But he had presumed too much upon his strength.  Anger had given him a moment’s energy, but at the cost of his life which was ebbing away.  When he again tried to speak, he could not.  Twice did he open his lips, but only a choking cry of impotent rage escaped them.  This was his last manifestation of intelligence.  A bloody foam gathered upon his lips, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, his body stiffened, and he fell face downward in a terrible convulsion.

“It is over,” murmured Gevrol.

“Not yet,” replied the young police agent, who had shown himself so proficient; “but he can not live more than two minutes.  Poor devil! he will say nothing.”

The inspector of police had risen from the floor as if he had just witnessed the commonest incident in the world, and was carefully dusting the knees of his trousers.  “Oh, well,” he responded, “we shall know all we need to know.  This fellow is a soldier, and the number of his regiment will be given on the buttons of his cloak.”

A slight smile curved the lips of the subordinate.  “I think you are mistaken, General,” said he.

“How—­”

“Yes, I understand.  Seeing him attired in a military coat, you supposed—­But no; this poor wretch was no soldier.  Do you wish for an immediate proof?  Is his hair the regulation cut?  Where did you ever see soldiers with their hair falling over their shoulders?”

This objection silenced the General for a moment; but he replied bruskly:  “Do you think that I keep my eyes in my pocket?  What you have remarked did not escape my notice; only I said to myself, here is a young man who has profited by leave of absence to visit the wig maker.”

“At least—­”

But Gevrol would permit no more interruptions.  “Enough talk,” he declared.  “We will now hear what has happened.  Mother Chupin, the old hussy, is not dead!”

As he spoke, he advanced toward the old woman, who was still crouching upon the stairs.  She had not moved nor ventured so much as a look since the entrance of the police, but her moans had not been discontinued.  With a sudden movement, Gevrol tore off the apron which she had thrown over her head, and there she stood, such as years, vice, poverty, and drink had made her; wrinkled, shriveled, toothless, and haggard, her skin as yellow and as dry as parchment and drawn tightly over her bones.

“Come, stand up!” ordered the inspector.  “Your lamentations don’t affect me.  You ought to be sent to prison for putting such vile drugs into your liquors, thus breeding madness in the brains of your customers.”

The old woman’s little red eyes traveled slowly round the room, and then in tearful tones she exclaimed:  “What a misfortune! what will become of me?  Everything is broken—­I am ruined!” She only seemed impressed by the loss of her table utensils.

“Now tell us how this trouble began,” said Gevrol.

“Alas!  I know nothing about it.  I was upstairs mending my son’s clothes, when I heard a dispute.”