“I will not discuss that, gentlemen.  I will ask you, only one question:  ‘Yes or no, do you believe in M. de Boiscoran’s innocence?’”

“We believe in it fully,” replied the two men.

“Then, gentlemen, it seems to me we are running no risk in trying to unmask an impostor.”

That was not the young lawyer’s opinion.

“To prove that Cocoleu knows what he says,” he replied, “would be fatal, unless we can prove at the same time that he has told a falsehood, and that his evidence has been prompted by others.  Can we prove that?  Have we any means to prove that his obstinacy in not replying to any questions arises from his fear that his answers might convict him of perjury?”

The doctor would hear nothing more.  He said rather uncourteously,—­

“Lawyer’s quibbles!  I know only one thing; and that is truth.”

“It will not always do to tell it,” murmured the lawyer.

“Yes, sir, always,” replied the physician,—­“always, and at all hazards, and whatever may happen.  I am M. de Boiscoran’s friend; but I am still more the friend of truth.  If Cocoleu is a wretched impostor, as I am firmly convinced, our duty is to unmask him.”

Dr. Seignebos did not say—­and he probably did not confess it to himself—­that it was a personal matter between Cocoleu and himself.  He thought Cocoleu had taken him in, and been the cause of a host of small witticisms, under which he had suffered cruelly, though he had allowed no one to see it.  To unmask Cocoleu would have given him his revenge, and return upon his enemies the ridicule with which they had overwhelmed him.

“I have made up my mind,” he said, “and, whatever you may resolve, I mean to go to work at once, and try to obtain the appointment of a commission.”

“It might be prudent,” M. Folgat said, “to consider before doing any thing, to consult with M. Magloire.”

“I do not want to consult with Magloire when duty calls.”

“You will grant us twenty-four hours, I hope.”

Dr. Seignebos frowned till he looked formidable.

“Not an hour,” he replied; “and I go from here to M. Daubigeon, the commonwealth attorney.”

Thereupon, taking his hat and cane, he bowed and left, as dissatisfied as possible, without stopping even to answer M. de Chandore, who asked him how Count Claudieuse was, who was, according to reports in town, getting worse and worse.

“Hang the old original!” cried M. de Chandore before the doctor had left the passage.

Then turning to M. Folgat, he added,—­

“I must, however, confess that you received the great news which he brought rather coldly.”

“The very fact of the news being so very grave,” replied the advocate, “made me wish for time to consider.  If Cocoleu pretends to be imbecile, or, at least, exaggerates his incapacity, then we have a confirmation of what M. de Boiscoran last night told Miss Dionysia.  It would be the proof of an odious trap of a long-premeditated vengeance.  Here is the turning-point of the affair evidently.”