M. Folgat made his way through the crowd, and went in.

In the court-yard he found the commonwealth attorney, the chief of police, the captain of the gendarmes, M. Seneschal, and, finally, M. Galpin, all standing before the janitor’s lodge in animated discussion.  The magistrate looked paler than ever, and was, as they called it in Sauveterre, in bull-dog humor.  There was reason for it.

He had been informed as promptly as M. Folgat, and had, with equal promptness, dressed, and hastened to the prison.  And all along his way, unmistakable evidence had proved to him that public opinion was fiercely roused against the accused, but that it was as deeply excited against himself.

On all sides he had been greeted by ironical salutations, mocking smiles, and even expressions of condolence at the loss of his prisoner.  Two men, whom he suspected of being in close relations with Dr. Seignebos, had even murmured, as he passed by them,—­

“Cheated, Mr. Bloodhound.”

He was the first to notice the young advocate, and at once said to him,—­

“Well, sir, do you come for news?”

But M. Folgat was not the man to be taken in twice the same day.  Concealing his apprehensions under the most punctilious politeness, he replied,—­

“I have heard all kinds of reports; but they do not affect me.  M. de Boiscoran has too much confidence in the excellency of his cause and the justice of his country to think of escaping.  I only came to confer with him.”

“And you are right!” exclaimed M. Daubigeon.  “M. de Boiscoran is in his cell, utterly unaware of all the rumors that are afloat.  It was Trumence who has run off,—­Trumence, the light-footed.  He was kept in prison for form’s sake only, and helped the keeper as a kind of assistant jailer.  He it is who has made a hole in the wall, and escaped, thinking, no doubt, that the heavens are a better roof than the finest jail.”

A little distance behind the group stood Blangin, the jailer, affecting a contrite and distressed air.

“Take the counsel to the prisoner Boiscoran,” said M. Galpin dryly, fearing, perhaps, that M. Daubigeon might regale the public with all the bitter epigrams with which he persecuted him privately.  The jailer bowed to the ground, and obeyed the order; but, as soon as he was alone with M. Folgat in the porch of the building, he blew up his cheek, and then tapped it, saying,—­

“Cheated all around.”

Then he burst out laughing.  The young advocate pretended not to understand him.  It was but prudent that he should appear ignorant of what had happened the night before, and thus avoid all suspicion of a complicity which substantially did not exist.

“And still,” Blangin went on, “this is not the end of it yet.  The gendarmes are all out.  If they should catch my poor Trumence!  That man is such a fool, the most stupid judge would worm his secret out of him in five minutes.  And then, who would be in a bad box?”