He paused a moment.

“Oh, come, come!” said the physician, “you need not be afraid of me.”

“Well, it might possibly be, that, after the countess had left M. de Boiscoran, Fate might have stepped in.  Jacques has told us how the letters which he was burning had suddenly blazed up, and with such violence that he was frightened.  Who can tell whether some burning fragments may not have set a straw-rick on fire?  You can judge yourself.  On the point of leaving the place, M. de Boiscoran sees this beginning of a fire.  He hastens to put it out.  His efforts are unsuccessful.  The fire increases step by step:  it lights up the whole front of the chateau.  At that moment Count Claudieuse comes out.  Jacques thinks he has been watched and detected; he sees his marriage broken off, his life ruined, his happiness destroyed; he loses his head, aims, fires, and flees instantly.  And thus you explain his missing the count, and also this fact which seemed to preclude the idea of premeditated murder, that the gun was loaded with small-shot.”

“Great God!” cried the doctor.

“What, what have I said?”

“Take care never to repeat that!  The suggestion you make is so fearfully plausible, that, if it becomes known, no one will ever believe you when you tell the real truth.”

“The truth?  Then you think I am mistaken?”

“Most assuredly.”

Then fixing his spectacles on his nose, Dr. Seignebos added,—­

“I never could admit that the countess should have fired at her husband.  I now see that I was right.  She has not committed the crime directly; but she has done it indirectly.”

“Oh!”

“She would not be the first woman who has done so.  What I imagine is this:  the countess had made up her mind, and arranged her plan, before meeting Jacques.  The murderer was already at his post.  If she had succeeded in winning Jacques back, her accomplice would have put away his gun, and quietly gone to bed.  As she could not induce Jacques to give up his marriage, she made a sign, and the fire was lighted, and the count was shot.”

The young advocate did not seem to be fully convinced.

“In that case, there would have been premeditation,” he objected; “and how, then, came the gun to be loaded with small-shot?”

“The accomplice had not sense enough to know better.”

Although he saw very well the doctor’s drift, M. Folgat started up,—­

“What?” he said, “always Cocoleu?”

Dr. Seignebos tapped his forehead with the end of his finger, and replied,—­

“When an idea has once made its way in there, it remains fixed.  Yes, the countess has an accomplice; and that accomplice is Cocoleu; and, if he has no sense, you see the wretched idiot at least carries his devotion and his discretion very far.”

“If what you say is true, doctor, we shall never get the key of this affair; for Cocoleu will never confess.”