here he might wait, at the disposal of justice, until
further orders.

"All your expenses will be paid you," added the magistrate.

Lerouge had scarcely left, when an extraordinary, unheard of,
unprecedented event took place in the magistrate's office. Constant, the
serious, impressive, immovable, deaf and dumb Constant, rose from his
seat and spoke.

He broke a silence of fifteen years. He forgot himself so far as to
offer an opinion.

"This, sir," said he, "is a most extraordinary affair."

Very extraordinary, truly, thought M. Daburon, and calculated to rout
all predictions, all preconceived opinions.

Why had he, the magistrate, moved with such deplorable haste? Why before
risking anything, had he not waited to possess all the elements of this
important case, to hold all the threads of this complicated drama?

Justice is accused of slowness; but it is this very slowness that
constitutes its strength and surety, its almost infallibility. One
scarcely knows what a time evidence takes to produce itself. There is no
knowing what important testimony investigations apparently useless may
reveal.

When the entanglement of the various passions and motives seems
hopeless, an unknown personage presents himself, coming from no one
knows where, and it is he who explains everything.

M. Daburon, usually the most prudent of men, had considered as simple
one of the most complex of cases. He had acted in a mysterious crime,
which demanded the utmost caution, as carelessly as though it were a
case of simple misdemeanour. Why? Because his memory had not left him
his free deliberation, judgment, and discernment. He had feared equally
appearing weak and being revengeful. Thinking himself sure of his facts,
he had been carried away by his animosity. And yet how often had he
not asked himself: Where is duty? But then, when one is at all doubtful
about duty, one is on the wrong road.

The singular part of it all was that the magistrate's faults sprang from
his very honesty. He had been led astray by a too great refinement of
conscience. The scruples which troubled him had filled his mind with
phantoms, and had prompted in him the passionate animosity he had
displayed at a certain moment.

Calmer now, he examined the case more soundly. As a whole, thank heaven!
there was nothing done which could not be repaired. He accused himself,
however, none the less harshly. Chance alone had stopped him. At that
moment he resolved that h