"Is it true, Victor, that Martial Mazurier is in prison?"
His answer surprised her.
"No, it is not true."
But his countenance did not answer the glad expression of her face with an equal smile. His gravity almost communicated itself to her. Yet this rebound from her recent dismay surely might demand an opportunity.
"I believe you," said she. "But I was coming to see if it could be true. It was hard to believe, and yet it has cost me a great deal to persuade myself against belief, Victor."
"It will cost you still more, Jacqueline. Martial Mazurier has recanted."
"He has been in prison, then?"
"He has retracted, and is free again,—has denied himself. No more glorious words from him, Jacqueline, such as we have heard! He has sold himself to the Devil, you see."
"Mazurier?"
"Mazurier has thought raiment better than life. He has believed a man's life to consist in the abundance of the things he possesseth," said the youth, bitterly. He continued, looking steadfastly at Jacqueline,—"Probably I must give up the Truth also. My uncle is dead: must I not secure my possessions?—for I am no longer a poor man; I cannot afford to let my life fall into the hands of those wolves."