Perhaps he would have
fled at the last moment if he could have done so; and he was only able
by a supreme effort to control his excitement.

At last he heard a rapid, light step in the hall; and almost immediately
the Countess Claudieuse appeared. He recognized her at once, such as
Jacques had described her to him, calm, serious, and serene, as if her
soul were soaring high above all human passions. Far from diminishing
her exquisite beauty, the terrible events of the last months had only
surrounded her, as it were, with a divine halo. She had fallen off
a little, however. And the dark semicircle under her eyes, and the
disorder of her hair, betrayed the fatigue and the anxiety of the long
nights which she had spent by her husband's bedside.

As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked,--

"You are M. de Boiscoran's counsel?"

"Yes, madam," replied the young advocate.

"The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me."

"Yes, madam."

With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself,
she said,--

"I hear, sir."

M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice,--

"I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client's true
position."

"That is useless, sir. I know."

"You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may be
condemned?"

She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly,--

"I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a most
infamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unless
God works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my children
without a father."

"But M. de Boiscoran is innocent, madam."

The features of the countess assumed an expression of profound surprise;
and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said,--

"And who, then, is the murderer?"

Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips from
uttering the fatal word, "You," prompted by his indignant conscience.
But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying,
he said,--

"To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, an
advocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add that
the counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secrets
which have been confided to him."

"I do not understand, sir."

"My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence.
He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honor
rat