t.

"You have no right," said M. Folgat, "to give yourself up thus."

"Why not?"

"Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you have
relations, friends, and"--

A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as
he broke in,--

"What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for
the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless
verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown
person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first
expression of sympathy."

"Ah, that is not so," exclaimed M. Magloire, "you know very well."

Jacques did not seem to hear him. He went on,--

"Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M.
Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become my
judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who
is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my
assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a
hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and
that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavored
to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied."

Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it
was in vain.

"Relations!" continued Jacques with a voice trembling with
indignation--"oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother.
Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is
struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?

"My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usual
pleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; and
she has been told that I am at liberty to receive visitors: but in vain.
I was hoping for her yesterday; but the wretch who is accused of a crime
is no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I stand
alone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose of
myself."

M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It would
have been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said,--

"You forget Miss Chandore, sir."

Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all his
limbs,--

"Dionysia!"

"Yes, Dionysia," said the young advocate. "You forget her courage, her
devotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandons
and denies you,--she who set aside all her r