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Updated: June 23, 2025
M. de Chandore replied that she had staid at home with the Misses Lavarande, to keep M. Magloire company; and that was all. There are situations in which it is painful to talk. The marquis had enough to do to suppress the spasmodic sobs which now and then would rise in his throat. He was upset by the thought that he was at Sauveterre.
Madame Magloire emphasized these last words; but the Bishop had just come from his room, where it was rather cold. He seated himself in front of the fire, and warmed himself, and then fell to thinking of other things. He did not take up the remark dropped with design by Madame Magloire. She repeated it.
She went often to the pere Mascart's, a blind paralytic on the Rue Basse, whom she was obliged to feed herself the broth she carried him; then to the Chouteaux, a man and his wife, each one over ninety years of age, who lived in a little hut on the Rue Magloire, which she had furnished for them with articles taken from the attic of her parents.
"They all say to me, 'Be off! I am very tired and hungry. Will you let me stay here? I will pay." "Madame Magloire," said the bishop, "please lay another knife and fork. Sit down, monsieur, and warm yourself. We shall have supper directly, and your bed will be got ready while we are supping." Joy and amazement were on the man's face; he stammered his thanks as though beside himself.
M. Magloire shook his head as if he were not fully convinced. "Then," he asked again, "you declare that the Countess Claudieuse has been at this house?" "More than fifty times in three years." "If that is so, she must be known there." "No." "But" "Paris is not like Sauveterre, my dear friend; and people are not solely occupied with their neighbors' doings.
Jacques is very unfortunate, and still he is to be envied." Dionysia finished her recital. Then, turning with a triumphant air to M. Magloire, she added, "After that, is there any one yet who could believe that Jacques is a vile assassin?" The eminent advocate of Sauveterre was not one of those men who prize their opinions more highly than truth itself.
To-morrow the close confinement will be raised, and M. Jacques will see M. Magloire, the counsel whom he has chosen. We will write immediately." It was for this news the marquis was waiting now. Twice already he had rung to inquire if the mail had not come yet, when all of a sudden his valet appeared and with a frightened air said, "The marchioness.
Nevertheless, I sent Madame Magloire down a moment later, to carry to the man's bed a goat skin from the Black Forest, which was in my room. The nights are frigid, and that keeps one warm. It is a pity that this skin is old; all the hair is falling out.
"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.
Then Mademoiselle Baptistine, desirous of satisfying Madame Magloire without displeasing her brother, ventured to say timidly: "Did you hear what Madame Magloire is saying, brother?" "I have heard something of it in a vague way," replied the Bishop.
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