“The third allusion, though it is short, is still very important:  ’November 3rd, 1842.  Thank Heaven! all is over.  I have just returned from the court.  Octave has been acquitted.  Ludovic had behaved wonderfully.  He explained the reason of the misadventure in a way that was really surprising in an uneducated man, and there was not an atom of suspicion among judge, jury, or spectators.  I have changed my mind; I would not have a fellow like Ludovic in my service; he is much too sharp.  When I had been duly sworn, I gave my evidence.  Though I was much agitated, I went through it all right; but when I got home I felt very ill, and discovered that my pulse was down to fifty.  Ah, me! what terrible misfortunes are wrought by a momentary burst of anger.  I now write this sentence in my diary:  "Never give way to first impulses."’ These words,” continued Mascarin, “were inscribed on every one of the pages following,—­at least so those who examined the entries informed me.”

Mascarin persisted in representing himself as the agent of others, but still the Count made no allusion to the persons in the background.

After a few moments the Count rose and limped up and down, as though he hoped by this means to collect his ideas, or perhaps in order to prevent his visitor from scanning his face too closely.

“Have you done?” asked he, all at once.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have you thought what an impartial judge would say?”

“I think I have.”

“He would say,” broke in the Count, “that no sane man would have written such things down, for there are certain secrets which we do not whisper even to ourselves, and it is hardly likely that any man would make such compromising entries in a diary which might be lost or stolen, and which would certainly be read by his heir.  Do you think that a man of high position would record his perjury, which is a crime that would send him to penal servitude?”

Mascarin gazed upon the Count with an air of pity.

“You are not going the right way, my lord, to get out of your trouble.  No lawyer would adopt your theory.  If the remaining volumes of M. de Clinchain’s diaries were produced in court, I imagine that other equally startling entries would be found in them.”

The Count now appeared to have arrived at some decision, and to continue the conversation simply for the purpose of gaining time.

“Well,” said he, “I will give up this idea; but how do I know that these documents are not forgeries?  Nowadays, handwritings are easily facsimilied, when even bankers find it hard to distinguish between their own notes and counterfeit ones.”

“That can be settled by seeing if certain leaves are missing from the Baron’s diary.”

“That does not prove much.”

“Pardon me, it proves a great deal.  This new line of argument, I assure you, will avail you as little as the other.  I am perfectly aware that the Baron de Clinchain will utter whatever words you may place in his mouth.  Let us suppose that the leaves which have been torn out should fit into the book exactly.  Would not that be a strong point?”