osed of, M. Folgat said,--

"Now let us go back to business. Keep cool, my dear Anthony, and
remember, that, unless we get the court to say that there is no case,
your answers may become the basis of our defence. What were M. de
Boiscoran's habits when he was here?"

"When he was here, sir, he had, so to say, no habits. We came here very
rarely, and only for a short time."

"Never mind: what was he doing here?"

"He used to rise late; he walked about a good deal; he sometimes went
out hunting; he sketched; he read, for master is a great reader, and is
as fond of his books as the marquis, his father, is of his porcelains."

"Who came here to see him?"

"M. Galpin most frequently, Dr. Seignebos, the priest from Brechy, M.
Seneschal, M. Daubigeon."

"How did he spend his evenings?"

"At M. de Chandore's, who can tell you all about it."

"He had no other relatives in this country?"

"No."

"You do not know that he had any lady friend?"

Anthony looked as if he would have blushed.

"Oh, sir!" he said, "you do not know, I presume, that master is engaged
to Miss Dionysia?"

The Baron de Chandore was not a baby, as he liked to call it. Deeply
interested as he was, he got up, and said,--

"I want to take a little fresh air."

And he went out, understanding very well that his being Dionysia's
grandfather might keep Anthony from telling the truth.

"That is a sensible man," thought M. Folgat.

Then he added aloud,--

"Now we are alone, my dear Anthony, you can speak frankly. Did M. de
Boiscoran keep a mistress?"

"No, sir."

"Did he ever have one?"

"Never. They will tell you, perhaps, that once upon a time he was rather
pleased with a great, big red-haired woman, the daughter of a miller in
the neighborhood, and that the gypsy of a woman came more frequently to
the chateau than was needful,--now on one pretext, and now on another.
But that was mere childishness. Besides, that was five years ago,
and the woman has been married these three years to a basket-maker at
Marennes."

"You are quite sure of what you say?"

"As sure as I am of myself. And you would be as sure of it yourself, if
you knew the country as I know it, and the abominable tongues the people
have. There is no concealing any thing from them. I defy a man to talk
three times to a woman without their finding it out, and making a story
of it. I say nothing of Paris"--

M. Folgat listened attentively. He asked,--

"Ah! was there any t