But the little girl was bent on finishing her story.

“When mamma had left,” she went on, “I became frightened, and raised myself on my bed to listen.  Soon I heard a noise which I did not know,—­cracking and snapping of wood, and then cries at a distance.  I got more frightened, jumped down, and ran to open the door.  But I nearly fell down, there was such a cloud of smoke and sparks.  Still I did not lose my head.  I waked my little sister, and tried to get on the staircase, when Cocoleu rushed in like a madman, and took us both out.”

“Martha,” called a voice from the house, “Martha!”

The child cut short her story, and said,—­

“Mamma is calling me.”

And, dropping again her nice little courtesy, she said,—­

“Good-by, gentlemen!”

Martha had disappeared; and Dr. Seignebos and M. Folgat, still standing on the same spot, looked at each other in utter distress.

“We have nothing more to do here,” said M. Folgat.

“No, indeed!  Let us go back and make haste; for perhaps they are waiting for me.  You must breakfast with me.”

They went away very much disheartened, and so absorbed in their defeat, that they forgot to return the salutations with which they were greeted in the street,—­a circumstance carefully noticed by several watchful observers.

When the doctor reached home, he said to his servant,—­

“This gentleman will breakfast with me.  Give us a bottle of medis.”

And, when he had shown the advocate into his study, he asked,—­

“And now what do you think of your adventure?”

M. Folgat looked completely undone.

“I cannot understand it,” he murmured.

“Could it be possible that the countess should have tutored the child to say what she told us?”

“No.”

“And her governess?”

“Still less.  A woman of that character trusts nobody.  She struggles; she triumphs or succumbs alone.”

“Then the child and the governess have told us the truth?”

“I am convinced of that.”

“So am I. Then she had no share in the murder of her husband?”

“Alas!”

M. Folgat did not notice that his “Alas!” was received by Dr. Seignebos with an air of triumph.  He had taken off his spectacles, and, wiping them vigorously, he said,—­

“If the countess is innocent, Jacques must be guilty, you think?  Jacques must have deceived us all, then?”

M. Folgat shook his head.

“I pray you, doctor, do not press me just now.  Give me time to collect my thoughts.  I am bewildered by all these conjectures.  No, I am sure M. de Boiscoran has not told a falsehood, and the countess has been his mistress.  No, he has not deceived us; and on the night of the crime he really had an interview with the countess.  Did not Martha tell us that her mother had gone out?  And where could she have gone, except to meet M. de Boiscoran?”