“My good friend,” murmured the elder man, his hand stretched out.
“My dear colleague,” was the formula of the younger.
They conveyed their condolences to him, one cordially and with emotion, the other in trite phrases.
“Yes,” replied their host, stopping them with a motion of his hand, “I have only one son left. That one I am going to save. I must save him; and here’s the plan I have decided on.”
This last consultation had been called by the three lawyers to check up some definite plan of defence together, and lo, the opinion of a single one was prevailing in advance, without other consultation.
“Ah!” exclaimed the president, subdued by so much confidence and firmness.
“Decided?” repeated Mr. Battard with an air of doubt, divided between respect for his friend’s mourning and a sense of his own importance.
Mr. Roquevillard disclosed his idea promptly, in few words; he was very quiet, and his voice had grown young again.
“You two will assist me, both of you. But I shall make the argument myself,” he said.
“You!”