Dionysia alone seemed to have preserved the faculty of reasoning and moving.  But her face was deep purple; her dry eyes shone with a painful light; and her body shook as with fever.  As soon as the two advocates appeared, she cried,—­

“And you call this human justice?”

And, as they were silent, she added,—–­

“Here is Jacques condemned to penal labor; that is to say, he is judicially dishonored, lost, disgraced, forever cut off from human society.  He is innocent; but that does not matter.  His best friends will know him no longer:  no hand will touch his hand hereafter; and even those who were most proud of his affection will pretend to have forgotten his name.”

“I understand your grief but too well, madam,” said M. Magloire.

“My grief is not as great as my indignation,” she broke in.  “Jacques must be avenged, and he shall be avenged!  I am only twenty, and he is not thirty yet:  there is a whole life before us which we can devote to the work of his rehabilitation; for I do not mean to abandon him.  I!  His undeserved misfortunes make him a thousand times dearer to me, and almost sacred.  I was his betrothed this morning:  this evening I am his wife.  His condemnation was our nuptial benediction.  And if it is true, as grandpapa says, that the law prohibits a prisoner to marry the woman he loves, well, I will be his without marriage.”

Dionysia spoke all this aloud, so loud that it seemed she wanted all the earth to hear what she was saying.

“Ah! let me reassure you by a single word, madam,” said M. Folgat.  “We have not yet come to that.  The sentence is not final.”

The Marquis de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore started.

“What do you mean?”

“An oversight which M. Galpin has committed makes the whole proceeding null and void.  You will ask how a man of his character, so painstaking and so formal, should have made such a blunder.  Probably because he was blinded by passion.  Why had nobody noticed this oversight?  Because fate owed us this compensation.  There can be no question about the matter.  The defect is a defect of form; and the law provides expressly for the case.  The sentence must be declared void, and we shall have another trial.”

“And you never told us anything of that?” asked Dionysia.

“We hardly dared to think of it,” replied M. Magloire.  “It was one of those secrets which we dare not confide to our own pillow.  Remember, that, in the course of the proceedings, the error might have been corrected at any time.  Now it is too late.  We have time before us; and the conduct of Count Claudieuse relieves us from all restraint of delicacy.  The veil shall be torn now.”

The door opened violently, interrupting his words.  Dr. Seignebos entered, red with anger, and darting fiery glances from under his gold spectacles.

“Count Claudieuse?” M. Folgat asked eagerly.

“Is next door,” replied the doctor.  “They have had him down on a mattress, and his wife is by his side.  What a profession ours is!  Here is a man, a wretch, whom I should be most happy to strangle with my own hands; and I am compelled to do all I can to recall him to life:  I must lavish my attentions upon him, and seek every means to relieve his sufferings.”