isfortune happens so easily,--they become weary of life--Trumence would
be there to prevent it."

The old lady trembled with horror. This precautionary measure, more than
any thing else, gave her the full measure of her son's situation.

"However," M. Blangin went on, "there is nothing to fear. M. de
Boiscoran became quite calm again, and even cheerful, if I may say
so. When he got up this morning, after having slept all night like a
dormouse, he sent for me, and asked me for paper, ink, and pen. All the
prisoners ask for that the second day. I had orders to let him have it,
and so I gave it to him. When I carried him his breakfast, he handed me
a letter for Miss Chandore."

"What?" cried Dionysia, "you have a letter for me, and you don't give it
to me?"

"I do not have it now, madam. I had to hand it, as is my duty, to M.
Galpin, when he came accompanied by his clerk, Mechinet, to examine M.
de Boiscoran."

"And what did he say?"

"He opened the letter, read it, put it into his pocket, and said,
'Well.'"

Tears of anger this time sprang from Dionysia's eyes; and she cried,--

"What a shame? This man reads a letter written by Jacques to me! That is
infamous!"

And, without thinking of thanking Blangin, she drew off the old lady,
and all the way home did not say a word.

"Ah, poor child, you did not succeed," exclaimed the two old aunts, when
they saw their niece come back.

But, when they had heard every thing, they said,--

"Well, we'll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the day
before yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of our
cousin. And we'll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give us
back Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take down
his pride."

How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies,
when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to her
indignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?

"Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts," she said. "Quick, don't lose any
time; go at once!"

Unable to resist her entreaties, they started instantly, without
listening to the timid objections made by the marchioness. But the good
ladies were sadly mistaken as to the state of mind of M. Galpin. The
ex-lover of one of their cousins was not bedded on roses by any means.
At the beginning of this extraordinary affair he had taken hold of it
with eagerness, looking upon it as an admirable opportunity, long l