At last he heard a rapid, light step in the hall; and almost immediately the Countess Claudieuse appeared. He recognized her at once, such as Jacques had described her to him, calm, serious, and serene, as if her soul were soaring high above all human passions. Far from diminishing her exquisite beauty, the terrible events of the last months had only surrounded her, as it were, with a divine halo. She had fallen off a little, however. And the dark semicircle under her eyes, and the disorder of her hair, betrayed the fatigue and the anxiety of the long nights which she had spent by her husband’s bedside. As M. Folgat was bowing, she asked,-- “You are M. de Boiscoran’s counsel?” “Yes, madam,” replied the young advocate. “The doctor tells me you wish to speak to me.” “Yes, madam.” With a queenly air, she pointed to a chair, and, sitting down herself, she said,-- “I hear, sir.” M. Folgat began with beating heart, but a firm voice,-- “I ought, first of all, madam, to state to you my client’s true position.” “That is useless, sir. I know.” “You know, madam, that he has been summoned to trial, and that he may be condemned?” She shook her head with a painful movement, and said very softly,-- “I know, sir, that Count Claudieuse has been the victim of a most infamous attempt at murder; that he is still in danger, and that, unless God works a miracle, I shall soon be without a husband, and my children without a father.” “But M. de Boiscoran is innocent, madam.” The features of the countess assumed an expression of profound surprise; and, looking fixedly at M. Folgat, she said,-- “And who, then, is the murderer?” Ah! It cost the young advocate no small effort to prevent his lips from uttering the fatal word, “You,” prompted by his indignant conscience. But he thought of the success of his mission; and, instead of replying, he said,-- “To a prisoner, madam, to an unfortunate man on the eve of judgment, an advocate is a confessor, to whom he tells every thing. I must add that the counsel of the accused is like a priest: he must forget the secrets which have been confided to him.” “I do not understand, sir.” “My client, madam, had a very simple means to prove his innocence. He had only to tell the truth. He has preferred risking his own honor rather than to betray the honor of another person.” The countess looked impatient, and broke in, saying,-- “My moments are counted, sir. May I beg you will be more explicit?” But M. Folgat had gone as far as he well could go. “I am desired by M. de Boiscoran, madam, to hand you a letter.” The Countess Claudieuse seemed to be overwhelmed with surprise. “To me?” she said. “On what ground?” Without saying a word, M. Folgat drew Jacques’s letter from his portfolio, and handed it to her. “Here it is!” he said. She took it with a perfectly steady hand, and opened it slowly. But, as soon as she had run her eye over it, she rose, turned crimson in her face, and said with flaming eyes,--