“I was madly in love when we parted; and still I made no effort to see her again.  It was mere chance again which brought us together.

“One day I had business at Melun, and, reaching the station rather late, I had but just time to jump into the nearest car.  In the compartment was the countess.  She told me—­and that is all I ever recollected of the conversation—­that she was on her way to Fontainebleau to see a friend, with whom she spent every Tuesday and Saturday.  Usually she took the nine o’clock train.

“This was on a Tuesday; and during the next three days a great struggle went on in my heart.  I was desperately in love with the countess, and still I was afraid of her.  But my evil star conquered; and the next Saturday, at nine o’clock, I was at the station again.

“The countess has since confessed to me that she expected me.  When she saw me, she made a sign; and, when they opened the doors, I managed to find a place by her side.”

M. Magloire had for some minutes given signs of great impatience; now he broke forth,—­

“This is too improbable!”

At first Jacques de Boiscoran made no reply.  It was no easy task for a man, tried as he had been of late, to stir up thus the ashes of the past; and it made him shudder.  He was amazed at seeing on his lips this secret which he had so long buried in his innermost heart.  Besides, he had loved, loved in good earnest; and his love had been returned.  And there are certain sensations which come to us only once in life, and which can never again be effaced.  He was moved to tears.  But as the eminent advocate of Sauveterre repeated his words, and even added,—­

“No, it is not credible!”

“I do not ask you to believe me,” he said gently:  “I only ask you to hear me.”

And, overcoming with all his energy the kind of torpor which was mastering him, he continued,—­

“This trip to Fontainebleau decided our fate.  Other trips followed.  The countess spent her days with her friend, and I passed the long hours in roaming through the woods.  But in the evening we met again at the station.  We took a coupe, which I had engaged beforehand, and I accompanied her in a carriage to her father’s house.

“Finally, one evening, she left her friend’s house at the usual hour; but she did not return to her father’s house till the day after.”

“Jacques!” broke in M. Magloire, shocked, as if he had heard a curse,—­“Jacques!”

M. de Boiscoran remained unmoved.

“Oh!” he said, “I know you must think it strange.  You fancy that there is no excuse for the man who betrays the confidence of a woman who has once given herself to him.  Wait, before you judge me.”

And he went on, in a firmer tone of voice,—­

“At that time I thought I was the happiest man on earth; and my heart was full of the most absurd vanity at the thought that she was mine, this beautiful woman, whose purity was high above all calumny.  I had tied around my neck one of those fatal ropes which death alone can sever, and, fool that I was, I considered myself happy.