"Ah! do not be afraid, madam: the Countess Claudieuse is incapable of such devotion."

Dionysia threw herself back in utter amazement; and, raising her wide-open eyes to the young advocate, she said with an air of stupefaction,--

"The Countess Claudieuse?"

M. Folgat saw his indiscretion. He had been under the impression that Jacques had told his betrothed every thing; and her very manner of speaking had confirmed him in his conviction.

"Ah, it is the Countess Claudieuse," she went on,--"that lady whom all revere as if she were a saint. And I, who only the other day marvelled at her fervor in praying,--I who pitied her with all my heart,--I--Ah! I now see what they were hiding from me."

Distressed by the blunder which he had committed, the young advocate said,--

"I shall never forgive myself, madam, for having mentioned that name in your presence."

She smiled sadly.

"Perhaps you have rendered me a great service, sir. But, I pray, go and see what the truth is about this report."

M. Folgat had not walked down half the street, when he became aware that something extraordinary must really have happened. The whole town was in uproar. People stood at their doors, talking. Groups here and there were engaged in lively discussions.

Hastening his steps, he was just turning into National Street, when he was stopped by three or four gentlemen, whose acquaintance he had, in some way or other, been forced to make since he was at Sauveterre.

"Well, sir?" said one of these amiable friends, "your client, it seems, is running about nicely."

"I do not understand," replied M. Folgat in a tone of ice.

"Why? Don't you know your client has run off?"

"Are you quite sure of that?"

"Certainly. The wife of a workman whom I employ was the person through whom the escape became known. She had gone on the old ramparts to cut gra.s.s there for her goat; and, when she came to the prison wall, she saw a big hole had been made there. She gave at once the alarm; the guard came up; and they reported the matter immediately to the commonwealth attorney."

For M. Folgat the evidence was not satisfactory yet. He asked,--

"Well? And M. de Boiscoran?"

"Cannot be found. Ah, I tell you, it is just as I say. I know it from a friend who heard it from a clerk at the mayor's office. Blangin the jailer, they say, is seriously implicated."

"I hope soon to see you again," said the young advocate, and left him abruptly.

The gentleman seemed to be very grievously offended at such treatment; but the young advocate paid no attention to him, and rapidly crossed the New-Market Square.

He was become apprehensive. He did not fear an evasion, but thought there might have occurred some fearful catastrophe. A hundred persons, at least, were a.s.sembled around the prison-doors, standing there with open mouths and eager eyes; and the sentinels had much trouble in keeping them back.

M. Folgat made his way through the crowd, and went in.

In the court-yard he found the commonwealth attorney, the chief of police, the captain of the gendarmes, M. Seneschal, and, finally, M.

Galpin, all standing before the janitor's lodge in animated discussion.

The magistrate looked paler than ever, and was, as they called it in Sauveterre, in bull-dog humor. There was reason for it.

He had been informed as promptly as M. Folgat, and had, with equal promptness, dressed, and hastened to the prison. And all along his way, unmistakable evidence had proved to him that public opinion was fiercely roused against the accused, but that it was as deeply excited against himself.

On all sides he had been greeted by ironical salutations, mocking smiles, and even expressions of condolence at the loss of his prisoner.

Two men, whom he suspected of being in close relations with Dr.

Seignebos, had even murmured, as he pa.s.sed by them,--

"Cheated, Mr. Bloodhound."

He was the first to notice the young advocate, and at once said to him,--

"Well, sir, do you come for news?"

But M. Folgat was not the man to be taken in twice the same day.

Concealing his apprehensions under the most punctilious politeness, he replied,--

"I have heard all kinds of reports; but they do not affect me. M. de Boiscoran has too much confidence in the excellency of his cause and the justice of his country to think of escaping. I only came to confer with him."

"And you are right!" exclaimed M. Daubigeon. "M. de Boiscoran is in his cell, utterly unaware of all the rumors that are afloat. It was Trumence who has run off,--Trumence, the light-footed. He was kept in prison for form's sake only, and helped the keeper as a kind of a.s.sistant jailer.

He it is who has made a hole in the wall, and escaped, thinking, no doubt, that the heavens are a better roof than the finest jail."

A little distance behind the group stood Blangin, the jailer, affecting a contrite and distressed air.

"Take the counsel to the prisoner Boiscoran," said M. Galpin dryly, fearing, perhaps, that M. Daubigeon might regale the public with all the bitter epigrams with which he persecuted him privately. The jailer bowed to the ground, and obeyed the order; but, as soon as he was alone with M. Folgat in the porch of the building, he blew up his cheek, and then tapped it, saying,--

"Cheated all around."

Then he burst out laughing. The young advocate pretended not to understand him. It was but prudent that he should appear ignorant of what had happened the night before, and thus avoid all suspicion of a complicity which substantially did not exist.

"And still," Blangin went on, "this is not the end of it yet. The gendarmes are all out. If they should catch my poor Trumence! That man is such a fool, the most stupid judge would worm his secret out of him in five minutes. And then, who would be in a bad box?"

M. Folgat still made no reply; but the other did not seem to mind that much. He continued,--

"I only want to do one thing, and that is to give up my keys as soon as possible. I am tired of this profession of jailer. Besides, I shall not be able to stay here much longer. This escape has put a flea into the ear of the authorities, and they are going to give me an a.s.sistant, a former police sergeant, who is as bad as a watchdog. Ah! the good days of M. de Boiscoran are over: no more stolen visits, no more promenades.

He is to be watched day and night."

Blangin had stopped at the foot of the staircase to give all these explanations.

"Let us go up," he said now, as M. Folgat showed signs of growing impatience.

He found Jacques lying on his bed, all dressed; and at the first glance he saw that a great misfortune had happened.

"One more hope gone?" he asked.

The prisoner raised himself up with difficulty, and sat up on the side of his bed; then he replied in a voice of utter despair,--

"I am lost, and this time hopelessly."

"Oh!"