.

On the way from the Palais de Justice to the De Commarin mansion, not a
word passed between the father and son. When the carriage stopped before
the steps leading to the principal entrance, and the count got out with
Noel's assistance, there was great commotion among the servants.

There were, it is true, few of them present, nearly all having been
summoned to the Palais; but the count and the advocate had scarcely
disappeared, when, as if by enchantment, they were all assembled in
the hall. They came from the garden, the stables, the cellar, and the
kitchen. Nearly all bore marks of their calling. A young groom appeared
with his wooden shoes filled with straw, shuffling about on the marble
floor like a mangy dog on a Gobelin tapestry. One of them recognised
Noel as the visitor of the previous Sunday; and that was enough to set
fire to all these gossip-mongers, thirsting for scandal.

Since morning, moreover, the unusual events at the De Commarin mansion
had caused a great stir in society. A thousand stories were
circulated, talked over, corrected, and added to by the ill-natured
and malicious,--some abominably absurd, others simply idiotic. Twenty
people, very noble and still more proud, had not been above sending
their most intelligent servants to pay a little visit among the count's
retainers, for the sole purpose of learning something positive. As
it was, nobody knew anything; and yet everybody pretended to be fully
informed.

Let any one explain who can this very common phenomenon: A crime is
committed; justice arrives, wrapped in mystery; the police are still
ignorant of almost everything; and yet details of the most minute
character are already circulated about the streets.

"So," said a cook, "that tall dark fellow with the whiskers is the
count's true son!"

"You are right," said one of the footmen who had accompanied M. de
Commarin; "as for the other, he is no more his son than Jean here; who,
by the way, will be kicked out of doors, if he is caught in this part of
the house with his dirty working-shoes on."

"What a romance," exclaimed Jean, supremely indifferent to the danger
which threatened him.

"Such things constantly occur in great families," said the cook.

"How ever did it happen?"

"Well, you see, one day, long ago, when the countess who is now dead was
out walking with her little son, who was about six months old, the child
was stolen by gypsies. The poor lady was full of grief; but a