last, "cheer up, old Tirauclair. I'm a good fellow at
heart, and I'll give you a lift. That's kind, isn't it? But, to-day, I'm
too busy, I've an appointment to keep. Come to me to-morrow morning,
and we'll talk it over. But before we part I'll give you a light to find
your way with. Do you know who that witness is that I've brought?"

"No; but tell me, my good M. Gevrol."

"Well, that fellow on the bench there, who is waiting for M. Daburon, is
the husband of the victim of the La Jonchere tragedy!"

"Is it possible?" exclaimed old Tabaret, perfectly astounded. Then,
after reflecting a moment, he added, "You are joking with me."

"No, upon my word. Go and ask him his name; he will tell you that it is
Pierre Lerouge."

"She wasn't a widow then?"

"It appears not," replied Gevrol sarcastically, "since there is her
happy spouse."

"Whew!" muttered the old fellow. "And does he know anything?"

In a few sentences, the chief of detectives related to his amateur
colleague the story that Lerouge was about to tell the investigating
magistrate.

"What do you say to that?" he asked when he came to the end.

"What do I say to that?" stammered old Tabaret, whose countenance
indicated intense astonishment; "what do I say to that? I don't say
anything. But I think,--no, I don't think anything either!"

"A slight surprise, eh?" said Gevrol, beaming.

"Say rather an immense one," replied Tabaret.

But suddenly he started, and gave his forehead a hard blow with his
fist.

"And my baker!" he cried, "I will see you to-morrow, then, M. Gevrol."

"He is crazed," thought the head detective.

The old fellow was sane enough, but he had suddenly recollected the
Asnieres baker, whom he had asked to call at his house. Would he still
find him there?

Going down the stairs he met M. Daburon; but, as one has already seen,
he hardly deigned to reply to him.

He was soon outside, and trotted off along the quays.

"Now," said he to himself, "let us consider. Noel is once more plain
Noel Gerdy. He won't feel very pleased, for he thought so much of having
a great name. Pshaw! if he likes, I'll adopt him. Tabaret doesn't sound
so well as Commarin, but it's at least a name. Anyhow, Gevrol's story
in no way affects Albert's situation nor my convictions. He is the
legitimate son; so much the better for him! That however, would not
prove his innocence to me, if I doubted it. He evidently knew nothing of
these surprising circumstances, a