he door of the chamber,
performing the humble duty of a doorkeeper, and barring the entrance to
the eager and curious crowd outside. When Mrs. Courtois retired, quite
bewildered by her own words, and regretting what she had said, he called
out,--

"Is there any one else who knows any thing?"

As nobody appeared, he closed the door, and said curtly,--

"Well, then, you can go home now, my friends. Let the law have free
course."

The law, represented by the magistrate, was a prey at that moment to the
most cruel perplexity. M. Galpin was utterly overcome by consternation.
He sat at the little table, on which he had been writing, his head
resting on his hands, thinking, apparently, how he could find a way out
of this labyrinth.

All of a sudden he rose, and forgetting, for a moment, his customary
rigidity, he let his mask of icy impassiveness drop off his face, and
said,--

"Well?" as if, in his despair, he had hoped for some help or advice in
his troubles,--"well?"

No answer came.

All the others were as much troubled as he was. They all tried to shake
off the overwhelming impression made by this accumulation of evidence;
but in vain. At last, after a moment's silence, the magistrate said with
strange bitterness,--

"You see, gentlemen, I was right in examining Cocoleu. Oh! don't attempt
to deny it: you share my doubts and my suspicions, I see it. Is there
one among you who would dare assert that the terrible excitement of this
poor man has not restored to him for a time the use of his reason? When
he told you that he had witnessed the crime, and when he gave the name
of the criminal, you looked incredulous. But then other witnesses
came; and their united evidence, corresponding without a missing link,
constitutes a terrible presumption."

He became animated again. Professional habits, stronger than every thing
else, obtained once more the mastery.

"M. de Boiscoran was at Valpinson to-night: that is clearly established.
Well, how did he get here? By concealing himself. Between his own house
and Valpinson there are two public roads,--one by Brechy, and another
around the swamps. Does M. de Boiscoran take either of the two? No.
He cuts straight across the marshes, at the risk of sinking in, or of
getting wet from head to foot. On his return he chooses, in spite of the
darkness, the forest of Rochepommier, unmindful of the danger he runs to
lose his way, and to wander about in it till daybreak. What was he d