For the first time in his life, and no doubt for the last time also, the commonwealth attorney rejoiced at the misfortune of others.  Taking savage pleasure in turning the dagger in his poor friend’s wounds, he said,—­

“No doubt M. Folgat’s speech had something to do with it.”

“Nothing at all.”

“He was brilliantly successful.”

“He took them by surprise.  It was nothing but a big voice, and grand, rolling sentences.”

“But still”—­

“And what did he say, after all?  That the prosecution did not know the real secret of the case.  That is absurd!”

“The new judges may not think so, however.”

“We shall see.”

“This time M. de Boiscoran’s defence will be very different.  He will spare nobody.  He is down now, and cannot fall any lower.”

“That may be.  But he also risks having a less indulgent jury, and not getting off with twenty years.”

“What do his counsel say?”

“I do not know.  But I have just sent my clerk to find out; and, if you choose to wait”—­

M. Daubigeon did wait, and he did well; for M. Mechinet came in very soon after, with a long face for the world, but inwardly delighted.

“Well?” asked M. Galpin eagerly.

He shook his head, and said in a melancholy tone of voice,—­

“I have never seen any thing like this.  How fickle public opinion is, after all!  Day before yesterday M. de Boiscoran could not have passed through the town without being mobbed.  If he should show himself to-day, they would carry him in triumph.  He has been condemned, and now he is a martyr.  It is known already that the sentence is void, and they are delighted.  My sisters have just told me that the ladies in good society propose to give to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and to Miss Chandore some public evidence of their sympathy.  The members of the bar will give M. Folgat a public dinner.”

“Why that is monstrous!” cried M. Galpin.

“Well,” said M. Daubigeon, “’the opinions of men are more fickle and changeable than the waves of the sea.’”

But, interrupting the quotation, M. Galpin asked his clerk,—­

“Well, what else?”

“I went to hand M. Gransiere the letter which you gave me for him”—­

“What did he say?”

“I found him in consultation with the president, M. Domini.  He took the letter, glanced at it rapidly, and told me in his most icy tone, ’Very well!’ To tell the truth, I thought, that, in spite of his stiff and grand air, he was in reality furious.”

The magistrate looked utterly in despair.

“I can’t stand it,” he said sighing.  “These men whose veins have no blood in them, but poison, never forgive.”

“Day before yesterday you thought very highly of him.”

“Day before yesterday he did not look upon me as the cause of a great misfortune for him.”

M. Mechinet went on quite eagerly,—­