be sure!" cried M. de Chandore, "to be sure! And then you thought"--

"I thought I had guessed right, yes, sir; but I am not going to do any
thing now. M. de Boiscoran tells us that the facts are improbable. I
should, therefore, in all probability, soon be astray; but, since we
are now bound to be passive till the investigation is completed, I shall
employ the time in examining the country people, who will, probably,
tell me more than Anthony did. You have, no doubt, among your friends,
some who must be well informed,--M. Seneschal, Dr. Seignebos."

The latter did not keep M. Folgat waiting long; for his name had hardly
been mentioned, when he himself repeated it in the passage, telling a
servant,--

"Say it is I, Dr. Seignebos, Dr. Seignebos."

He fell like a bombshell into the room. It was four days now since he
had last presented himself there; for he had not come himself for his
report and the shot he had left in M. Folgat's hands. He had sent for
them, excusing himself on the score of his many engagements. The fact
was, however, that he had spent nearly the whole of these four days at
the hospital, in company with one of his brother-practitioners, who had
been sent for by the court to proceed, "jointly with Dr. Seignebos," to
an examination of Cocoleu's mental condition.

"And this is what brings me here," he cried, still in the door; "for
this opinion, if it is not put into proper order, will deprive M. de
Boiscoran of his best and surest chance of escape."

After what Dionysia had told them, neither M. de Chandore nor M. Folgat
attached much importance to the state of Cocoleu's mind: still this word
"escape" attracted their attention. There is nothing unimportant in a
criminal trial.

"Is there any thing new?" asked the advocate.

The doctor first went to close the doors carefully, and then, putting
his cane and broad-brimmed hat upon the table, he said,--

"No, there is nothing new. They still insist, as before, upon ruining M.
de Boiscoran; and, in order to do that, they shrink from nothing."

"They! Who are they?" asked M. de Chandore.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"Are you really in doubt, sir?" he replied. "And yet the facts speak
clearly enough. In this department, there is a certain number of
physicians who are not very keenly alive to the honor of their
profession, and who are, to tell the truth, consummate apes."

Grave as the situation was, M. Folgat could hardly sup