“What do you propose telling her?”
“I do not know. That depends upon how she receives me.”
“As far as I know her, she will, upon looking at the note, merely order you out.”
“Who knows! At all events, I shall not have to reproach myself for having shrunk from a step which in my heart I thought it my duty to take.”
“Whatever may happen, be prudent, and do not allow yourself to get angry. Remember that a scene with her would compel us to change our whole line of defence, and that that is the only one which promises any success.”
“Oh, do not fear!”
Thereupon, shaking hands once more, they parted, M. Magloire returning to his house, and M. Folgat going up the street. It struck half-past five, and the young advocate hurried on for fear of being too late. He found them waiting for him to go to dinner; but, as he entered the room, he forgot all his excuses in his painful surprise at the mournful and dejected appearance of the prisoner’s friends and relatives.
“Have we any bad news?” he asked with a hesitating voice.
“The worst we had to fear,” replied the Marquis de Boiscoran. “We had all foreseen it; and still, as you see, it has surprised us all, like a clap of thunder.”
The young lawyer beat his forehead, and cried,—