Does he think I am guilty?"

"No; it is just because he is so sure of your innocence, that he remains
in Paris. He does not believe you in danger. He insists upon it that
justice cannot err."

"I hope so," said Jacques with a forced smile.

Then changing his tone,--

"And Dionysia? Why did she not come with you?"

"Because I would not have it. She knows nothing. It has been agreed upon
that the name of the Countess Claudieuse is not to be mentioned in her
presence; and I wanted to speak to you about that abominable woman.
Jacques, my poor child, where has that unlucky passion brought you!"

He made no reply.

"Did you love her?" asked the marchioness.

"I thought I did."

"And she?"

"Oh, she! God alone knows the secret of that strange heart."

"There is nothing to hope from her, then, no pity, no remorse?"

"Nothing. I have given her up. She has had her revenge. She had
forewarned me."

The marchioness sighed.

"I thought so," she said. "Last Sunday, when I knew as yet of nothing,
I happened to be close to her at church, and unconsciously admired
her profound devotion, the purity of her eye, and the nobility of her
manner. Yesterday, when I heard the truth, I shuddered. I felt how
formidable a woman must be who can affect such calmness at a time when
her lover lies in prison accused of the crime which she has committed."

"Nothing in the world would trouble her, mother."

"Still she ought to tremble; for she must know that you have told us
every thing. How can we unmask her?"

But time was passing; and Blangin came to tell the marchioness that she
had to withdraw. She went, after having kissed her son once more.

That same evening, according to their arrangement, she left for Paris,
accompanied by M. Folgat and old Anthony.

XVIII.

At Sauveterre, everybody, M. de Chandore as much as Jacques himself,
blamed the Marquis de Boiscoran. He persisted in remaining in Paris, it
is true: but it was certainly not from indifference; for he was dying
with anxiety. He had shut himself up, and refused to see even his oldest
friends, even his beloved dealers in curiosities. He never went out; the
dust accumulated on his collections; and nothing could arouse him from
this state of prostration, except a letter from Sauveterre.

Every morning he received three or four,--from the marchioness or M.
Folgat, from M. Seneschal or M. Magloire, from M. de Chandore, Dionysia,
or even from Dr. Seignebos. Thus he