“And you would have added the profit to your other savings, wouldn’t you?”

Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, was stung by the point of this ironical question, as if he had received a sharp cut.  But, as he said nothing, the magistrate continued,—­

“Explain to us how the thing happened.”

On this ground the murderer knew he was at home, having had ample time to get ready; and with an accuracy which did great honor to his memory, or to his veracity, he repeated what he had told the surgeon on the spot, and at the time of the catastrophe.  He only added, that he had concealed himself, because he had seen at once to what terrible charges he would be exposed by his awkwardness.  And as he continued his account, warming up with its plausibility, he recovered the impudence, or rather the insolence, which seemed to be the prominent feature of his character.

“Do you know the officer whom you have wounded?” asked the magistrate when he had finished.

“Of course, I do, as I have made the voyage with him.  He is Lieut.  Champcey.”

“Have you any complaint against him?”

“None at all.”

Then he added in a tone of bitterness and resentment,—­

“What relations do you think could there be between a poor devil like myself and a great personage like him?  Would he have condescended even to look at me?  Would I have dared to speak to him?  If I know him, it is only because I have seen him, from afar off, walk the quarter-deck with the other officers, a cigar in his mouth, after a good meal, while we in the forecastle had our salt fish, and broke our teeth with worm-eaten hard-tack.”

“So you had no reason to hate him?”

“None; as little as anybody else.”

Seated upon a wretched little footstool, his paper on his knees, an inkhorn in his hand, the clerk was rapidly taking down the questions and the answers.  The magistrate made him a sign that it was ended, and then said, turning to the murderer,—­

“That is enough for to-day.  I am bound to tell you, that, having so far only kept you as a matter of precaution, I shall issue now an order for your arrest.”

“You mean I am to be put in jail?”

“Yes, until the court shall decide whether you are guilty of murder, or of involuntary homicide.”

Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, seemed to have foreseen this conclusion:  at least he coolly shrugged his shoulders, and said in a hoarse voice,—­

“In that case I shall have my linen changed pretty often here; for, if I had been wicked enough to plot an assassination, I should not have been fool enough to say so.”

“Who knows?” replied the magistrate.  “Some evidence is as good as an avowal.”

And, turning to the clerk, he said,—­

“Read the deposition to the accused.”

A moment afterwards, when this formality had been fulfilled, the magistrate and the old doctor left the room.  The former looked extremely grave, and said,—­