then," continued M. Lecoq, in a tone too humble to be
serious, "I still hesitate. If the doctor, now, would kindly
proceed to examine the countess's body, he would do me a great
service."

"I was just going to ask the same favor, Doctor," said M. Domini.

The doctor answering, "Willingly," directed his steps toward the
door.

M. Lecoq caught him by the arm.

"If you please," said he, in a tone totally unlike that he had used
up to this time, "I would like to call your attention to the wounds
on the head, made by a blunt instrument, which I suppose to be a
hammer. I have studied these wounds, and though I am no doctor,
they seem to me suspicious."

"And to me," M. Plantat quickly added. "It seemed to me, that in
the places struck, there was no emission of blood in the cutaneous
vessels."

"The nature of these wounds," continued M. Lecoq, "will be a
valuable indication, which will fix my opinion." And, as he felt
keenly the brusque manner of the judge, he added:

"It is you, Doctor, who hold the match."

M. Gendron was about to leave the room, when Baptiste, the mayor's
servant--the man who wouldn't be scolded--appeared. He bowed and
said:

"I have come for Monsieur the Mayor."

"For me? why?" asked M. Courtois. "What's the matter? They don't
give me a minute's rest! Answer that I am busy."

"It's on account of madame," resumed the placid Baptiste; "she isn't
at all well." The excellent mayor grew slightly pale.

"My wife!" cried he, alarmed. "What do you mean? Explain yourself."

"The postman arrived just now," returned Baptiste with a most
tranquil air, "and I carried the letters to madame, who was in the
drawing-room. Hardly had I turned on my heels when I heard a shriek,
and the noise of someone falling to the floor." Baptiste spoke
slowly, taking artful pains to prolong his master's anguish.

"Speak! go on!" cried the mayor, exasperated. "Speak, won't you?"

"I naturally opened the drawing-room door again. What did I see?
madame, at full length on the floor. I called for help; the
chambermaid, cook, and others came hastening up, and we carried
madame to her bed. Justine said that it was a letter from
Mademoiselle Laurence which overcame my mistress--"

At each word Baptiste hesitated, reflected; his eyes, giving the
lie to his solemn face, betrayed the great satisfaction he felt in
relating his master's misfortunes.

His master was full of consternation. As it is with all of us,
when we know