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"If we discover her," said M. Magloire. "And here, unfortunately, we enter into the region of suppositions." "Suppositions!" said M. Folgat. "Well, call them so; but they are based upon positive facts, and supported by a hundred precedents. Why should we not find this Suky Wood, whose birthplace and family we know, and who has no reason for concealment?
Everybody, to be sure, felt a heaviness at heart as he thought that at the same hour a jailer probably brought Jacques his meal to his cell; nor could Dionysia keep from dropping a tear when she saw M. Folgat sitting in her lover's place. But no one, except the young advocate, thought that Jacques was in real danger.
He has preferred risking his own honor rather than to betray the honor of another person." The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying, "My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?" But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go. "I am desired by M. de Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter." The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise.
People go out to see the trains start or come in, to examine the new arrivals, or to exchange confidences as to the reasons why Mr. or Mrs. So-and-so have made up their mind to travel. It was nine o'clock in the morning when the train which brought the marchioness and Manuel Folgat at last reached Sauveterre.
Unfortunately, we must take M. Folgat into our confidence; for we cannot do without his advice." Thus it was done. The poor aunts, and even the marchioness, had to be content with Dionysia's not very plausible explanation of her visit. And a few hours afterwards M. de Chandore, the young girl, and M. Folgat held a council in the baron's study.
And in a lower tone he added, "And what do you think I have been doing these hundred and thirty mortal hours since I have been alone in this prison, alone to confront a terrible accusation, and a still more terrible emergency?" "That is the difficulty, Jacques: you are the victim of your own imagination. And who could help it in your place? M. Folgat said so only yesterday.
"To me?" she said. "On what ground?" Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques's letter from his portfolio, and handed it to her. "Here it is!" he said. She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But, as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in her face, and said with flaming eyes, "Do you know, sir, what this letter contains?" "Yes."
I have said that Cocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, and I shall prove it. Boiscoran can count upon me." He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added, "And I say M. de Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons. I have formed very singular suspicions, sir, very singular."
A. No: I had written to her." "Do you hear, Jacques?" cried M. Magloire. "Notice that M. Galpin takes care not to insist. He does not wish to rouse your suspicions. He has got you to confess, and that is enough for him." But, in the meantime, M. Folgat had found another paper. "In your sixth examination," he went on, "I have noticed this,
"Well, for the jury he will find proof. M. Folgat, who has come in the same train with me, and whom you will see to-day, hopes to discover proof." "Proof of what?" Perhaps the marchioness was not unprepared for such a reception. She expected it, and still she was disconcerted. "Jacques," she began, "has been the lover of the Countess Claudieuse." "Ah, ah!" broke in the marquis.
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