advice," interrupted M. Daburon, "and will profit
by it. Now commissary," he continued, "it is most important to ascertain
from what part of the country Widow Lerouge came."

The procession of witnesses under the charge of the corporal of
gendarmes were again interrogated by the investigating magistrate.

But nothing new was elicited. It was evident that Widow Lerouge had been
a singularly discreet woman; for, although very talkative, nothing in
any way connected with her antecedents remained in the memory of the
gossips of La Jonchere.

All the people interrogated, however, obstinately tried to impart to
the magistrate their own convictions and personal conjectures. Public
opinion sided with Gevrol. Every voice denounced the tall sunburnt man
with the gray blouse. He must surely be the culprit. Everyone remembered
his ferocious aspect, which had frightened the whole neighbourhood. He
had one evening menaced a woman, and another day beaten a child. They
could point out neither the child nor the woman; but no matter: these
brutal acts were notoriously public. M. Daburon began to despair of
gaining the least enlightenment, when some one brought the wife of a
grocer of Bougival, at whose shop the victim used to deal, and a child
thirteen years old, who knew, it was said, something positive.

The grocer's wife first made her appearance. She had heard Widow Lerouge
speak of having a son still living.

"Are you quite sure of that?" asked the investigating magistrate.

"As of my existence," answered the woman, "for, on that evening, yes, it
was evening, she was, saving your presence, a little tipsy. She remained
in my shop more than an hour."

"And what did she say?"

"I think I see her now," continued the shopkeeper: "she was leaning
against the counter near the scales, jesting with a fisherman of Marly,
old Husson, who can tell you the same; and she called him a fresh water
sailor. 'My husband,' said she, 'was a real sailor, and the proof is,
he would sometimes remain years on a voyage, and always used to bring me
back cocoanuts. I have a son who is also a sailor, like his dead father,
in the imperial navy.'"

"Did she mention her son's name?"

"Not that time, but another evening, when she was, if I may say so, very
drunk. She told us that her son's name was Jacques, and that she had not
seen him for a very long time."

"Did she speak ill of her husband?"

"Never! She only said he was jealous and brutal, thoug