of the most experienced physicians."

"Was it not R---, of Paris, who attended him?"

"Exactly. He came daily, and often remained overnight. Many times
I have seen him ascending the principal street of the village, with
troubled countenance, as he went to give his prescription to the
apothecary.

"Be wise enough," cried M. Courtois, "to moderate your just anger;
be calm; be dignified."

"Surely," continued Dr. Gendron, "your apothecary is an intelligent
man; but you have at Orcival a fellow who quite outdoes him, a
fellow who knows how to make money; one Robelot--"

"Robelot, the bone-setter?"

"That's the man. I suspect him of giving consultations, and
prescribing sub rosa. He is very clever. In fact I educated him.
Five or six years ago, he was my laboratory boy, and even now I
employ him when I have a delicate operation on hand--"

The doctor stopped, struck by the alteration in the impassible
Plantat's features.

"What is the matter, my friend?" he asked. "Are you ill?"

The judge left his notes, to look at him. "Why," said he, "Monsieur
Plantat is very pale--"

But M. Plantat speedily resumed his habitual expression.

"'Tis nothing," he answered, "really nothing. With my abominable
stomach, as soon as I change my hour of eating--"

Having reached his peroration, M. Courtois raised his voice.

"Return," said he, "to your peaceable homes, your quiet avocations.
Rest assured the law protects you. Already justice has begun its
work; two of the criminals are in its power, and we are on the track
of their accomplices."

"Of all the servants of the chateau," remarked M. Plantat, "there
remains not one who knew Sauvresy. The domestics have one by one
been replaced."

"No doubt," answered the doctor, "the sight of the old servants
would be disagreeable to Monsieur de Tremorel."

He was interrupted by the mayor, who re-entered, his eyes glowing,
his face animated, wiping his forehead.

"I have let the people know," said he, "the indecency of their
curiosity. They have all gone away. They were anxious to get at
Philippe Bertaud, the brigadier says; public opinion has a sharp
scent."

Hearing the door open, he turned, and found himself face to face
with a man whose features were scarcely visible, so profoundly did
he bow, his hat pressed against his breast.

"What do you wish?" sternly asked M. Courtois. "By what right have
you come in here?--Who are you?"

The man drew himself up.

"I am Monsieur