The first is the excellent priest from Brechy.  He confirms the statement of the accused.  He was dining, the evening of the crime, at the house of M. de Besson; his servant had come for him; and the parsonage was deserted.  He states that he had really arranged with M. de Boiscoran that the latter should come some evening of that week to fulfil the religious duties which the church requires before it allows a marriage to be consecrated.  He has known Jacques de Boiscoran from a child, and knows no better and no more honorable man.  In his opinion, that hatred, of which so much has been said, never had any existence.  He cannot believe, and does not believe, that the accused is guilty.

The second witness is the priest of an adjoining parish.  He states, that, between nine and ten o’clock, he was on the road, near the Marshalls’ Cross-roads.  The night was quite dark.  He is of the same size as the priest at Brechy; and the little girl might very well have taken him for the latter, thus misleading M. de Boiscoran.

Three other witnesses are introduced; and then, as neither the accused nor his counsel have any thing to add, the prosecuting attorney begins his speech.

[The Charge.]

M. Gransiere’s eloquence is so widely known, and so justly appreciated, that we need not refer to it here.  We will only say that he surpassed himself in this charge, which, for more than an hour, held the large assembly in anxious and breathless suspense, and caused all hearts to vibrate with the most intense excitement.

He commences with a description of Valpinson, “this poetic and charming residence, where the noble old trees of Rochepommier are mirrored in the crystal waves of the Seille.

“There,” he went on to say,—­“there lived the Count and the Countess Claudieuse,—­he one of those noblemen of a past age who worshipped honor, and were devoted to duty; she one of those women who are the glory of their sex, and the perfect model of all domestic virtues.

“Heaven had blessed their union, and given them two children, to whom they were tenderly attached.  Fortune smiled upon their wise efforts.  Esteemed by all, cherished, and revered, they lived happy, and might have counted upon long years of prosperity.

“But no.  Hate was hovering over them.

“One evening, a fatal glare arouses the count.  He rushes out; he hears the report of a gun.  He hears it a second time, and he sinks down, bathed in his blood.  The countess also is alarmed by the explosion, and hastens to the spot:  she stumbles; she sees the lifeless body of her husband, and sinks unconscious to the ground.

“Are the children also to perish?  No.  Providence watches.  A flash of intelligence pierces the night of an insane man, who rushes through the flames, and snatches the children from the fire that was already threatening their couch.

“Their lives are saved; but the fire continues its destructive march.