"What do you say?" she stammered. "O God!"

He laughed, the wretched man! with that laugh which is the last
utterance of despair. And then he replied,--

"I say that there are circumstances which upset our reason; unheard-of
circumstances, which could make one doubt of one's self. I say that
every thing accuses me, that every thing overwhelms me, that every thing
turns against me. I say, that if I were in M. Galpin's place, and if he
were in mine, I should act just as he does."

"That is insanity!" cried Dionysia.

But Jacques de Boiscoran did not hear her. All the bitterness of the
last days rose within him: he turned red, and became excited. At last,
with gasping vice, he broke forth,--

"Establish my innocence! Ah! that is easily said. But how? No, I am not
guilty: but a crime has been committed; and for this crime justice will
have a culprit. If it is not I who fired at Count Claudieuse, and set
Valpinson on fire, who is it? 'Where were you,' they ask me, 'at the
time of the murder?' Where was I? Can I tell it? To clear myself is to
accuse others. And if I should be mistaken? Or if, not being mistaken,
I should be unable to prove the truthfulness of my accusation? The
murderer and the incendiary, of course, took all possible precautions to
escape detection, and to let the punishment fall upon me. I was warned
beforehand. Ah, if we could always foresee, could know beforehand! How
can I defend myself? On the first day I said, 'Such a charge cannot
reach me: it is a cloud that a breath will scatter.' Madman that I was!
The cloud has become an avalanche, and I may be crushed. I am neither a