But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eye upon these events.  Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt his ability, and to ask himself, if he had not, after all, acted rashly.  If Jacques was guilty, so much the better.  He was sure, in that case, immediately after the verdict, to obtain brilliant promotion.  Yes, but if Jacques should be innocent?  When that thought occurred to M. Galpin for the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones.  Jacques innocent!—­that was his own condemnation, his career ended, his hopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever.  Jacques innocent!—­that was certain disgrace.  He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where he could not remain after such a scandal.  He would be banished to some out-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion.

In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty.  People would answer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrant blunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; and that for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it is better, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than to punish an innocent one.

With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart of an ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns.  He had been up since six o’clock.  At eleven, he had sent for his clerk, Mechinet; and they had gone together to the jail to recommence the examination.  It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner’s letter for Dionysia.  It was a short note, such as a sensible man would write who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecy of his correspondence.  It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blangin had not noticed.

“Dionysia, my darling,” wrote the prisoner, “the thought of the terrible grief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow.  Need I stoop to assure you that I am innocent?  I am sure it is not needed.  I am the victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not but mislead justice.  But be reassured, be hopeful.  When the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right.

“JACQUES.”

“Well,” M. Galpin had really said after reading this letter.  Nevertheless it had stung him to the quick.

“What assurance!” he had said to himself.

Still he had regained courage while ascending the steps of the prison.  Jacques had evidently not thought it likely that his note would reach its destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that he had written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love.  The fact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to this presumption.

“After all we shall see,” said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlocking the door.

But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau at Boiscoran, haughty and even scornful.  It was impossible to get any thing out of him.  When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or said that he needed time to consider.  The magistrate had returned home more troubled than ever.  The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him.  Ah, if he could have retraced his steps!