“I was angry; but I have reflected since, and now I thank you for your
candor. At least, I know my fate. Innocent though I be, if I go into
court, I shall be condemned as an incendiary and a murderer. I shall
prefer not going into court at all.”
“Poor man! But all hope is not lost.”
“Yes. Who would believe me, if you, my friend, cannot believe me?”
“I would,” said M. Folgat promptly, “I, who, without knowing you, from
the beginning believed in your innocence,--I who, now that I have seen
you, adhere to my conviction.”
Quicker than thought, M. de Boiscoran had seized the young advocate’s
hand, and, pressing it convulsively, said,--
“Thanks, oh, thanks for that word alone! I bless you, sir, for the faith
you have in me!”
This was the first time that the unfortunate man, since his arrest, felt
a ray of hope. Alas! it passed in a second. His eye became dim again;
his brow clouded over; and he said in a hoarse voice,--
“Unfortunately, nothing can be done for me now. No doubt M. Magloire has
told you my sad history and my statement. I have no proof; or at least,
to furnish proof, I would have to enter into details which the court
would refuse to admit; or if by a miracle they were admitted, I should
be ruined forever by them. They are confidences which cannot be spoken
of, secrets which are never betrayed, veils which must not be lifted.
It is better to be condemned innocent than to be acquitted infamous and
dishonored. Gentlemen, I decline being defended.”
What was his desperate purpose that he should have come to such a
decision?
His counsel trembled as they thought they guessed it.
“You have no right,” said M. Folgat, “to give yourself up thus.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you have
relations, friends, and”--
A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as
he broke in,--
“What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for
the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless
verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown
person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first
expression of sympathy.”
“Ah, that is not so,” exclaimed M. Magloire, “you know very well.”