The advocate shut himself up for a quarter of an hour to gather up the threads of his arguments. The review he had made for Margaret, under the influence of high nervous excitement, had served as an outlet for the anger and shame that had been accumulating in him all morning as he listened to the infamous accusations made against his son. Now his nerves relaxed, and the pounding of his heart grew calm, like the sea when the wind falls. When the moment came for going back to the court-house Margaret saw that his face was less stormy, and that his glance had again the serenity which his visit last evening to La Vigie had given him. “Until to-night, father,” she said. “May God help you.” On the doorstep he replied briskly: “Until to-night, little girl--with Maurice.” The girl had just shut herself in her room to pray when Jeanne Sassenay called at the house. “Miss Margaret, if you please,” she demanded of the servant who opened the door. The maid, more rigid and circumspect since Raymony Bercy’s invasion, dismissed this inopportune question in a peremptory tone. “Miss Margaret is tired. She is seeing no one.” “So much the worse. I’ll come in, nevertheless.” And passing by the frightened servant before she had time to bar the way, Jeanne went through the hall on a run, as far as her friend’s room, which she knew of old. She knocked smartly, entered and threw herself into Margaret’s arms. “It’s I, Margaret,” she said. “Don’t send me away. It’s not Melanie’s fault.” “You, Jeanne? Why are you here?” “Because you are alone and tired. Such a lot of people have gone to the hearing, just as if it were a party. And so I--well, I thought my place was here with you. I love you so much.” Margaret patted her friend’s cheek. “You are good, Jeanne.” “Oh, no. It’s just that I’ve so much friendship for you. When I was quite little even, I admired you. And I should like so much to be like you.” Then in a mysterious tone she changed the subject abruptly. “Just imagine,” she said, “those ladies all dressed themselves up so for the court-house. As carefully as if they were going to a matinée.” “Who?” “Oh, all of them.” “Yes,” said Miss Roquevillard bitterly. “It’s a question of our honour--quite a spectacle.” Jeanne Sassenay took her hand. “I’m not anxious, myself,” she said; and in a learned tone she cut the whole debate short: “On the whole, what do they reproach your brother with that’s so serious? That he ran away with some one? That’s nothing.” In spite of her sadness Margaret could not keep back a smile, and Jeanne took this for encouragement to go on. “You know quite well a woman doesn’t let herself be removed as if she were a spot on your clothes. If any one tried to carry me off I’d scratch and bite and hurt him frightfully.... Unless I was going away with him anyway.” “Keep still, Jeanne.” “Oh, you never can tell. When you’re in love you’ll do anything. To be in love--it’s something terrible.”