“Well, it had to come sooner or later. Show them in!”
M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to prepare
himself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almost
cheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him his
companion.
“M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, who
has been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran.”
“I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal,” said Folgat: “I do not know the
manner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of this
country; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit many
a grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able and
experienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have both
encouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you.”
“Certainly, sir, and with all my heart,” replied M. Seneschal, bowing
politely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of a
great Paris lawyer.
He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting
his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven
chin with his hand.
“This is a very serious matter, gentlemen,” he said at last.
“A criminal charge is always serious,” replied M. Folgat.
“Upon my word,” cried M. de Chandore, “you are not in doubt about
Jacques’s innocence?”
M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wise
remarks made by his wife the evening before.
“How can we know,” he began at last, “what may be going on in young
brains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance of
certain insults! Wrath is a dangerous counsellor.”
Grandpapa Chandore refused to hear any more.
“What! do you talk to me of wrath?” he broke in; “and what do you see
of wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for my part, but
the very meanest crime, long prepared and coolly carried out.”