he went,
almost in a fury, to call upon the mayor, to hold him responsible for
this insult offered to Justice in his person, and asking for energetic
punishment. M. Seneschal promised to take the proper measures, and
went to the commonwealth attorney to act in concert with him. There he
learned what had happened at Boiscoran, and the terrible result of the
examination.

So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques's situation,
and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter was
beginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning had
displayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say a
word to him. But even that was not all. At two o'clock precisely, the
funeral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promised
Capt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, and
accompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already given
orders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announced
visitors,--M. de Chandore and friend.

"That was all that was wanting!" he exclaimed

But, thinking it over, he added,--

"Well, it had to come sooner or later. Show them in!"

M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to prepare
himself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almost
cheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him his
companion.

"M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, who
has been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran."

"I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal," said Folgat: "I do not know the
manner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of this
country; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit many
a grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able and
experienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have both
encouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you."

"Certainly, sir, and with all my heart," replied M. Seneschal, bowing
politely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of a
great Paris lawyer.

He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting
his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven
chin with his hand.

"This is a very serious matter, gentlemen," he said at last.

"A criminal charge is always serious," replied M. Folgat.

"Upon my word," cried M. de Chandore, "you are not in