s colleague.

They went up. But, as they entered the passage, they noticed Trumence,
who was making signs to them to step lightly.

"What is the matter?" they asked in an undertone.

"I believe he is asleep," replied the prisoner. "Poor man! Who knows but
he dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?"

M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. He
had heard steps and voices, and he had just risen. Blangin, therefore,
opened the door; and at once M. Magloire said the prisoner,--

"I bring you reenforcements,--M. Folgat, my colleague, who has come down
from Paris, with your mother."

Coolly, and without saying a word, M. de Boiscoran bowed.

"I see you are angry with me," continued M. Magloire. "I was too quick
yesterday, much too quick."

Jacques shook his head, and said in an icy tone,--

"I was angry; but I have reflected since, and now I thank you for your
candor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go into
court, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shall
prefer not going into court at all."

"Poor man! But all hope is not lost."

"Yes. Who would believe me, if you, my friend, cannot believe me?"

"I would," said M. Folgat promptly, "I, who, without knowing you, from
the beginning believed in your innocence,--I who, now that I have seen
you, adhere to my conviction."

Quicker than thought, M. de Boiscoran had seized the young advocate's
hand, and, pressing it convulsively, said,--

"Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faith
you have in me!"

This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felt
a ray of hope. Alas! it passed in a second. His eye became dim again;
his brow clouded over; and he said in a hoarse voice,--

"Unfortunately, nothing can be done for me now. No doubt M. Magloire has
told you my sad history and my statement. I have no proof; or at least,
to furnish proof, I would have to enter into details which the court
would refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, I should
be ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spoken
of, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted.
It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous and
dishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended."

What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such a
decision?

His counsel trembled as they thought they guessed i