“Unhappy man! Do you not feel, that, in order to escape from one crime, you are committing another which is a thousand times worse?”
Jacques stood wringing his hand, and said—
“It is enough to drive me mad.”
“And even if I, your friend,” continued M. Magloire, “should believe you, how would that help you? Would any one else believe it? Look here I will tell you exactly what I think. Even if I were perfectly sure of all the facts you mention, I should never plead them in my defence, unless I had proofs. To plead them, understand me well, would be to ruin yourself inevitably.”
“Still they must be pleaded; for they are the truth.”
“Then,” said M. Magloire, “you must look for another advocate.”
And he went toward the door. He was on the point of leaving, when Jacques cried out, almost in agony,—
“Great God, he forsakes me!”
“No,” replied the advocate; “but I cannot discuss matters with you in the state of excitement in which you now are. You will think it over, and I will come again to-morrow.”
He left; and Jacques de Boiscoran fell, utterly undone, on one of the prison chairs.