ll the arguments brought up by the magistrate.
But, above all probabilities, I put a fact,--the character of the
accused. M. de Boiscoran is a man of honor and an excellent man. He is
incapable of committing a mean and odious crime."

The others assented. M. Seneschal added,--

"And I, I will tell you another thing. What would have been the purpose
of such a crime? Ah, if M. de Boiscoran had nothing to lose! But do you
know among all your friends a happier man than he is?--young, handsome,
in excellent health, immensely wealthy, esteemed and popular with
everybody. Finally, there is another fact, which is a family secret, but
which I may tell you, and which will remove at once all suspicions,--M.
de Boiscoran is desperately in love with Miss Dionysia de Chandore. She
returns his love; and the day before yesterday the wedding-day was fixed
on the 20th of the next month."

In the meantime the hours had sped on. It was half-past three by the
clock of the church in Brechy. Day was breaking; and the light of the
lamps was turning pale. The morning mists began to disappear; and the
sunlight fell upon the window-panes. But no one noticed this: all these
men gathered around the bed of the wounded man were too deeply excited.
M. Galpin had listened to the objection made by the others, without a
word or a gesture. He had so far recovered his self-control, that it
would have been difficult to see what impressions they made upon his
mind. At last, shaking his head gravely, he said,--

"More than you, gentlemen, I feel a desire to believe M. de Boiscoran
innocent. M. Daubigeon, who knows what I mean, will tell you so. In my
heart I pleaded his cause long before you. But I am the representative
of the law; and my duty is above my affections. Does it depend on me to
set aside Cocoleu's accusation, however stupid, however absurd, it
may be? Can I undo the three statements made by the witnesses, and
confirming so strongly the suspicions aroused by the first charge?"

Count Claudieuse was distressed beyond expression. At last he said,--

"The worst thing about it is, that M. de Boiscoran thinks I am his
enemy. I should not wonder if he went and imagined that these charges
and vile suspicions have been suggested by my wife or by myself. If I
could only get up! At least, let M. de Boiscoran know distinctly that I
am ready to answer for him, as I would answer for myself. Cocoleu, the
wretched idiot! Ah, Genevieve, my darling wife! Why