ning-room, and were there waiting for the result of the interview.
Dionysia had only come down later; and her grandfather could not help
noticing that she had dressed more carefully than usual.

"Are we not going to see Jacques again?" she replied with a smile full
of confidence and joy.

She had actually persuaded herself that one word from Jacques would
suffice to convince the celebrated lawyer, and that he would reappear
triumphant on M. Magloire's arm. The others did not share these
expectations. The two aunts, looking as yellow as their old laces, sat
immovable in a corner. The marchioness was trying to hide her tears; and
M. Folgat endeavored to look absorbed in a volume of engravings. M. de
Chandore, who possessed less self-control, walked up and down in the
room, repeating every ten minutes,--

"It is wonderful how long time seems when you are waiting!"

At ten o'clock no news had come.

"Could M. Magloire have forgotten his promise?" said Dionysia, becoming
anxious.

"No, he has not forgotten it," replied a newcomer, M. Seneschal. It
was really the excellent mayor, who had met M. Magloire about an hour
before, and who now came to hear the news, for his own sake, as he said,
but especially for his wife's sake, who was actually ill with anxiety.

Eleven o'clock, and no news. The marchioness got up, and said,--

"I cannot stand this uncertainty a minute longer. I am going to the
prison."

"And I will go with you, dear mother," declared Dionysia.

But such a proceeding was hardly suitable. M. de Chandore opposed it,
and was supported by M. Folgat, as well as by M. Seneschal.

"We might at least send somebody," suggested the two aunts timidly.

"That is a good idea," replied M. de Chandore.

He rang the bell; and old Anthony came in. He had established himself
the evening before in Sauveterre, having heard that the preliminary
investigation was finished.

As soon as he had been told what they wanted him to do, he said,--

"I shall be back in half an hour."

He nearly ran down the steep street, hastened along National Street, and
then climbed up more slowly Castle Street. When M. Blangin, the keeper,
saw him appear, he turned very pale; for M. Blangin had not slept since
Dionysia had given him the seventeen thousand francs. He, once upon a
time the special friend of all gendarmes, now trembled when one of them
entered the jail. Not that he felt any remorse about having betrayed his
duty; oh, no! bu