ry 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 and
decided. She said,--

"You would rather let an innocent man perish."

"Madam!"

"You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word you
could remove the mistake of which he is the victim? You would say to
yourself, 'It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak'? And you would
see him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold? No, I cannot believe
that! 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! what
ideas men form of their duty! How can I move you? How can I convince
you? Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they charge
with 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 his
innocence 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 moved
to 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 ten
lines, 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 did
not know what to say, what to do. At last he thought of one reason for
refusing, 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 her
grandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table. She
began,--

"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 that
would have moved a stone. "How could I want to offend you, when I ask of
you 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 aided
u