Her voice nearly failed her, and it was only with a great effort she could add,—­

“For I come to ask you to do even more than that for me, oh! yes, much more.”

Mechinet had turned painfully pale.  He broke in vehemently,—­

“Not another word, madam:  your hope already is an insult to me.  You ought surely to know that by my profession, as well as by my oath, I am bound to be as silent as the very cell in which the prisoners are kept.  If I, the clerk, were to betray the secret of a criminal prosecution”—­

Dionysia trembled like an aspen-leaf; but her mind remained clear and decided.  She said,—­

“You would rather let an innocent man perish.”

“Madam!”

“You would let an innocent man be condemned, when by a single word you could remove the mistake of which he is the victim?  You would say to yourself, ‘It is unlucky; but I have sworn not to speak’?  And you would see him with quiet conscience mount the scaffold?  No, I cannot believe that!  No, that cannot be true!”

“I told you, madam, I believe in M. de Boiscoran’s innocence.”

“And you refuse to aid me in establishing his innocence?  O God! what ideas men form of their duty!  How can I move you?  How can I convince you?  Must I remind you of the torture this man suffers, whom they charge with being an assassin?  Must I tell you what horrible anguish we suffer, we, his friends, his relatives?—­how his mother weeps, how I weep, I, his betrothed!  We know he is innocent; and yet we cannot establish his innocence for want of a friend who would aid us, who would pity us!”

In all his life the clerk had not heard such burning words.  He was moved to the bottom of his heart.  At last he asked, trembling,—­

“What do you want me to do, madam?”

“Oh! very little, sir, very little,—­just to send M. de Boiscoran ten lines, and to bring us his reply.”

The boldness of the request seemed to stun the clerk.  He said,—­

“Never!”

“You will not have pity?”

“I should forfeit my honor.”

“And, if you let an innocent one be condemned, what would that be?”

Mechinet was evidently suffering anguish.  Amazed, overcome, he did not know what to say, what to do.  At last he thought of one reason for refusing, and stammered out,—­

“And if I were found out?  I should lose my place, ruin my sisters, destroy my career for life.”

With trembling hands, Dionysia drew from her pocket the bonds which her grandfather had given her, and threw them in a heap on the table.  She began,—­

“There are twenty thousand francs.”

The clerk drew back frightened.  He cried,—­

“Money!  You offer me money!”

“Oh, don’t be offended!” began the young girl again, with a voice that would have moved a stone.  “How could I want to offend you, when I ask of you more than my life?  There are services which can never be paid.  But, if the enemies of M. de Boiscoran should find out that you have aided us, their rage might turn against you.”