“I would not swear to that.”

“You would if you knew who will plead.”

“Oh!”

“The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!”

“Oh, oh!”

“You will not deny that he is a first-class man?”

The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; and in the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness.

“God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere’s eloquence.  He is a powerful speaker, and rarely misses his man.  But then, you know, cases are like books:  they have their luck or ill luck.  Jacques will be well defended.”

“I am not afraid of M. Magloire.”

“But Mr. Folgat?”

“A young man with no weight.  I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant.”

“Do you know the plan of the defence?”

This was evidently the place where the shoe pinched; but M. Galpin took care not to let it be seen, and replied,—­

“I do not.  But that does not matter.  M. de Boiscoran’s friends at first thought of making capital out of Cocoleu; but they have given that up.  I am sure of that!  The police-agent whom I have charged to keep his eyes on the idiot tells me that Dr. Seignebos does not trouble himself about the man any more.”

M. Daubigeon smiled sarcastically, and said, much more for the purpose of teasing his visitor than because he believed it himself,—­

“Take care! do not trust appearances.  You have to do with very clever people.  I always told you Cocoleu is probably the mainspring of the whole case.  The very fact that M. Gransiere will speak ought to make you tremble.  If he should not succeed, he would, of course, blame you, and never forgive you in all his life.  Now, you know he may fail.  ’There is many a slip between the cup and the lip.’

“And I am disposed to think with Villon,—­

‘Nothing is so certain as uncertain things.’”

M. Galpin could tell very well that he should gain nothing by prolonging the discussion, and so he said,—­

“Happen what may, I shall always know that my conscience supports me.”

Then he made great haste to take leave, lest an answer should come from M. Daubigeon.  He went out; and as he descended the stairs, he said to himself,—­

“It is losing time to reason with that old fogy who sees in the events of the day only so many opportunities for quotations.”

But he struggled in vain against his own feelings; he had lost his self-confidence.  M. Daubigeon had revealed to him a new danger which he had not foreseen.  And what a danger!—­the resentment of one of the most eminent men of the French bar, one of those bitter, bilious men who never forgive.  M. Galpin had, no doubt, thought of the possibility of failure, that is to say, of an acquittal; but he had never considered the consequences of such a check.

Who would have to pay for it?  The prosecuting attorney first and foremost, because, in France, the prosecuting attorney makes the accusation a personal matter, and considers himself insulted and humiliated, if he misses his man.