“You have no right,” said M. Folgat, “to give yourself up thus.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are not alone in your trouble, sir. Because you have relations, friends, and”—
A bitter, ironical smile appeared on the lips of Jacques de Boiscoran as he broke in,—
“What do I owe to them, if they have not even the courage to wait for the sentence to be pronounced before they condemn me? Their merciless verdict has actually anticipated that of the jury. It was to an unknown person, to you, M. Folgat, that I had to be indebted for the first expression of sympathy.”
“Ah, that is not so,” exclaimed M. Magloire, “you know very well.”
Jacques did not seem to hear him. He went on,—
“Friends? Oh, yes! I had friends in my days of prosperity. There was M. Galpin and M. Daubigeon: they were my friends. One has become my judge, the most cruel and pitiless of judges; and the other, who is commonwealth attorney, has not even made an effort to come to my assistance. M. Magloire also used to be a friend of mine, and told me a hundred times, that I could count upon him as I count upon myself, and that was my reason to choose him as my counsel; and, when I endeavored to convince him of my innocence, he told me I lied.”
Once more the eminent advocate of Sauveterre tried to protest; but it was in vain.
“Relations!” continued Jacques with a voice trembling with indignation—“oh, yes! I have relations, a father and a mother. Where are they when their son, victimized by unheard-of fatality, is struggling in the meshes of a most odious and infamous plot?