“Ah the miserable woman!” cried Dionysia.
And, after a moment’s reflection, she added,—
“And yet that may be our salvation. Yes, certainly. Why should I hesitate? Wait for me here: I am coming back.”
She hurried out. Her grandpapa was about to follow her; but M. Folgat stopped him.
“Let her do it,” he said,—“let her do it!”
It had just struck ten o’clock. The court-house, just now as full and as noisy as a bee-hive, was silent and deserted. In the immense hall, badly lighted by a smoking lamp, there were only two men to be seen. One was the priest from Brechy, who was praying on his knees close to a door; and the other was the watchman, who was slowly walking up and down, and whose steps resounded there as in a church.
Dionysia went straight up to the latter.
“Where is Count Claudieuse?” she asked.
“There, madam,” replied the man, pointing at the door before which the priest was praying,—“there, in the private office of the commonwealth attorney.”
“Who is with him?”