e saw that a great misfortune had happened.

"One more hope gone?" he asked.

The prisoner raised himself up with difficulty, and sat up on the side
of his bed; then he replied in a voice of utter despair,--

"I am lost, and this time hopelessly."

"Oh!"

"Just listen!"

The young advocate could not help shuddering as he heard the account
given by Jacques of what had happened the night before. And when it was
finished, he said,--

"You are right. If Count Claudieuse carries out his threat, it may be a
condemnation."

"It must be a condemnation, you mean. Well, you need not doubt. He will
carry out his threat."

And shaking his head with an air of desolation, he added,--

"And the most formidable part of it is this: I cannot blame him for
doing it. The jealousy of husbands is often nothing more than self-love.
When they find they have been deceived, their vanity is offended; but
their heart remains whole. But in this case it is very different. He
not only loved his wife, he worshipped her. She was his happiness, life
itself. When I took her from him, I robbed him of all he had,--yes, of
all! I never knew what adultery meant till I saw him overcome with shame
and rage. He was left without any thing in a moment. His wife had a
lover: his favorite daughter was not his own! I suffer terribly; but
it is nothing, I am sure, in comparison with what he suffers. And you
expect, that, holding a weapon in his hand, he should not use it? It is
a treacherous, dishonest weapon, to be sure; but have I been frank and
honest? It would be a mean, ignoble vengeance, you will say; but what
was the offence? In his place, I dare say, I should do as he does."

M. Folgat was thunderstruck.

"But after that," he asked, "when you left the house?"

Jacques passed his hand mechanically over his forehead, as if to gather
his thoughts, and then went on,--

"After that I fled precipitately, like a man who has committed a crime.
The garden-door was open, and I rushed out. I could not tell you with
certainty in what direction I ran, through what streets I passed. I had
but one fixed idea,--to get away from that house as quickly and as far
as possible. I did not know what I was doing. I went, I went. When I
came to myself, I was many miles away from Sauveterre, on the road to
Boiscoran. The instinct of the animal within me had guided me on the
familiar way to my house. At the first moment I could not comprehend how
I had gotten there. I