matter of life and death for Jacques."