“Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M.
Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become my
judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who
is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my
assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a
hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and
that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavored
to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied.”
Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it
was in vain.
“Relations!” continued Jacques with a voice trembling with
indignation--“oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother.
Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is
struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?
“My father stays quietly in Paris, devoted to his pursuits and usual
pleasures. My mother has come down to Sauveterre. She is here now; and
she has been told that I am at liberty to receive visitors: but in vain.
I was hoping for her yesterday; but the wretch who is accused of a crime
is no longer her son! She never came. No one came. Henceforth I stand
alone in the world; and now you see why I have a right to dispose of
myself.”
M. Folgat did not think for a moment of discussing the point. It would
have been useless. Despair never reasons. He only said,--
“You forget Miss Chandore, sir.”
Jacques turned crimson all over, and he murmured, trembling in all his
limbs,--
“Dionysia!”
“Yes, Dionysia,” said the young advocate. “You forget her courage, her
devotion, and all she has done for you. Can you say that she abandons
and denies you,--she who set aside all her reserve and her timidity
for your sake, and came and spent a whole night in this prison? She was
risking nothing less than her maidenly honor; for she might have been
discovered or betrayed. She knew that very well, nevertheless she did
not hesitate.”
“Ah! you are cruel, sir,” broke in Jacques.