Bordin and Monsieur de Grandville looked at each other; they seemed in doubt as to Laurence’s veracity.  This evident suspicion was the most cutting of all the many pangs the girl had suffered in the affair; and she turned upon the lawyers a look which effectually put an end to their distrust.

The next day the indictment was handed over to the defence, and the lawyers were then enabled to communicate with the prisoners.  Bordin informed the family that the six accused men were “well supported,” —­using a professional term.

“Monsieur de Grandville will defend Michu,” said Bordin.

“Michu!” exclaimed the Marquis de Chargeboeuf, amazed at the change.

“He is the pivot of the affair—­the danger lies there,” replied the old lawyer.

“If he is more in danger than the others, I think that is just,” cried Laurence.

“We see certain chances,” said Monsieur de Grandville, “and we shall study them carefully.  If we are able to save these gentlemen it will be because Monsieur d’Hauteserre ordered Michu to repair one of the stone posts in the covered way, and also because a wolf has been seen in the forest; in a criminal court everything depends on discussions, and discussions often turn on trivial matters which then become of immense importance.”

Laurence sank into that inward dejection which humiliates the soul of all thoughtful and energetic persons when the uselessness of thought and action is made manifest to them.  It was no longer a matter of overthrowing a usurper, or of coming to the help of devoted friends, —­fanatical sympathies wrapped in a shroud of mystery.  She now saw all social forces full-armed against her cousins and herself.  There was no taking a prison by assault with her own hands, no deliverance of prisoners from the midst of a hostile population and beneath the eyes of a watchful police.  So, when the young lawyer, alarmed at the stupor of the generous and noble girl, which the natural expression of her face made still more noticeable, endeavored to revive her courage, she turned to him and said:  “I must be silent; I suffer,—­I wait.”

The accent, gesture, and look with which the words were said made this answer one of those sublime things which only need a wider stage to make them famous.

A few moments later old d’Hauteserre was saying to the Marquis de Chargeboeuf:  “What efforts I have made for my two unfortunate sons!  I have already laid by in the Funds enough to give them eight thousand francs a year.  If they had only been willing to serve in the army they would have reached the higher grades by this time, and could now have married to advantage.  Instead of that, all my plans are scattered to the winds!”

“How can you,” said his wife, “think of their interests when it is a question of their honor and their lives?”

“Monsieur d’Hauteserre thinks of everything,” said the marquis.

CHAPTER XVI