n the jailer
was perfectly natural; but to obtain M. de Chandore's consent was a much
more difficult task. The poor girl understood this so well, that, for
the first time in her life, she felt embarrassed in her grandfather's
presence. She hesitated, she prepared her little speech, and she
selected carefully her words. But in spite of all her skill, in spite of
all the art with which she managed to present her strange request, M. de
Chandore had no sooner understood her project than he exclaimed,--

"Never, never, never!"

Perhaps in his whole life the old gentleman had never expressed himself
in so positive a manner. His brow had never looked so dark. Usually,
when his granddaughter had a petition, his lips might say, "No;" but his
eyes always said, "Yes."

"Impossible!" he repeated, and in a tone of voice which seemed to admit
of no reply.

Surely, in all these painful events, he had not spared himself, and he
had so far done for Dionysia all that she could possibly expect of him.
Her will had been his will. As she had prompted, he had said, "Yes," or
"No." What more could he have said or done?

Without telling him what she was going to do with it, Dionysia had asked
him for twenty thousand francs, and he had given them to her, however
big the sum might be everywhere, however immense in a small town like
Sauveterre. He was quite ready to give her as much again, or twice as
much, without asking any more questions.

But for Dionysia to leave her home one evening at six o'clock, and not
to return to it till the next morning--

"That I cannot permit," he repeated.

But for Dionysia to spend a night in the Sauveterre jail, in order to
have an interview with her betrothed, who was accused of incendiarism
and murder; to remain there all night, alone, absolutely at the mercy of
the jailer, a hard, coarse, covetous man--

"That I will never permit," exclaimed the old gentleman once more.

Dionysia remained calm, and let the storm pass. When her grandfather
became silent, she said,--

"But if I must?"

M. de Chandore shrugged his shoulders. She repeated in a louder tone,--

"If I must, in order to decide Jacques to abandon this system that will
ruin him, to induce him to speak before the investigation is completed?"

"That is not your business, my child," said the old gentleman.

"Oh!"

"That is the business of his mother, the Marchioness of Boiscoran.
Whatever Blangin agrees to venture for your sake, he wil