M. Magloire could stand it no longer.
“Let us go up,” he said to his colleague.
They went up. But, as they entered the passage, they noticed Trumence, who was making signs to them to step lightly.
“What is the matter?” they asked in an undertone.
“I believe he is asleep,” replied the prisoner. “Poor man! Who knows but he dreams he is free, and in his beautiful chateau?”
M. Folgat went on tiptoe to the wicket. But Jacques had waked up. He had heard steps and voices, and he had just risen. Blangin, therefore, opened the door; and at once M. Magloire said the prisoner,—
“I bring you reenforcements,—M. Folgat, my colleague, who has come down from Paris, with your mother.”
Coolly, and without saying a word, M. de Boiscoran bowed.
“I see you are angry with me,” continued M. Magloire. “I was too quick yesterday, much too quick.”
Jacques shook his head, and said in an icy tone,—