The manner in which Michael winked with his eye showed that he had not a very exalted opinion of the cleverness of the gendarmes.

“I promised the baron,” he said, “I would get hold of Cocoleu somehow or other.  I knew that at certain times he went and buried himself, like the wild beast that he is, in a hole which he has scratched under a rock in the densest part of the forest of Rochepommier.  I had discovered this den of his one day by accident; for a man might pass by a hundred times, and never dream of where it was.  But, as soon as the baron told me that the innocent had disappeared, I said to myself, ’I am sure he is in his hole:  let us go and see.’  So I gathered up my legs; I ran down to the rocks:  and there was Cocoleu.  But it was not so easy to pull him out of his den.  He would not come; and, while defending himself, he bit me in the hand, like the mad dog that he is.”

And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece of linen.

“It was pretty hard work to get the madman here.  I was compelled to tie him hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father’s house.  There we put him into the little carriage, and here he is.  Just look at the pretty fellow!”

He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over with red marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutish glances.

“Why would you not come?” asked M. Seneschal.

The idiot looked as if he did not hear.

“Why did you bit Michael?” continued the mayor.

Cocoleu made no reply.

“Do you know that M. de Boiscoran is in prison because of what you have said?”

Still no reply.

“Ah!” said Michael, “it is of no use to question him.  You might beat him till to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word.”

“I am—­I am hungry,” stammered Cocoleu.

M. Folgat looked indignant.

“And to think,” he said, “that, upon the testimony of such a thing, a capital charge has been made!”

Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed.  He said,—­

“But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?”

“I am going to take him,” said M. Seneschal, “to the hospital.  I will go with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealth attorney.”

Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd stories which his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded.  But he had, at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he called it, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm.  According to his views, the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied.  He would, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues were amazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say so in his presence.  From the moment that a man possessed the famous diploma which gives him the right over life and death, that man became in his eyes an august personage for the world at large.  It was a crime, he thought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician.  Hence his obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of his contradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the “gentlemen of the law” to leave the room in which his patient was lying.