“From this moment,” he said, “you are no longer in close confinement.
You can receive the visits of your family in the prison parlor. The
advocate whom you will choose will be admitted to your cell to consult
with you.”
“At last!” exclaimed Jacques with explosive delight; and then he
added,--
“Am I at liberty to write to M. de Chandore?”
“Yes,” replied M. Galpin, “and, if you choose to write at once, my clerk
will be happy to carry your letter this evening to its destination.”
Jacques de Boiscoran availed himself on the spot of this permission;
and he had done very soon, for the note which he wrote, and handed to M.
Mechinet, contained only the few words,--
“I shall expect M. Magloire to-morrow morning at nine.
“J.”
Ever since the day on which they had come to the conclusion that a false
step might have the most fatal consequences, Jacques de Boiscoran’s
friends had abstained from doing anything. Besides, what would have been
the use of any efforts? Dr. Seignebos’s request, though unsupported, had
been at least partially granted; and the court had summoned a physician
from Paris, a great authority on insanity, to determine Cocoleu’s mental
condition. It was on a Saturday that Dr. Seignebos came triumphantly
to announce the good news. It was the following Tuesday that he had to
report his discomfiture. In a furious passion he said,--
“There are asses in Paris as well as elsewhere! Or, rather, in these
days of trembling egotism and eager servility, an independent man is
as difficult to find in Paris as in the provinces. I was looking for
a _savant_ who would be inaccessible to petty considerations; and they
send me a trifling fellow, who does not dare to be disagreeable to the
gentlemen of the bar. Ah, it was a cruel disappointment!”