The evening before, the physicians had said,—­

“If he lives this night, he may be saved.”

At daybreak he had expired.

Well, the old gentleman had hardly suffered more during that fatal night than he did this night, during which Dionysia was away from the house.  He knew very well that Blangin and his wife were honest people, in spite of their avarice and their covetousness; he knew that Jacques de Boiscoran was an honourable man.

But still, during the whole night, his old servant heard him walk up and down his room; and at seven o’clock in the morning he was at the door, looking anxiously up and down the street.  Towards half-past seven, M. Folgat came up; but he hardly wished him good-morning, and he certainly did not hear a word of what the lawyer told him to reassure him.  At last, however, the old man cried,—­

“Ah, there she is!”

He was not mistaken.  Dionysia was coming round the corner.  She came up to the house in feverish haste, as if she had known that her strength was at an end, and would barely suffice to carry her to the door.

Grandpapa Chandore met her with a kind of fierce joy, pressed her in his arms, and said over and over again,—­

“O Dionysia!  Oh, my darling child, how I have suffered!  How long you have been!  But it is all over now.  Come, come, come!”

And he almost carried her into the parlor, and put her down tenderly into a large easy-chair.  He knelt down by her, smiling with happiness; but, when he had taken her hands in his, he said,—­

“Your hands are burning.  You have a fever!”

He looked at her:  she had raised her veil.

“You are pale as death!” he went on.  “Your eyes are red and swollen!”

“I have cried, dear papa,” she replied gently.

“Cried!  Why?”

“Alas, I have failed!”

As if moved by a sudden shock, M. de Chandore started up, and cried,—­

“By God’s holy name the like has not been heard since the world was made!  What! you went, you Dionysia de Chandore, to him in his prison; you begged him”—­

“And he remained inflexible.  Yes, dear papa.  He will say nothing till after the preliminary investigation is over.”

“We were mistaken in the man:  he has no courage and no feeling.”

Dionysia had risen painfully, and said feebly,—­

“Ah, dear papa!  Do not blame him, do not accuse him! he is so unhappy!”

“But what reasons does he give?”

“He says the facts are so very improbable that he should certainly not be believed; and that he should ruin himself if he were to speak as long as he is kept in close confinement, and has no advocate.  He says his position is the result of a wicked conspiracy.  He says he thinks he knows the guilty one, and that he will denounce the person, since he is forced to do so in self-defence.”

M. Folgat, who had until now remained a silent witness of the scene, came up, and asked,—­