idiot I have ever seen in my life!’ I was a little taken aback, and tried to explain the matter to him; but he refuses to listen to me.  I beseech him to see Cocoleu once more:  he laughs at me.  I feel hurt, and ask him how he explains the evidence which this idiot gave on the night of the fire.  He laughs again, and replies that he does not explain it.  I begin to discuss the question; and he marches off to court.  And do you know where he dined that day?  At the hotel with my other learned brother of the commission; and there they drew up a report which makes of Cocoleu the most perfect imbecile that was ever dreamed of.”

He was walking up and down in the room with long strides, and, unwilling to listen, he went on,—­

“But Master Galpin need not think of crowing over us yet.  The end is not yet; they will not get rid of Dr. Seignebos so easily.  I have said that Cocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, and I shall prove it.  Boiscoran can count upon me.”

He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added,—­

“And I say M. de Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons.  I have formed very singular suspicions, sir,—­very singular.”

M. Folgat, Dionysia, and the marchioness urged him to explain; but he declared that the moment had not come yet, that he was not perfectly sure yet.

And he left again, vowing that he was overworked, that he had forsaken his patients for forty-eight hours, and that the Countess Claudieuse was waiting for him, as her husband was getting worse and worse.

“What can the old man suspect?” Grandpapa Chandore asked again, an hour after the doctor had left.

M. Folgat might have replied that these probable suspicions were no doubt his own suspicions, only better founded, and more fully developed.  But why should he say so, since all inquiry was prohibited, and a single imprudent word might ruin every thing?  Why, also, should he excite new hopes, when they must needs wait patiently till it should seem good to M. Galpin to make an end to this melancholy suspense?

They heard very little nowadays of Jacques de Boiscoran.  The examinations took place only at long intervals; and it was sometimes four or five days before Mechinet brought another letter.

“This is intolerable agony,” repeated the marchioness over and over again.

The end was, however, approaching.

Dionysia was alone one afternoon in the sitting-room, when she thought she heard the clerk’s voice in the hall.  She went out at once and found him there.

“Ah!” she cried, “the investigation is ended!” For she knew very well that nothing less would have emboldened Mechinet to show himself openly at their house.

“Yes, indeed, madam!” replied the good man; “and upon M. Galpin’s own order I bring you this letter from M. de Boiscoran.”

She took it, read it at a single glance, and forgetting every thing, half delirious with joy, she ran to her grandfather and M. Folgat, calling upon a servant at the same time to run and fetch M. Magloire.