“My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence. He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honor rather than to betray the honor of another person.”
The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying,—
“My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?”
But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go.
“I am desired by M. de Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter.”
The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise.
“To me?” she said. “On what ground?”
Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques’s letter from his portfolio, and handed it to her.
“Here it is!” he said.
She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But, as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in her face, and said with flaming eyes,—