“I shall go on.”

Then turning once more to Cocoleu, in the midst of so deep a silence that the buzzing of a fly would have been distinctly heard, he asked,—­

“Do you know, my boy, what you say?  Do you know that you are accusing a man of a horrible crime?”

Whether Cocoleu understood, or not, he was evidently deeply agitated.  Big drops of perspiration rolled slowly down his temples; and nervous shocks agitated his limbs, and convulsed his features.

“I, I—­am—­telling the—­truth!” he said at last.

“M. de.  Boiscoran has set Valpinson on fire?”

“Yes.”

“How did he do it?”

Cocoleu’s restless eyes wandered incessantly from the count, who looked indignant, to the countess, who seemed to listen with painful surprise.  The magistrate repeated,—­

“Speak!”

After another moment’s hesitation, the idiot began to explain what he had seen; and it took him many minutes to state, amid countless contortions, and painful efforts to speak, that he had seen M. de Boiscoran pull out some papers from his pocket, light them with a match, put them under a rick of straw near by, and push the burning mass towards two enormous piles of wood which were in close contact with a vat full of spirits.

“This is sheer nonsense!” cried the doctor, thus giving words to what they all seemed to feel.

But M. Galpin had mastered his excitement.  He said solemnly,—­

“At the first sign of applause or of displeasure, I shall send for the gendarmes, and have the room cleared.”

Then, turning once more to Cocoleu, he said,—­

“Since you saw M. de Boiscoran so distinctly, tell us how he was dressed.”

“He had light trousers on,” replied the idiot, stammering still most painfully, “a dark-brown shooting-jacket, and a big straw hat.  His trousers were stuffed into his boots.”

Two or three peasants looked at each other, as if they had at last hit upon a suspicious fact.  The costume which Cocoleu had so accurately described was well known to them all.

“And when he had kindled the fire,” said the magistrate again, “what did he do next?”

“He hid behind the woodpile.”

“And then?”

“He loaded his gun, and, when master came out, he fired.”

Count Claudieuse was so indignant that he forgot the pain which his wounds caused him, and raised himself on his bed.

“It is monstrous,” he exclaimed, “to allow an idiot to charge an honorable man with such a crime!  If he really saw M. de Boiscoran set the house on fire, and hide himself in order to murder me, why did he not come and warn me?”

Mr. Galpin repeated the question submissively, to the great amazement of the mayor and M. Daubigeon.

“Why did you not give warning?” he asked Cocoleu.

But the efforts which the unfortunate man had made during the last half-hour had exhausted his little strength.  He broke out into stupid laughter; and almost instantly one of his fearful nervous attacks overcame him:  he fell down yelling, and had to be carried away.