There followed a long silence, so deep a silence, that the step of the sentinel could b heard, who was walking up and down under the prison-windows.  M. Folgat had said all he thought proper to say:  he feared, in saying more, to assume too great a responsibility.  It was, after all, Jacques’s life and Jacques’s honor which were at stake.  He alone, therefore, ought to decide the nature of his defence.  If his judgment was too forcibly controlled by his counsel, he would have had a right hereafter to say, “Why did you not leave me free to choose?  I should not have been condemned.”

To show this very clearly, M. Folgat went on,—­

“The advice I give you, my dear client, is, in my eyes, the best; it is the advice I would give my own brother.  But, unfortunately, I cannot say it is infallible.  You must decide yourself.  Whatever you may resolve, I am still at your service.”

Jacques made no reply.  His elbows resting on the table, his face in his hands, he remained motionless, like a statue, absorbed in his thoughts.  What should he do?  Should he follow his first impulse, tear the veil aside, and proclaim the truth?  That was a doubtful policy, but also, what a triumph if he succeeded!

Should he adopt the views of his counsel, employ subterfuges and falsehoods?  That was more certain of success; but to be successful in this way—­was that a real victory?

Jacques was in a terrible perplexity.  He felt it but too clearly.  The decision he must form now would decide his fate.  Suddenly he raised his head, and said,—­

“What is your advice, M. Magloire?”

The great advocate of Sauveterre frowned angrily; and said, in a somewhat rough tone of voice,—­

“I have had the honor to place before your mother all that my young colleague has just told you.  M. Folgat has but one fault,—­he is too cautious.  The physician must not ask what his patient thinks of his remedies:  he must prescribe them.  It may be that our prescriptions do not meet with success; but, if you do not follow them, you are most assuredly lost.”

Jacques hesitated for some minutes longer.  These prescriptions, as M. Magloire called them, were painfully repugnant to his chivalrous and open character.

“Would it be worth while,” he murmured, “to be acquitted on such terms?  Would I really be exculpated by such proceedings?  Would not my whole life thereafter be disgraced by suspicions?  I should not come out from the trial with a clear acquittal:  I should have escaped by a mere chance.”

“That would still better than to go, by a clear judgment, to the galleys,” said M. Magloire brutally.

This word, “the galleys,” made Jacques bound.  He rose, walked up and down a few times in his room, and then, placing himself in front of his counsel, said,—­

“I put myself in your hands, gentlemen.  Tell me what I must do.”

Jacques had at least this merit, if he once formed a resolution, he was sure to adhere to it.  Calm now, and self-possessed, he sat down, and said, with a melancholy smile,—­