. Not knowing what I was doing, I
drew from my pocket a long Spanish knife, which I always carried, and
seizing the cursed bastard, I thrust the blade through his arm, crying,
'This way, at least, he can't be changed without my knowing it; he is
marked for life!'"

Lerouge could scarcely utter another word. Great drops of sweat stood
out upon his brow, then, trickling down his cheeks, lodged in the deep
wrinkles of his face. He panted; but the magistrate's stern glance
harassed him, and urged him on, like the whip which flogs the negro
slave overcome with fatigue.

"The little fellow's wound," he resumed, "was terrible. It bled
dreadfully, and he might have died; but I didn't think of that. I was
only troubled about the future, about what might happen afterwards. I
declared that I would write out all that had occurred, and that everyone
should sign it. This was done; we could all four write. Germain didn't
dare resist; for I spoke with knife in hand. He wrote his name first,
begging me to say nothing about it to the count, swearing that, for his
part, he would never breathe a word of it, and pledging the other nurse
to a like secrecy."

"And have you kept this paper?" asked M. Daburon.

"Yes, sir, and as the detective to whom I confessed all, advised me to
bring it with me, I went to take it from the place where I always kept
it, and I have it here."

"Give it to me."

Lerouge took from his coat pocket an old parchment pocket-book, fastened
with a leather thong, and withdrew from it a paper yellowed by age and
carefully sealed.

"Here it is," said he. "The paper hasn't been opened since that accursed
night."

And, in fact, when the magistrate unfolded it, some dust fell out, which
had been used to keep the writing, when wet, from blotting.

It was really a brief description of the scene, described by the old
sailor. The four signatures were there.

"What has become of the witnesses who signed this declaration?" murmured
the magistrate, speaking to himself.

Lerouge, who thought the question was put to him, replied, "Germain is
dead. I have been told that he was drowned when out rowing. Claudine
has just been assassinated; but the other nurse still lives. I even know
that she spoke of the affair to her husband, for he hinted as much
to me. His name is Brosette, and she lives in the village of Commarin
itself."

"And what next?" asked the magistrate, after having taken down the name
and address.

"The n