The clerk started up, as if he had been moved by a spring, beat his forehead furiously with his hand, and said,—­

“Ah, what a fool I was!  Now I see.”

“Yes, you are right,” replied the girl.  “I come to talk to you abut M. de Boiscoran, my betrothed, my husband.”

She paused; and for a minute Mechinet and the young girl remained there face to face, silent and immovable, looking at each other, he asking himself what she could want of him, and she trying to guess how far she might venture.

“You can no doubt imagine, M. Mechinet, what I have suffered, since M. de Boiscoran has been sent to prison, charged with the meanest of all crimes!”

“Oh, surely, I do!” replied Mechinet.

And, carried away by his emotion, he added,—­

“But I can assure you, madam, that I, who have been present at all the examinations, and who have no small experience in criminal matters,—­that I believe M. de Boiscoran innocent.  I know M. Galpin does not think so, nor M. Daubigeon, nor any of the gentlemen of the bar, nor the town; but, nevertheless, that is my conviction.  You see, I was there when they fell upon M. de Boiscoran, asleep in his bed.  Well, the very tone of his voice, as he cried out, ‘Oh, my dear Galpin!’ told me that the man is not guilty.”

“Oh, sir,” stammered Dionysia, “thanks, thanks!”

“There is nothing to thank me for, madam; for time has only confirmed my conviction.  As if a guilty man ever bore himself as M. de Boiscoran does!  You ought to have seen him just now, when we had gone to remove the seals, calm, dignified, answering coldly all the questions that were asked.  I could not help telling M. Galpin what I thought.  He said I was a fool.  Well, I maintain, on the contrary, that he is.  Ah!  I beg your pardon, I mean that he is mistaken.  The more I see of M. de Boiscoran, the more he gives me the impression that he has only a word to say to clear up the whole matter.”

Dionysia listened to him with such absorbing interest, that she well-nigh forgot why she had come.

“Then,” she asked, “you think M. de Boiscoran is not much overcome?”

“I should lie if I said he did not look sad, madam,” was the reply.  “But he is not overcome.  After the first astonishment, his presence of mind returned; and M. Galpin has in vain tried these three days by all his ingenuity and his cleverness”—­

Here he stopped suddenly, like a drunken man who recovers his consciousness for a moment, and becomes aware that he has said too much in his cups.  He exclaimed,—­

“Great God! what am I talking about?  For Heaven’s sake, madam, do not let anybody hear what I was led by my respectful sympathy to tell you just now.”

Dionysia felt that the decisive moment had come.  She said,—­

“If you knew me better, sir, you would know that you can rely upon my discretion.  You need not regret having given me by your confidence some little comfort in my great sorrow.  You need not; for”—­