The mayor had been all this time standing in the door of the chamber, performing the humble duty of a doorkeeper, and barring the entrance to the eager and curious crowd outside.  When Mrs. Courtois retired, quite bewildered by her own words, and regretting what she had said, he called out,—­

“Is there any one else who knows any thing?”

As nobody appeared, he closed the door, and said curtly,—­

“Well, then, you can go home now, my friends.  Let the law have free course.”

The law, represented by the magistrate, was a prey at that moment to the most cruel perplexity.  M. Galpin was utterly overcome by consternation.  He sat at the little table, on which he had been writing, his head resting on his hands, thinking, apparently, how he could find a way out of this labyrinth.

All of a sudden he rose, and forgetting, for a moment, his customary rigidity, he let his mask of icy impassiveness drop off his face, and said,—­

“Well?” as if, in his despair, he had hoped for some help or advice in his troubles,—­“well?”

No answer came.

All the others were as much troubled as he was.  They all tried to shake off the overwhelming impression made by this accumulation of evidence; but in vain.  At last, after a moment’s silence, the magistrate said with strange bitterness,—­

“You see, gentlemen, I was right in examining Cocoleu.  Oh! don’t attempt to deny it:  you share my doubts and my suspicions, I see it.  Is there one among you who would dare assert that the terrible excitement of this poor man has not restored to him for a time the use of his reason?  When he told you that he had witnessed the crime, and when he gave the name of the criminal, you looked incredulous.  But then other witnesses came; and their united evidence, corresponding without a missing link, constitutes a terrible presumption.”

He became animated again.  Professional habits, stronger than every thing else, obtained once more the mastery.

“M. de Boiscoran was at Valpinson to-night:  that is clearly established.  Well, how did he get here?  By concealing himself.  Between his own house and Valpinson there are two public roads,—­one by Brechy, and another around the swamps.  Does M. de Boiscoran take either of the two?  No.  He cuts straight across the marshes, at the risk of sinking in, or of getting wet from head to foot.  On his return he chooses, in spite of the darkness, the forest of Rochepommier, unmindful of the danger he runs to lose his way, and to wander about in it till daybreak.  What was he doing this for?  Evidently, in order not to be seen.  And, in fact, whom does he meet?—­a loose fellow, Ribot, who is himself in hiding on account of some love-intrigue; a wood-stealer, Gaudry, whose only anxiety is to avoid the gendarmes; an old woman, finally, Mrs. Courtois, who has been belated by an accident.  All his precautions were well chosen; but Providence was watching.”