prison he trembled, as he thought of some of his first meetings with her, as he saw before his mind’s eye her features swimming in voluptuous languor, as he heard the silvery ring of her voice, or inhaled the perfume she loved ever to have about her.  She had exposed him to the danger of losing his position, his future, his honor even; and he still felt inclined to forgive her.  But now she threatened him with the loss of his betrothed, the loss of that pure and chaste love which burnt in Dionysia’s heart, and he could not endure that.

“I will spare her no longer,” he cried, mad with wrath.  “I will hesitate no longer.  I have not the right to do so; for I am bound to defend Dionysia!”

He was more than ever determined to risk that adventure on the next day, feeling quite sure now that his courage would not fail him.

It was Trumence to-night—­perhaps by the jailer’s skilful management—­who was ordered to take the prisoner back to his cell, and, according to the jail-dictionary, to “curl him up” there.  He called him in, and at once plainly told him what he expected him to do.  Upon Blangin’s assurance, he expected the vagabond would jump at the mere idea of escaping from jail.  But by no means.  Trumence’s smiling features grew dark; and, scratching himself behind the ear furiously, he replied,—­

“You see—­excuse me, I don’t want to run away at all.”

Jacques was amazed.  If Trumence refused his cooperation he could not go out, or, at least, he would have to wait.

“Are you in earnest, Trumence?” he asked.

“Certainly I am, my dear sir.  Here, you see, I am not so badly off:  I have a good bed, I have two meals a day, I have nothing to do, and I pick up now and then, from one man or another, a few cents to buy me a pinch of tobacco or a glass of wine.”

“But your liberty?”

“Well, I shall get that too.  I have committed no crime.  I may have gotten over a wall into an orchard; but people are not hanged for that.  I have consulted M. Magloire, and he told me precisely how I stand.  They will try me in a police-court, and they will give me three or four months.  Well, that is not so very bad.  But, if I run away, they put the gendarmes on my track; they bring me back here; and then I know how they will treat me.  Besides, to break jail is a grave offence.”

How could he overcome such wise conclusions and such excellent reasons?  Jacques was very much troubled.

“Why should the gendarmes take you again?” he asked.

“Because they are gendarmes, my dear sir.  And then, that is not all.  If it were spring, I should say at once, ‘I am your man.’  But we have autumn now; we are going to have bad weather; work will be scarce.”

Although an incurable idler, Trumence had always a good deal to say about work.

“You won’t help them in the vintage?” asked Jacques.

The vagabond looked almost repenting.