29th, 1842. I am most
uneasy about my health. I feel shooting pains in all my joints. The
derangement of my system arises entirely from this business of Octave's.
I had to run the gauntlet of a second court, and the judge's eyes seemed
to look me through and through. I also saw with much alarm that my
second statement differs somewhat from the first one, so I have
now learned it by heart. Ludovic is a sharp fellow, and quite
self-possessed. I would like to have him in my household. I keep myself
shut up in my house for fear of meeting friends who want to hear all the
details of the accident. I believe I may say that I have repeated the
story more than a couple of dozen times.' Now, my lord," added Mascarin,
"what do you say to this?"

"Continue the reading of the extracts."

"The third allusion, though it is short, is still very important:
'November 3rd, 1842. Thank Heaven! all is over. I have just returned
from the court. Octave has been acquitted. Ludovic had behaved
wonderfully. He explained the reason of the misadventure in a way that
was really surprising in an uneducated man, and there was not an atom
of suspicion among judge, jury, or spectators. I have changed my mind;
I would not have a fellow like Ludovic in my service; he is much too
sharp. When I had been duly sworn, I gave my evidence. Though I was much
agitated, I went through it all right; but when I got home I felt
very ill, and discovered that my pulse was down to fifty. Ah, me! what
terrible misfortunes are wrought by a momentary burst of anger. I now
write this sentence in my diary: _"Never give way to first impulses."_'
These words," continued Mascarin, "were inscribed on every one of the
pages following,--at least so those who examined the entries informed
me."

Mascarin persisted in representing himself as the agent of others, but
still the Count made no allusion to the persons in the background.

After a few moments the Count rose and limped up and down, as though he
hoped by this means to collect his ideas, or perhaps in order to prevent
his visitor from scanning his face too closely.

"Have you done?" asked he, all at once.

"Yes, my lord."

"Have you thought what an impartial judge would say?"

"I think I have."

"He would say," broke in the Count, "that no sane man would have written
such things down, for there are certain secrets which we do not whisper
even to ourselves, and it is hardly likely that any man would make such
compro