“We shall be two, madam, at all events,” he said; “for I should never forgive myself, if I allowed myself to be influenced by that letter.  It would be inexcusable, since I know by experience what your heart has told you instinctively.  Imprisonment has horrors which affect the strongest and stoutest of minds.  The days in prison are interminable, and the nights have nameless terrors.  The innocent man in his lonely cell feels as if he were becoming guilty, as the man of soundest intellect would begin to doubt himself in a madhouse”—­

Dionysia did not let him conclude.  She cried,—­

“That is exactly what I felt, sir; but I could not express it as clearly as you do.”

Ashamed at their lack of courage, M. de Chandore and the marchioness made an effort to recover from the doubts which, for a moment, had well-nigh overcome them.

“But what is to be done?” asked the old lady.

“Your son tells us, madam, we have only to wait for the end of the preliminary examination.”

“I beg your pardon,” said M. de Chandore, “we have to try to get the case handed over to another magistrate.”

M. Folgat shook his head.

“Unfortunately, that is not to be dreamt of.  A magistrate acting in his official capacity cannot be rejected like a simple juryman.”

“However”—­

“Article 542 of the Criminal Code is positive on the subject.”

“Ah!  What does it say?” asked Dionysia.

“It says, in substance, madam, that a demand for a change of magistrate, on the score of well-founded suspicion, can only be entertained by a court of appeals, because the magistrate, within his legitimate sphere, is a court in himself.  I do not know if I express myself clearly?”

“Oh, very clearly!” said M. de Chandore.  “Only, since Jacques wishes it”—­

“To be sure; but M. de Boiscoran does not know”—­

“I beg your pardon.  He knows that the magistrate is his mortal enemy.”

“Be it so.  But how would that help us?  Do you think that a demand for a change of venue would prevent M. Galpin from carrying on the proceedings?  Not at all.  He would go on until the decision comes from the Court of Appeals.  He could, it is true, issue no final order; but that is the very thing M. de Boiscoran ought to desire, since such an order would make an end to his close confinement, and enable him to see an advocate.”

“That is atrocious!” murmured M. de Chandore.

“It is atrocious, indeed; but such are the laws of France.”

In the meantime Dionysia had been meditating; and now she said to the young advocate,—­

“I have understood you perfectly, and to-morrow your objections shall be known to M. de Boiscoran.”

“Above all,” said the lawyer, “explain to him clearly that any such steps as he proposes to take will turn to his disadvantage.  M. Galpin is our enemy; but we can make no specific charge against him.  They would always reply, ‘If M. de Boiscoran is innocent, why does he not speak?’”