e was
informed that, some months before, a corpse had been discovered hid
in a vineyard near Argenteuil. Bigot hastened thither, and the state
of preservation of the remains enabled him, on viewing the body, to
decide clearly that it was that of Zambelli, according as he had
been described by Cornelius his brother.

The magistrate began to read the evidence aloud, when he was
interrupted by a piercing cry; and a blind man, whom no one had as
yet perceived, presented himself before the assembly. It was old
Gervais, a wandering beggar, born in the neighbourhood, well known,
and much liked. When his way led through Argenteuil, he was always
admitted to the hotel, and having arrived that day, he had seated
himself unnoticed, in his usual place in the chimney-corner. He had
sprung forward with a loud cry when, in listening as the magistrate
read, he heard of a corpse being discovered among the vines. But what
could a blind man, and one so long absent from Argenteuil, have to
communicate? Laurence Bigot regarded with a kind of respect the
serene and venerable countenance of the old beggar.

'Unfortunate man,' said he, 'what can _you_ have to tell us?'

But after his first involuntary movement, the blind man. Appeared
embarrassed and undecided. 'Ah, my lord,' said he, 'may I speak
without danger of my life?' and he turned his white head on every
side with a terrified air.

'Speak freely,' said Bigot; 'fear nothing.' Then the old man related
how, many months since, he was leaving Argenteuil on his usual
pilgrimage, and had gained the high ground beyond the village, when
the violent barking of his dog caused him to listen attentively. A
man's voice, feeble and suppliant, was distinctly heard. 'Monster!'
it said; 'thy master, thy benefactor--mercy! Must I die so far from
my country and my brother! Mercy, mercy!'

Then the blind man heard a fearful cry, like that of a dying man in
his last agony, and all was silence. After a time he distinguished
the steps of one who seemed staggering under a heavy burden.
'Influenced by a sudden impulse,' said Gervais, 'I went forward,
asking what was the matter, and who had been moaning so.'

"Nothing, nothing," said a voice in an agitated tone; "only a sick
man who is being carried home, and has fainted on the way." And the
voice added, in a lower and menacing tone: "You may thank God that
you are blind, or I would have done the same to you." I knew then
that a horrible crime had been c