M. Galpin had scarcely been able to disguise his impatience, when he saw the attorney take part in the affair.  Seizing, therefore, the opportunity to interfere, he said,—­

“Your reason, sir, was hatred.  You hated the count and the countess mortally.  Do not protest:  it is of no use.  Everybody knows it; and you yourself have told me so.”

M. de Boiscoran looked as if he were growing still more pale, and then replied in a tone of crushing disdain,—­

“Even if that were so, I do not see what right you have to abuse the confidence of a friend, after having declared, upon your arrival here, that all friendship between us had ceased.  But that is not so.  I never told you any such thing.  As my feelings have never changed, I can repeat literally what I have said.  I have told you that the count was a troublesome neighbor, a stickler for his rights, and almost absurdly attached to his preserves.  I have also told you, that, if he declared my public opinions to be abominable, I looked upon his as ridiculous and dangerous.  As for the countess, I have simply said, half in jest, that so perfect a person was not to my taste; and that I should be very unhappy if my wife were a Madonna, who hardly ever deigned to put her foot upon the ground.”

“And that was the only reason why you once pointed your gun at Count Claudieuse?  A little more blood rushing to your head would have made you a murderer on that day.”

A terrible spasm betrayed M. de Boiscoran’s fury; but he checked himself, and said,—­

“My passion was less fiery than it may have looked.  I have the most profound respect for the count’s character.  It is an additional grief to me that he should have accused me.”

“But he has not accused you!” broke in M. Daubigeon.  “On the contrary, he was the first and the most eager to defend you.”

And, in spite of the signs which M. Galpin made, he continued,—­

“Unfortunately that has nothing to do with the force of the evidence against you.  If you persist in keeping silence, you must look for a criminal trial for the galleys.  If you are innocent, why not explain the matter?  What do you wait for?  What do you hope?”

“Nothing.”

Mechinet had, in the meantime, completed the official report.

“We must go,” said M. Galpin

“Am I at liberty,” asked M. de Boiscoran, “to write a few lines to my father and my mother?  They are old:  such an event may kill them.”

“Impossible!” said the magistrate.

Then, turning to Anthony, he said,—­

“I am going to put the seals on this room, and I shall leave it in the meanwhile in your keeping.  You know your duty, and the penalties to which you would be subject, if, at the proper time, every thing is not found in the same condition in which it is left now.  Now, how shall we get back to Sauveterre?”

After mature deliberation it was decided that M. de Boiscoran should go in one of his own carriages, accompanied by one of the gendarmes.  M. Daubigeon, the magistrate, and the clerk would return in the mayor’s carriage, driven by Ribot, who was furious at being kept under surveillance.