“You would not think of abandoning M. de Boiscoran, M. Magloire?”

“You will be more useful to him than I can be,” was the reply.

Perhaps M. Folgat was inwardly of the same opinion.  Still he said,—­

“You have not considered what an effect this would have.”

“Oh!”

“What would the public think if they heard all of a sudden that you had withdrawn?  ’This affair of M. de Boiscoran must be a very bad one indeed,’ they would say, ’that M. Magloire should refuse to plead in it.’  And that would be an additional burden laid upon the unfortunate man.”

The doctor gave his friend no time to reply.

“Magloire is not at liberty to withdraw,” he said, “but he has the right to associate a brother-lawyer with himself.  He must remain the advocate and counsel of M. de Boiscoran; but M. Folgat can lend him the assistance of his advice, the support of his youth and his activity, and even of his eloquence.”

A passing blush colored the cheeks of the young lawyer.

“I am entirely at M. Magloire’s service,” he said.

The famous advocate of Sauveterre considered a while.  After a few moments he turned to his young colleague, and asked him,—­

“Have you any plan?  Any idea?  What would you do?”

To the astonishment of all, M. Folgat now revealed his true character to some extent.  He looked taller, his face brightened up, his eyes shone brightly, and he said in a full, sonorous voice,—­a voice which by its metallic ring made all hearts vibrate,—­

“First of all, I should go and see M. de Boiscoran.  He alone should determine my final decision.  But my plan is formed now.  I, gentlemen, I have faith, as I told you before.  The man whom Miss Dionysia loves cannot be a criminal.  What would I do?  I would prove the truth of M. de Boiscoran’s statement.  Can that be done?  I hope so.  He tells us that there are no proofs or witnesses of his intimacy with the Countess Claudieuse.  I am sure he is mistaken.  She has shown, he says, extraordinary care and prudence.  That may be.  But mistrust challenges suspicion; and, when you take the greatest precautions, you are most likely to be watched.  You want to hide, and you are discovered.  You see nobody; but they see you.

“If I were charged with the defence, I should commence to-morrow a counter-investigation.  We have money, the Marquis de Boiscoran has influential connections; and we should have help everywhere.  Before forty-eight hours are gone, I should have experienced agents at work.  I know Vine Street in Passy:  it is a lonely street; but it has eyes, as all streets have.  Why should not some of these eyes have noticed the mysterious visits of the countess?  My agents would inquire from house to house.  Nor would it be necessary to mention names.  They would not be charged with a search after the Countess Claudieuse, but after an unknown lady, dressed so and so; and, if they should discover any one who had seen her, and who could identify her, that man would be our first witness.