ooked
for, and likely to open wide the doors to his burning ambition. Then
having once begun, and the investigation being under way, he had been
carried away by the current, without having time to reflect. He had even
felt a kind of unhealthy satisfaction at seeing the evidence increasing,
until he felt justified and compelled to order his former friend to
be sent to prison. At that time he was fairly dazzled by the most
magnificent expectations. This preliminary inquiry, which in a few hours
already had led to the discovery of a culprit the most unlikely of all
men in the province, could not fail to establish his superior ability
and matchless skill.

But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eye
upon these events. Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt his
ability, 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, but
if Jacques should be innocent? When that thought occurred to M. Galpin
for the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones.
Jacques innocent!--that was his own condemnation, his career ended, his
hopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever. Jacques innocent!--that
was certain disgrace. He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where he
could not remain after such a scandal. He would be banished to some
out-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion.

In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty. People would
answer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrant
blunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; and
that for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it is
better, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than to
punish an innocent one.

With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart of
an ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns. He
had 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 the
examination. It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner's
letter for Dionysia. It was a short note, such as a sensible man would
write who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecy
of his correspondence. It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blangin
had not noticed.

"Dionysia,