He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one. He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitious dreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage. And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he had done, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state of mind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia’s letter. “What, again?” he exclaimed. And when he had read the few lines, he replied,-- “Tell your mistress I will be there!” But in his heart he thought some untoward event must have happened. The little garden-gate was half-open: he had only to push it to enter. There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance from him, under the trees, he recognized Dionysia, and went towards her. “Pardon me, sir,” she said, “for having dared to send for you.” Mechinet’s anxiety vanished instantly. He thought no longer of his strange position. His vanity was flattered by the confidence which this young lady put in him, whom he knew very well as the noblest, the most beautiful, and the richest heiress in the whole country. “You were quite right to send for me, madam,” he replied, “if I can be of any service to you.” In a few words she had told him all; and, when she asked his advice, he replied,-- “I am entirely of M. Folgat’s opinion, and think that grief and isolation begin to have their effect upon M. de Boiscoran’s mind.” “Oh, that thought is maddening!” murmured the poor girl. “I think, as M. Magloire does, that M. de Boiscoran, by his silence, only makes his situation much worse. I have a proof of that. M. Galpin, who, at first, was all doubt and anxiety, is now quite reassured. The attorney-general has written him a letter, in which he compliments his energy.” “And then.” “Then we must induce M. de Boiscoran to speak. I know very well that he is firmly resolved not to speak; but if you were to write to him, since you can write to him”-- “A letter would be useless.” “But”-- “Useless, I tell you. But I know a means.” “You must use it promptly, madam: don’t lose a moment. There is no time.” The night was clear, but not clear enough for the clerk to see how very pale Dionysia was. “Well, then, I must see M. de Boiscoran: I must speak to him.” She expected the clerk to start, to cry out, to protest. Far from it: he said in the quietest tone,-- “To be sure; but how?” “Blangin the keeper, and his wife, keep their places only because they give them a support. Why might I not offer them, in return for an interview with M. de Boiscoran, the means to go and live in the country?” “Why not?” said the clerk. And in a lower voice, replying to the voice of his conscience, he went on,-- “The jail in Sauveterre is not at all like the police-stations and prisons of larger towns. The prisoners are few in number; they are hardly guarded. When the doors are shut, Blangin is master within.”