As soon, therefore, as Miss Adelaide stopped, he began justifying himself, painting in hypocritical colors the grief it had given him, swearing that he was able to control the events, and that Jacques was as dear to him now as ever.
“If he is so dear to you,” broke in Miss Adelaide, “why don’t you set him free?”
“Ah! how can I?”
“At least give his family and his friends leave to see him.”
“The law will not let me. If he is innocent, he has only to prove it. If he is guilty, he must confess. In the first case, he will be set free; in the other case, he can see whom he wishes.”
“If he is so dear to you, how could you dare read the letter he had written to Dionysia?”
“It is one of the most painful duties of my profession to do so.”
“Ah! And does that profession also prevent you from giving us that letter after having read it?”
“Yes. But I may tell you what is in it.”
He took it out of a drawer, and the younger of the two sisters, Miss Elizabeth, copied it in pencil. Then they withdrew, almost without saying good-by.