?"

"Then he has explained?"

"As far as I am concerned, and M. Folgat, Dr. Seignebos, and all who
know him and love him, yes, but not for the public, for his enemies, or
the law. He has explained every thing; but he has no proof."

The mournful features of the marquis settled into still deeper gloom.

"In other words, he has to be believed on his own word?" he asked.

"Don't you believe him?"

"I am not the judge of that, but the jury."

"Well, for the jury he will find proof. M. Folgat, who has come in the
same train with me, and whom you will see to-day, hopes to discover
proof."

"Proof of what?"

Perhaps the marchioness was not unprepared for such a reception. She
expected it, and still she was disconcerted.

"Jacques," she began, "has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse."

"Ah, ah!" broke in the marquis.

And, in a tone of offensive irony, he added,--

"No doubt another story of adultery; eh?"

The marchioness did not answer. She quietly went on,--

"When the countess heard of Jacques's marriage, and that he abandoned
her, she became exasperated, and determined to be avenged."

"And, in order to be avenged, she attempted to murder her husband; eh?"

"She wished to be free."

The Marquis de Boiscoran interrupted his wife with a formidable oath.
Then he cried,--

"And that is all Jacques could invent! And to come to such an abortive
story--was that the reason of his obstinate silence?"

"You do not let me finish. Our son is the victim of unparalleled
coincidences."

"Of course! Unparalleled coincidences! That is what every one of the
thousand or two thousand rascals say who are sentenced every year. Do
you think they confess? Not they! Ask them, and they will prove to you
that they are the victims of fate, of some dark plot, and, finally, of
an error of judgment. As if justice could err in these days of ours,
after all these preliminary examinations, long inquiries, and careful
investigations."

"You will see M. Folgat. He will tell you what hope there is."

"And if all hope fails?"

The marchioness hung her head.

"All would not be lost yet. But then we should have to endure the pain
of seeing our son brought up in court."

The tall figure of the old gentleman had once more risen to its full
height; his face grew red; and the most appalling wrath flashed from his
eyes.

"Jacques brought up in court?" he cried, with a formidable voice. "And
you come and tell me that coolly,