“Oh! how can you say such a thing?—­I who would not harm a fly.  Unlucky gun!  Must I needs have such a mishap?”

The magistrate had for some time been looking at the accused with an air of the most profound disgust.  He interrupted him rudely now, and said,—­

“Look here, my man!  Spare us those useless denials.  Justice knows everything it wants to know.  That shot was the third attempt you made to murder a man.”

Crochard drew back.  He looked livid.  But he had still the strength to say in a half-strangled voice,—­

“That is false!”

But the magistrate had too great an abundance of evidence to allow the examination to continue.  He said simply,—­

“Who, then, threw, during the voyage, an enormous block at M. Champcey’s head?  Come, don’t deny it.  The emigrant who was near you, who saw you, and who promised he would not report you at that time, has spoken.  Do you want to see him?”

Once more Crochard opened his lips to protest his innocence; but he could not utter a sound.  He was crushed, annihilated; he trembled in all his limbs; and his teeth rattled in his mouth.  In less than no time, his features had sunk in, as it were, till he looked like a man at the foot of the scaffold.  It may be, that, feeling he was irretrievably lost, he had had a vision of the fatal instrument.

“Believe me,” continued the lawyer, “do not insist upon the impossible; you had better tell the truth.”

For another minute yet, the miserable man hesitated.  Then, seeing no other chance of safety, except the mercy of the judges, he fell heavily on his knees, and stammered out,—­

“I am a wretched man.”

At the same instant a cry of astonishment burst from the doctor, from Daniel, and the worthy Lefloch.  But the man of law was not surprised.  He knew in advance that the first victory would be easily won, and that the real difficulty would be to induce the prisoner to confess the name of his principal.  Without giving him, therefore time to recover, he said,—­

“Now, what reasons had you for persecuting M. Champcey in this way?”

The accused rose again; and, making an effort, he said slowly,—­

“I hated him.  Once during the voyage he had threatened to have me put in irons.”

“The man lies!” said Daniel.

“Do you hear?” asked the lawyer.  “So you will not tell the truth?  Well, I will tell it for you.  They had hired you to kill Lieut.  Champcey, and you wanted to earn your money.  You got a certain sum of money in advance; and you were to receive a larger sum after his death.”

“I swear”—­

“Don’t swear!  The sum in your possession, which you cannot account for, is positive proof of what I say.”

“Alas!  I possess nothing.  You may inquire.  You may order a search.”

Under the impassive mask of the lawyer, a certain degree of excitement could at this moment be easily discerned.  The time had come to strike a decisive blow, and to judge of the value of his system of induction.  Instead, therefore, of replying to the prisoner, he turned to the gendarmes who were present and said to them,—­