sed himself on his bed.

"It is monstrous," he exclaimed, "to allow an idiot to charge an
honorable man with such a crime! If he really saw M. de Boiscoran set
the house on fire, and hide himself in order to murder me, why did he
not come and warn me?"

Mr. Galpin repeated the question submissively, to the great amazement of
the mayor and M. Daubigeon.

"Why did you not give warning?" he asked Cocoleu.

But the efforts which the unfortunate man had made during the last
half-hour had exhausted his little strength. He broke out into stupid
laughter; and almost instantly one of his fearful nervous attacks
overcame him: he fell down yelling, and had to be carried away.

The magistrate had risen, pale and deeply excited, but evidently
meditating on what was to be done next. The commonwealth attorney asked
him in an undertone what he was going to do; and the lawyer replied,--

"Prosecute!"

"What?"

"Can I do otherwise in my position? God is my witness that I tried
my best, by urging this poor idiot, to prove the absurdity of his
accusation. But the result has disappointed me."

"And now?"

"Now I can no longer hesitate. There have been ten witnesses present at
the examination. My honor is at stake. I must establish either the guilt
or the innocence of the man whom Cocoleu accuses." Immediately, walking
up to the count's bed, he asked,--

"Will you have the kindness, Count Claudieuse, to tell me what your
relations are to M. de Boiscoran?"

Surprise and indignation caused the wounded man to blush deeply.

"Can it be possible, sir, that you believe the words of that idiot?"

"I believe nothing," answered the magistrate. "My duty is to unravel the
truth; and I mean to do it."

"The doctor has told you what the state of Cocoleu's mind is?"

"Count, I beg you will answer my question."

Count Claudieuse looked angry; but he replied promptly,--

"My relations with M. de Boiscoran are neither good nor bad. We have
none."

"It is reported, I have heard it myself, that you are on bad terms."

"On no terms at all. I never leave Valpinson, and M. de Boiscoran spends
nine months of the year in Paris. He has never called at my house, and I
have never been in his."

"You have been overheard speaking of him in unmeasured terms."

"That may be. We are neither of the same age, nor have we the same
tastes or the same opinions. He is young: I am old. He likes Paris and
the great world: I am fond of solitude and hunti