“Yes; and that is what makes me fear. What will be his fate on the day when M. Jacques’s innocence is established?”
They were just coming home, quite proud of their achievement, and waving in triumph the copy of Jacques’s letter. Dionysia seized upon it; and, while she read it aside, Miss Adelaide described the interview, stating how haughty and disdainful she had been, and how humble and repentant M. Galpin had seemed to be.
“He was completely undone,” said the two old ladies with one voice: “he was crushed, annihilated.”
“Yes, you have done a nice thing,” growled the old baron; “and you have much reason to boast, forsooth.”
“My aunts have done well,” declared Dionysia. “Just see what Jacques has written! It is clear and precise. What can we fear when he says, ‘Be reassured: when the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right’?”
M. Folgat took the letter, read it, and shook his head. Then he said,—
“There was no need of this letter to confirm my opinion. At the bottom of this affair there is a secret which none of us have found out yet. But M. de Boiscoran acts very rashly in playing in this way with a criminal prosecution. Why did he not explain at once? What was easy yesterday may be less easy to-morrow, and perhaps impossible in a week.”
“Jacques, sir, is a superior man,” cried Dionysia, “and whatever he says is perfectly sure to be the right thing.”
His mother’s entrance prevented the young lawyer from making any reply. Two hours’ rest had restored to the old lady a part of her energy, and her usual presence of mind; and she now asked that a telegram should be sent to her husband.
“It is the least we can do,” said M. de Chandore in an undertone, “although it will be useless, I dare say. Boiscoran does not care that much for his son. Pshaw! Ah! if it was a rare faience, or a plate that is wanting in his collection, then would it be a very different story.”