“I am ready; let us go.”
They had both heard repeatedly that Jacques was kept in close
confinement; but neither of them realized fully what that meant. They
had no idea of this atrocious measure, which is, nevertheless, rendered
necessary by the peculiar forms of French law-proceedings,--a measure
which, so to say, immures a man alive, and leaves him in his cell alone
with the crime with which he is charged, and utterly at the mercy of
another man, whose duty it is to extort the truth from him. The two
ladies only saw the want of liberty, a cell with its dismal outfittings,
the bars at the window, the bolts at the door, the jailer shaking his
bunch of keys at his belt, and the tramp of the solitary sentinel in the
long passages.
“They cannot refuse me permission,” said the old lady, “to see my son.”
“They cannot,” repeated Dionysia. “And, besides, I know the jailer,
Blangin: his wife was formerly in our service.”
When the young girl, therefore, raised the heavy knocker at the
prison-door, she was full of cheerful confidence. Blangin himself came
to the door; and, at the sight of the two poor ladies, his broad face
displayed the utmost astonishment.
“We come to see M. de Boiscoran,” said Dionysia boldly.
“Have you a permit, ladies?” asked the keeper.
“From whom?”
“From M. Galpin.”
“We have no permit.”
“Then I am very sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that you cannot
possibly see M. de Boiscoran. He is kept in close confinement, and I
have the strictest orders.”