“I said so, and I still think so,” added M. de Chandore; “and every sensible man will think so too; but”—­

His granddaughter did not let him finish.

“It is evident therefore, that Jacques is the victim of an abominable intrigue; and we must unravel it.  We have cried enough:  now let us act!”

Then, turning to the marchioness, she said,—­

“And my dear mother, I sent for you, because we want you to help us in this great work.”

“And here I am,” replied the old lady, “not less certain of my son’s innocence than you are.”

Evidently M. de Chandore had been hoping for something more; for he interrupted her, asking,—­

“And the marquis?”

“My husband remained in Paris.”

The old gentleman’s face assumed a curious expression.

“Ah, that is just like him,” he said.  “Nothing can move him.  His only son is wickedly accused of a crime, arrested, thrown into prison.  They write to him; they hope he will come at once.  By no means.  Let his son get out of trouble as he can.  He has his faiences to attend to.  Oh, if I had a son!”

“My husband,” pleaded the marchioness, “thinks he can be more useful to Jacques in Paris than here.  There will be much to be done there.”

“Have we not the railway?”

“Moreover,” she went on, “he intrusted me to this gentleman.”  She pointed out M. Folgat.

“M.  Manuel Folgat, who has promised us the assistance of his experience, his talents, and his devotion.”

When thus formally introduced, M. Folgat bowed, and said,—­

“I am all hope.  But I think with Miss Chandore, that we must go to work without losing a second.  Before I can decide, however, upon what is to be done, I must know all the facts.”

“Unfortunately we know nothing,” replied M. de Chandore,—­“nothing, except that Jacques is kept in close confinement.”

“Well, then, we must try to find out.  You know, no doubt, all the law officers of Sauveterre?”

“Very few.  I know the commonwealth attorney.”

“And the magistrate before whom the matter has been brought.”

The older of the two Misses Lavarande rose, and exclaimed,—­

“That man, M. Galpin, is a monster of hypocrisy and ingratitude.  He called himself Jacques’s friend; and Jacques liked him well enough to induce us, my sister and myself, to give our consent to a marriage between him and one of our cousins, a Lavarande.  Poor child.  When she learned the sad truth, she cried, ’Great God!  God be blessed that I escaped the disgrace of becoming the wife of such a man!’”

“Yes,” added the other old lady, “if all Sauveterre thinks Jacques guilty, let them also say, ‘His own friend has become his judge.’”

M. Folgat shook his head, and said,—­

“I must have more minute information.  The marquis mentioned to me a M. Seneschal, mayor of Sauveterre.”