By a natural impulse they had both hastened forward, and shook hands in the most energetic manner.  Tears stood in their eyes.  They opened their lips to speak; but they said nothing.  Besides, there was no need of words between them.  That close embrace had told Jacques’s father clearly enough what Dionysia’s grandfather must have suffered.  They remained thus standing motionless, looking at each other, when Dr. Seignebos, who could not be still for any length of time, came up, and asked,—­

“The trunks are on the carriage:  shall we go?”

They left the station.  The night was clear; and on the horizon, above the dark mass of the sleeping town, there rose against the pale-blue sky the two towers of the old castle, which now served as prison to Sauveterre.

“That is the place where my Jacques is kept,” murmured the marquis.  “There my son is imprisoned, accused of horrible crimes.”

“We will get him out of it,” said the doctor cheerfully, as he helped the old gentleman into the carriage.

But in vain did he try, during the drive, to rouse, as he called it, the spirits of his companions.  His hopes found no echo in their distressed hearts.

M. Folgat inquired after Dionysia, whom he had been surprised not to see at the station.  M. de Chandore replied that she had staid at home with the Misses Lavarande, to keep M. Magloire company; and that was all.

There are situations in which it is painful to talk.  The marquis had enough to do to suppress the spasmodic sobs which now and then would rise in his throat.  He was upset by the thought that he was at Sauveterre.  Whatever may be said to the contrary, distance does not weaken our emotions.  Shaking hands with M. de Chandore in person had moved him more deeply than all the letters he had received for a month.  And when he saw Jacques’s prison from afar, he had the first clear notion of the horrible tortures endured by his son.  The marchioness was utterly exhausted:  she felt as if all the springs in her system were broken.

M. de Chandore trembled when he looked at them, and saw how they all were on the point of succumbing.  If they despaired, what could he hope for,—­he, who knew how indissolubly Dionysia’s fate in life was connected with Jacques?

At length the carriage stopped before his house.  The door opened instantly, and the marchioness found herself in Dionysia’s arms, and soon after comfortably seated in an easy-chair.  The others had followed her.  It was past two o’clock; but every minute now was valuable.  Arranging his spectacles, Dr. Seignebos said,—­

“I propose that we exchange our information.  I, for my part, I am still at the same point.  But you know my views.  I do not give them up.  Cocoleu is an impostor, and it shall be proved.  I appear to notice him no longer; but, in reality, I watch him more closely than ever.”

Dionysia interrupted him, saying,—­