owd of twelve hundred more just coming
in from the faubourg de Rome," said the lieutenant of gendarmes, "and
they are threatening death to the assassin."

"Where is your guest?" said Monsieur Mouilleron to Monsieur Hochon.

"He has gone to walk in the country, I believe."

"Call Gritte," said the judge gravely. "I was in hopes he had not left
the house. You are aware that the crime was committed not far from here,
at daybreak."

While Monsieur Hochon went to find Gritte, the three functionaries
looked at each other significantly.

"I never liked that painter's face," said the lieutenant to Monsieur
Mouilleron.

"My good woman," said the judge to Gritte, when she appeared, "they say
you saw Monsieur Joseph Bridau leave the house this morning?"

"Yes, monsieur," she answered, trembling like a leaf.

"At what hour?"

"Just as I was getting up: he walked about his room all night, and was
dressed when I came downstairs."

"Was it daylight?"

"Barely."

"Did he seem excited?"

"Yes, he was all of a twitter."

"Send one of your men for my clerk," said Lousteau-Prangin to the
lieutenant, "and tell him to bring warrants with him--"

"Good God! don't be in such a hurry," cried Monsieur Hochon. "The
young man's agitation may have been caused by something besides the
premeditation of this crime. He meant to return to Paris to-day, to
attend to a matter in which Gilet and Mademoiselle Brazier had doubted
his honor."

"Yes, the affair of the pictures," said Monsieur Mouilleron. "Those
pictures caused a very hot quarrel between them yesterday, and it is a
word and a blow with artists, they tell me."

"Who is there in Issoudun who had any object in killing Gilet?" said
Lousteau. "No one,--neither a jealous husband nor anybody else; for the
fellow has never harmed a soul."

"But what was Monsieur Gilet doing in the streets at four in the
morning?" remarked Monsieur Hochon.

"Now, Monsieur Hochon, you must allow us to manage this affair in our
own way," answered Mouilleron; "you don't know all: Gilet recognized
your painter."

At this instant a clamor was heard from the other end of the town,
growing louder and louder, like the roll of thunder, as it followed the
course of the Grande-Narette.

"Here he is! here he is!--he's arrested!"

These words rose distinctly on the ear above the hoarse roar of the
populace. Poor Joseph, returning quietly past the mill at Landrole
intending to get home in time for break