my darling," wrote the prisoner, "the thought of the terrible
grief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow. Need I
stoop to assure you that I am innocent? I am sure it is not needed. I am
the victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not but
mislead justice. But be reassured, be hopeful. When the time comes, I
shall 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 reach
its destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that he
had written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love. The
fact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to this
presumption.

"After all we shall see," said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlocking
the door.

But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau at
Boiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thing
out of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or said
that he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home more
troubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, if
he could have retraced his steps!

But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himself
to go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it was
henceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;
that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It must
be. It was a question of life or death for him.

He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called at
his house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instant
his over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. What
could 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," he
commenced.

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 who
is trying to wither an impious man, she poured upon him a stream of
reproaches for what she called his infamous treachery. What? How c