“Well, then, start and make haste,” commanded M. Seneschal.  “We shall overtake you on the way:  M. Daubigeon and I are going to pick up M. Galpin, the magistrate.”

They had not far to go.

The magistrate had already been looking for them all over town:  he was just appearing on the Square, and saw them at once.

In striking contrast with the commonwealth attorney, M. Galpin was a professional man in the full sense of the word, and perhaps a little more.  He was the magistrate all over, from head to foot, and from the gaiters on his ankles to the light blonde whiskers on his face.  Although he was quite young, yet no one had ever seen him smile, or heard him make a joke.  He was so very stiff that M. Daubigeon suggested he had been impaled alive on the sword of justice.

At Sauveterre M. Galpin was looked upon as a superior man.  He certainly believed it himself:  hence he was very impatient at being confined to so narrow a sphere of action, and thought his brilliant ability wasted upon the prosecution of a chicken-thief or a poacher.  But his almost desperate efforts to secure a better office had always been unsuccessful.  In vain he had enlisted a host of friends in his behalf.  In vain he had thrown himself into politics, ready to serve any party that would serve him.

But M. Galpin’s ambition was not easily discouraged, and lately after a journey to Paris, he had thrown out hints at a great match, which would shortly procure him that influence in high places which so far he had been unable to obtain.  When he joined M. Daubigeon and the mayor, he said,—­

“Well, this is a horrible affair!  It will make a tremendous noise.”  The mayor began to give him the details, but he said,—­

“Don’t trouble yourself.  I know all you know.  I met the peasant who had been sent in, and I have examined him.”

Then, turning to the commonwealth attorney, he added,—­

“I think we ought to proceed at once to the place where the crime has been committed.”

“I was going to suggest it to you,” replied M. Daubigeon.

“The gendarmes ought to be notified.”

“M.  Seneschal has just sent them word.”

The magistrate was so much excited, that his cold impassiveness actually threatened to give way for once.

“There has been an attempt at murder.”

“Evidently.”

“Then we can act in concert, and side by side, each one in his own line of duty, you examining, and I preparing for the trial.”

An ironical smile passed over the lips of the commonwealth attorney.

“You ought to know me well enough,” he said, “to be sure that I have never interfered with your duties and privileges.  I am nothing but a good old fellow, a friend of peace and of studies.

“‘Sum piger et senior, Pieridumque comes.’”

“Then,” exclaimed M. Seneschal, “nothing keeps us here any longer.  I am impatient to be off; my carriage is ready; let us go!”