retted those gentle instruments of investigation of the
middle ages, which compelled the prisoner to say whatever one wished to
hear. Never, thought he, did any one ever meet a culprit like this. What
could he reasonably hope for from his system of persistent denial? This
obstinacy, absurd in the presence of such absolute proofs, drove the
magistrate into a rage. Had Albert confessed his guilt, he would have
found M. Daburon disposed to pity him; but as he denied it, he opposed
himself to an implacable enemy.

It was the very falseness of the situation which misled and blinded this
magistrate, naturally so kind and generous. Having previously wished
Albert innocent, he now absolutely longed to prove him guilty, and that
for a hundred reasons which he was unable to analyze. He remembered,
too well, his having had the Viscount de Commarin for a rival, and his
having nearly assassinated him. Had he not repented even to remorse his
having signed the warrant of arrest, and his having accepted the duty of
investigating the case. Old Tabaret's incomprehensible change of opinion
troubled him, too.

All these feelings combined, inspired M. Daburon with a feverish hatred,
and urged him on in the path which he had chosen. It was now less the
proofs of Albert's guilt which he sought for than the justification of
his own conduct as magistrate. The investigation became embittered like
a personal matter.

In fact, were the prisoner innocent, he would become inexcusable in his
own eyes; and, in proportion as he reproached himself the more severely,
and as the knowledge of his own failings grew, he felt the more disposed
to try everything to conquer his former rival, even to abusing his own
power. The logic of events urged him on. It seemed as though his honour
itself was at stake; and he displayed a passionate activity, such as he
had never before been known to show in any investigation.

M. Daburon passed all Sunday in listening to the reports of the
detectives he had sent to Bougival.

They had spared no trouble, they stated, but they could report nothing
new.

They had heard many people speak of a woman, who pretended, they said,
to have seen the assassin leave Widow Lerouge's cottage; but no one
had been able to point this woman out to them, or even to give them her
name.

They all thought it their duty, however, to inform the magistrate that
another inquiry was going on at the same time as theirs. It was directed
by M. Ta