The marquis felt so secure, that he only listened with partial attention, looking all the time aside at his precious faiences.
“Well,” he said at last, “Jacques detests the Claudieuses. What does that prove? God be thanked, we do not murder all the people we detest!”
His wife did not insist any longer. She only asked,—
“Well, what must we do?”
She was so little in the habit of consulting her husband, that he was quite surprised.
“The first thing is to get Jacques out of jail. We must see—we ought to ask for advice.”
At this moment a light knock was heard at the door.
“Come in!” he said.
A servant came in, bringing a large envelope, marked “Telegraphic Despatch. Private.”
“Upon my word!” cried the marquis. “I thought so. Now we shall be all right again.”