As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked,--

"You are M. de Boiscoran's counsel?"

"Yes, madam," replied the young advocate.

"The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me."

"Yes, madam."

With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself, she said,--

"I hear, sir."

M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice,--

"I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client's true position."

"That is useless, sir. I know."

"You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may be condemned?"

She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly,--

"I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a most infamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unless G.o.d works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my children without a father."

"But M. de Boiscoran is innocent, madam."

The features of the countess a.s.sumed an expression of profound surprise; and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said,--

"And who, then, is the murderer?"

Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips from uttering the fatal word, "You," prompted by his indignant conscience.

But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying, he said,--

"To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, an advocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add that the counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secrets which have been confided to him."

"I do not understand, sir."

"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,--

"Do you know, sir, what this letter contains?"

"Yes."

"Do you know that M. de Boiscoran dares call me by my first name, Genevieve, as my husband does, and my father?"

The decisive moment had come, and M. Folgat had all his self-possession.

"M. de Boiscoran, madame, claims that he used to call you so in former days,--in Vine Street,--in days when you called him Jacques."

The countess seemed to be utterly bewildered.

"But that is sheer infamy, sir," she stammered. "What! M. de Boiscoran should have dared tell you that I, the countess Claudieuse, have been his--mistress?"

"He certainly said so, madam; and he affirms, that a few moments before the fire broke out, he was near you, and that, if his hands were blackened, it was because he had burned your letters and his."

She rose at these words, and said in a penetrating voice,--

"And you could believe that,--you? Ah! M. de Boiscoran's other crimes are nothing in comparison with this! He is not satisfied with having burnt our house, and ruined us: he means to dishonor us. He is not satisfied with having murdered my husband: he must ruin the honor of his wife also."

She spoke so loud, that her voice must have been distinctly heard in the vestibule.

"Lower, madam, I pray you speak lower," said M. Folgat.

She cast upon him a crushing glance; and, raising her voice still higher, she went on,--

"Yes, I understand very well that you are afraid of being heard. But I--what have I to fear? I could wish the whole world to hear us, and to judge between us. Lower, you say? Why should I speak less loud? Do you think that if Count Claudieuse were not on his death-bed, this letter would not have long since been in his hands? Ah, he would soon have satisfaction for such an infamous letter, he! But I, a poor woman! I have never seen so clearly that the world thinks my husband is lost already, and that I am alone in this world, without a protector, without friends."

"But, madam, M. de Boiscoran pledges himself to the most perfect secrecy."

"Secrecy in what? In your cowardly insults, your abominable plots, of which this, no doubt, is but a beginning?"

M. Folgat turned livid under this insult.

"Ah, take care, madam," he said in a hoa.r.s.e voice: "we have proof, absolute, overwhelming proof."

The countess stopped him by an imperious gesture, and with the haughtiest disdain, grief, and wrath, she said,--

"Well, then, produce your proof. Go, hasten, act as you like. We shall see if the vile calumnies of an incendiary can stain the pure reputation of an honest woman. We shall see if a single speck of this mud in which you wallow can reach up to me."