nat?" asked Casimir.

"He received what he called a 'violent shock' last evening, but he's
better this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he should look
for you between twelve and one--you know where."

"I'll endeavor to be there, although it may be difficult for me to get
away. If I go, however, I'll show him the letter that caused the count's
illness; for the count threw it away, after tearing it into several
pieces, and I found some of the bits which escaped his notice as well as
mademoiselle's. It's a strange letter, upon my word!"

Chupin gazed at the valet with a look of mingled wonder and admiration.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "how fortunate a man must be to secure a valet
like you!"

His companion smiled complacently, but all of a sudden he remarked:
"Make haste and go. I see Bourigeau in the distance, bringing the
justice of the peace."

VII.

The magistrate who was now approaching the Chalusse mansion in the
concierge's company, exemplified in a remarkable manner all the ideas
that are awakened in one's mind by the grand yet simple title of
"Justice of the Peace." He was the very person you would like to think
of as the family magistrate; as the promoter of friendly feeling; as the
guardian of the rights of the absent, the young, and the weak; as the
just arbiter in unfortunate differences between those who are closely
related; a sage of wide experience and boundless benevolence; a judge
whose paternal justice dispenses with all pomp and display, and who
is allowed by French statutes to hold his court by his own fireside,
providing the doors stand open. He was considerably over fifty,
tall, and very thin, with bent shoulders. His clothes were rather
old-fashioned in cut, but by no means ridiculous. The expression of his
face was gentleness itself; but it would not have done to presume upon
this gentleness, for his glance was keen and piercing--like the glance
of all who are expert in diving into consciences, and discovering the
secrets hidden there. Moreover, like all men who are accustomed to
deliberate in public, his features were expressionless. He could see and
hear everything, suspect and understand everything, without letting a
muscle of his face move. And yet the habitues of his audience-chamber,
and his clerks, pretended that they could always detect the nature of
his impressions. A ring which he wore upon one of his fingers served
as a barometer for those who knew him. If a diffic