"At last you are coming," exclaimed the unhappy young man, throwing
himself on the lawyer's neck. "At last I see an honest face, and hold
a trusty hand. Ah! I have suffered cruelly, so cruelly, that I am
surprised my mind has not given way. But now you are here, you are by my
side, I am safe."

The lawyer could not speak. He was terrified by the havoc which grief
had made of the noble and intelligent face of his friend. He was shocked
at the distortion of his features, the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes,
and the convulsive laugh on his lips.

"Poor man!" he murmured at last.

Jacques misunderstood him: he stepped back, as white as the walls of his
cell.

"You do not think me guilty?" he exclaimed.

An inexpressibly sad expression convulsed his features.

"To be sure," he went on with his terrible convulsive laughter, "the
charges must be overwhelming indeed, if they have convinced my best
friends. Alas! why did I refuse to speak that first day? My honor!--what
a phantom! And still, victimized as I am by an infamous conspiracy, I
should still refuse to speak, if my life alone were at stake. But my
honor is at stake. Dionysia's honor, the honor of the Boiscorans. I
shall speak. You, M. Magloire, shall know the truth, you shall see my
innocence in a word."