“I don’t know,” he said in an undertone.
“Well, I know you would not,” exclaimed M. Magloire; “and you would be
right, for you would risk your reputation without the slightest chance
of saving Jacques. Yes, no chance whatever! For after all, let us
suppose, what can hardly be even supposed, you should prove that Jacques
has told the truth, that he has been the lover of the countess. What
would happen then? They arrest the countess. Do they release M. de
Boiscoran on that account? Certainly not! They keep him in prison, and
say to him. ‘This woman has attempted her husband’s life; but she had
been your mistress, and you are her accomplice.’
“That is the situation, gentlemen!”
M. Magloire had stripped it of all unnecessary comments, of idle
conjecture, and all sentimental phraseology, and placed it before them
as it had to be looked at, in all its fearful simplicity.
Grandpapa Chandore was terrified. He rose, and said in an almost
inaudible voice,--
“Ah, all is over indeed! Innocent, or guilty, Jacques de Boiscoran will
be condemned.”