Within an Inch of His Life

by Emile Gaboriau

  V.

  Yes, the step taken by the Misses Lavarande was foolish. At the pointwhich things had reached now, their going to see M. Galpin was perhapsequivalent to furnishing him the means to crush Jacques. But whose faultwas it, but M. de Chandore's and M. Folgat's? Had they not committed anunpardonable blunder in leaving Sauveterre without any other precautionthan to send word through M. Seneschal's servant, that they would beback for dinner, and that they need not be troubled about them?

  Not be troubled? And that to the Marchioness de Boiscoran and Dionysia,to Jacques's mother and Jacques's betrothed.

  Certainly, at first, the two wretched women preserved their self-controlin a manner, trying to set each other an example of courage andconfidence. But, as hour after hour passed by, their anxiety becameintolerable; and gradually, as they confided their apprehensions toeach other, their grief broke out openly. They thought of Jacques beinginnocent, and yet treated like one of the worst criminals, alone inthe depth of his prison, given up to the most horrible inspirations ofdespair. What could have been his feelings during the twenty-fourhours which had brought him no news from his friends? Must he not fancyhimself despised and abandoned.

  "That is an intolerable thought!" exclaimed Dionysia at lat. "We mustget to him at any price."

  "How?" asked the marchioness.

  "I do not know; but there must be some way. There are things which Iwould not have ventured upon as long as I was alone; but, with you by myside, I can risk any thing. Let us go to the prison."

  The old lady promptly put a shawl around her shoulders, and said,--

  "I am ready; let us go."

  They had both heard repeatedly that Jacques was kept in closeconfinement; but neither of them realized fully what that meant. Theyhad no idea of this atrocious measure, which is, nevertheless, renderednecessary by the peculiar forms of French law-proceedings,--a measurewhich, so to say, immures a man alive, and leaves him in his cell alonewith the crime with which he is charged, and utterly at the mercy ofanother man, whose duty it is to extort the truth from him. The twoladies only saw the want of liberty, a cell with its dismal outfittings,the bars at the window, the bolts at the door, the jailer shaking hisbunch of keys at his belt, and the tramp of the solitary sentinel in thelong passages.

  "They cannot refuse me permission," said the old lady, "to see my son."

  "They cannot," repeated Dionysia. "And, besides, I know the jailer,Blangin: his wife was formerly in our service."

  When the young girl, therefore, raised the heavy knocker at theprison-door, she was full of cheerful confidence. Blangin himself cameto the door; and, at the sight of the two poor ladies, his broad facedisplayed the utmost astonishment.

  "We come to see M. de Boiscoran," said Dionysia boldly.

  "Have you a permit, ladies?" asked the keeper.

  "From whom?"

  "From M. Galpin."

  "We have no permit."

  "Then I am very sorry to have to tell you, ladies, that you cannotpossibly see M. de Boiscoran. He is kept in close confinement, and Ihave the strictest orders."

  Dionysia looked threatening, and said sharply,--

  "Your orders cannot apply to this lady, who is the Marchioness deBoiscoran."

  "My orders apply to everybody, madam."

  "You would not, I am sure, keep a poor, distressed mother from seeingher son!"

  "Ah! but--madam--it does not rest with me. I? Who am I? Nothing morethan one of the bolts, drawn or pushed at will."

  For the first time, it entered the poor girl's head that her effortmight fail: still she tried once more, with tears in her eyes,--

  "But I, my dear M. Blangin, think of me! You would not refuse me? Don'tyou know who I am? Have you never heard your wife speak of me?"

  The jailer was certainly touched. He replied,--

  "I know how much my wife and myself are indebted to your kindness,madam. But--I have my orders, and you surely would not want me to losemy place, madam?"

  "If you lose your place, M. Blangin, I, Dionysia de Chandore, promiseyou another place twice as good."

  "Madame!"

  "You do not doubt my word, M. Blangin, do you?"

  "God forbid, madam! But it is not my place only. If I did what you wantme to do, I should be severely punished."

  The marchioness judged from the jailer's tone that Dionysia was notlikely to prevail over him, and so she said,--

  "Don't insist, my child. Let us go back."

  "What? Without finding out what is going on behind these pitiless walls;without knowing even whether Jacques is dead or alive?"

  There was evidently a great struggle going on in the jailer's heart. Allof a sudden he cast a rapid glance around, and then said, speaking veryhurriedly,--

  "I ought not to tell you--but never mind--I cannot let you go awaywithout telling you that M. de Boiscoran is quite well."

  "Ah!"

  "Yesterday, when they brought him here, he was, so to say, overcome. Hethrew himself upon his bed, and he remained there without stirring forover two hours. I think he must have been crying."

  A sob, which Dionysia could not suppress, made Blangin start.

  "Oh, reassure yourself, madame!" he added quickly. "That state of thingsdid not last long. Soon M. de Boiscoran got up, and said, 'Why, I am afool to despair!'"

  "Did you hear him say so?" asked the old lady.

  "Not I. It was Trumence who heard it."

  "Trumence?"

  "Yes, one of our jail-birds. Oh! he is only a vagabond, not bad at all;and he has been ordered to stand guard at the door of M. de Boiscoran'scell, and not for a moment to lose sight of it. It was M. Galpin who hadthat idea, because the prisoners sometimes in their first despair,--amisfortune happens so easily,--they become weary of life--Trumence wouldbe there to prevent it."

  The old lady trembled with horror. This precautionary measure, more thanany thing else, gave her the full measure of her son's situation.

  "However," M. Blangin went on, "there is nothing to fear. M. deBoiscoran became quite calm again, and even cheerful, if I may sayso. When he got up this morning, after having slept all night like adormouse, he sent for me, and asked me for paper, ink, and pen. All theprisoners ask for that the second day. I had orders to let him have it,and so I gave it to him. When I carried him his breakfast, he handed mea letter for Miss Chandore."

  "What?" cried Dionysia, "you have a letter for me, and you don't give itto me?"

  "I do not have it now, madam. I had to hand it, as is my duty, to M.Galpin, when he came accompanied by his clerk, Mechinet, to examine M.de Boiscoran."

  "And what did he say?"

  "He opened the letter, read it, put it into his pocket, and said,'Well.'"

  Tears of anger this time sprang from Dionysia's eyes; and she cried,--

  "What a shame? This man reads a letter written by Jacques to me! That isinfamous!"

  And, without thinking of thanking Blangin, she drew off the old lady,and all the way home did not say a word.

  "Ah, poor child, you did not succeed," exclaimed the two old aunts, whenthey saw their niece come back.

  But, when they had heard every thing, they said,--

  "Well, we'll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the daybefore yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of ourcousin. And we'll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give usback Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take downhis pride."

  How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies,when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to herindignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?

  "Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts," she said. "Quick, don't lose anytime; go at once!"

  Unable to resist her entreaties, they started instantly, withoutlistening to the timid objections made by the marchioness. But the goodladies were sadly mistaken as to the state of mind of M. Galpin. Theex-lover of one of their cousins was not bedded on roses by any means.At the beginning o
f this extraordinary affair he had taken hold of itwith eagerness, looking upon it as an admirable opportunity, long lookedfor, and likely to open wide the doors to his burning ambition. Thenhaving once begun, and the investigation being under way, he had beencarried away by the current, without having time to reflect. He had evenfelt a kind of unhealthy satisfaction at seeing the evidence increasing,until he felt justified and compelled to order his former friend tobe sent to prison. At that time he was fairly dazzled by the mostmagnificent expectations. This preliminary inquiry, which in a few hoursalready had led to the discovery of a culprit the most unlikely of allmen in the province, could not fail to establish his superior abilityand matchless skill.

  But, a few hours later, M. Galpin looked no longer with the same eyeupon these events. Reflection had come; and he had begun to doubt hisability, and to ask himself, if he had not, after all, acted rashly.If Jacques was guilty, so much the better. He was sure, in that case,immediately after the verdict, to obtain brilliant promotion. Yes, butif Jacques should be innocent? When that thought occurred to M. Galpinfor the first time, it made him shiver to the marrow of his bones.Jacques innocent!--that was his own condemnation, his career ended, hishopes destroyed, his prospects ruined forever. Jacques innocent!--thatwas certain disgrace. He would be sent away from Sauveterre, where hecould not remain after such a scandal. He would be banished to someout-of-the-way village, and without hope of promotion.

  In vain he tried to reason that he had only done his duty. People wouldanswer, if they condescended at all to answer, that there are flagrantblunders, scandalous mistakes, which a magistrate must not commit; andthat for the honor of justice, and in the interest of the law, it isbetter, under certain circumstances, to let a guilty man escape, than topunish an innocent one.

  With such anxiety on his mind, the most cruel that can tear the heart ofan ambitious man, M. Galpin found his pillow stuffed with thorns. Hehad been up since six o'clock. At eleven, he had sent for his clerk,Mechinet; and they had gone together to the jail to recommence theexamination. It was then that the jailer had handed him the prisoner'sletter for Dionysia. It was a short note, such as a sensible man wouldwrite who knows full well that a prisoner cannot count upon the secrecyof his correspondence. It was not even sealed, a fact which M. Blanginhad not noticed.

  "Dionysia, my darling," wrote the prisoner, "the thought of the terriblegrief I cause you is my most cruel, and almost my only sorrow. Need Istoop to assure you that I am innocent? I am sure it is not needed. I amthe victim of a fatal combination of circumstances, which could not butmislead justice. But be reassured, be hopeful. When the time comes, Ishall be able to set matters right.

  "JACQUES."

  "Well," M. Galpin had really said after reading this letter.Nevertheless it had stung him to the quick.

  "What assurance!" he had said to himself.

  Still he had regained courage while ascending the steps of the prison.Jacques had evidently not thought it likely that his note would reachits destination directly, and hence it might be fairly presumed that hehad written for the eyes of justice as well as for his lady-love. Thefact that the letter was not sealed even, gave some weight to thispresumption.

  "After all we shall see," said M. Galpin, while Blangin was unlockingthe door.

  But he found Jacques as calm as if he had been in his chateau atBoiscoran, haughty and even scornful. It was impossible to get any thingout of him. When he was pressed, he became obstinately silent, or saidthat he needed time to consider. The magistrate had returned home moretroubled than ever. The position assumed by Jacques puzzled him. Ah, ifhe could have retraced his steps!

  But it was too late. He had burnt his vessels, and condemned himselfto go on to the end. For his own safety, for his future life, it washenceforth necessary that Jacques de Boiscoran should be found guilty;that he should be tried in open court, and there be sentenced. It mustbe. It was a question of life or death for him.

  He was in this state of mind when the two Misses Lavarande called athis house, and asked to see him. He shook himself; and in an instanthis over-excited mind presented to him all possible contingencies. Whatcould the two old ladies want of him?

  "Show them in," he said at last.

  They came in, and haughtily declined the chairs that were offered.

  "I hardly expected to have the honor of a visit from you, ladies," hecommenced.

  The older of the two, Miss Adelaide, cut him short, saying,--

  "I suppose not, after what has passed."

  And thereupon, speaking with all the eloquence of a pious woman whois trying to wither an impious man, she poured upon him a stream ofreproaches for what she called his infamous treachery. What? How couldhe appear against Jacques, who was his friend, and who had actuallyaided him in obtaining the promise of a great match. By that one hopehe had become, so to say, a member of the family. Did he not know thatamong kinsmen it was a sacred duty to set aside all personal feelingsfor the purpose of protecting that sacred patrimony called family honor?

  M. Galpin felt like a man upon whom a handful of stones falls from thefifth story of a house. Still he preserved his self-control, and evenasked himself what advantage he might obtain from this extraordinaryscene. Might it open a door for reconciliation?

  As soon, therefore, as Miss Adelaide stopped, he began justifyinghimself, painting in hypocritical colors the grief it had given him,swearing that he was able to control the events, and that Jacques was asdear to him now as ever.

  "If he is so dear to you," broke in Miss Adelaide, "why don't you sethim free?"

  "Ah! how can I?"

  "At least give his family and his friends leave to see him."

  "The law will not let me. If he is innocent, he has only to prove it. Ifhe is guilty, he must confess. In the first case, he will be set free;in the other case, he can see whom he wishes."

  "If he is so dear to you, how could you dare read the letter he hadwritten to Dionysia?"

  "It is one of the most painful duties of my profession to do so."

  "Ah! And does that profession also prevent you from giving us thatletter after having read it?"

  "Yes. But I may tell you what is in it."

  He took it out of a drawer, and the younger of the two sisters, MissElizabeth, copied it in pencil. Then they withdrew, almost withoutsaying good-by.

  M. Galpin was furious. He exclaimed,--

  "Ah, old witches! I see clearly you do not believe in Jacques'sinnocence. Why else should his family be so very anxious to see him? Nodoubt they want to enable him to escape by suicide the punishment of hiscrime. But, by the great God, that shall not be, if I can help it!"

  M. Folgat was, as we have seen, excessively annoyed at this step takenby the Misses Lavarande; but he did not let it be seen. It was verynecessary that he at least should retain perfect presence of mind andcalmness in this cruelly tried family. M. de Chandore, on the otherhand, could not conceal his dissatisfaction so well; and, in spite ofhis deference to his grandchild's wishes, he said,--

  "I am sure, my dear child, I don't wish to blame you. But you know youraunts, and you know, also, how uncompromising they are. They are quitecapable of exasperating M. Galpin."

  "What does it matter?" asked the young girl haughtily. "Circumspectionis all very well for guilty people; but Jacques is innocent."

  "Miss Chandore is right," said M. Folgat, who seemed to succumb toDionysia like the rest of the family. "Whatever the ladies may havedone, they cannot make matters worse. M. Galpin will be none the lessour bitter enemy."

  Grandpapa Chandore started. He said,--

  "But"--

  "Oh! I do not blame him," broke in the young lawyer; "but I blamethe laws which make him act as he does. How can a magistrate remainperfectly impartial in certain very important cases, like this one, whenhis whole future career depends upon his success? A man may be a mostupright magistrate, incapable of unfairness, and conscientious infulfilling all his duties, and yet he is but a man. He has his interestat stake. He doe
s not like the court to find that that there is no case.The great rewards are not always given to the lawyer who has taken mostpains to find out the truth."

  "But M. Galpin was a friend of ours, sir."

  "Yes; and that is what makes me fear. What will be his fate on the daywhen M. Jacques's innocence is established?"

  They were just coming home, quite proud of their achievement, and wavingin triumph the copy of Jacques's letter. Dionysia seized upon it; and,while she read it aside, Miss Adelaide described the interview, statinghow haughty and disdainful she had been, and how humble and repentant M.Galpin had seemed to be.

  "He was completely undone," said the two old ladies with one voice: "hewas crushed, annihilated."

  "Yes, you have done a nice thing," growled the old baron; "and you havemuch reason to boast, forsooth."

  "My aunts have done well," declared Dionysia. "Just see what Jacqueshas written! It is clear and precise. What can we fear when he says, 'Bereassured: when the time comes, I shall be able to set matters right'?"

  M. Folgat took the letter, read it, and shook his head. Then he said,--

  "There was no need of this letter to confirm my opinion. At the bottomof this affair there is a secret which none of us have found out yet.But M. de Boiscoran acts very rashly in playing in this way with acriminal prosecution. Why did he not explain at once? What was easyyesterday may be less easy to-morrow, and perhaps impossible in a week."

  "Jacques, sir, is a superior man," cried Dionysia, "and whatever he saysis perfectly sure to be the right thing."

  His mother's entrance prevented the young lawyer from making any reply.Two hours' rest had restored to the old lady a part of her energy, andher usual presence of mind; and she now asked that a telegram should besent to her husband.

  "It is the least we can do," said M. de Chandore in an undertone,"although it will be useless, I dare say. Boiscoran does not care thatmuch for his son. Pshaw! Ah! if it was a rare _faience_, or a plate thatis wanting in his collection, then would it be a very different story."

  Still the despatch was drawn up and sent, at the very moment when aservant came in, and announced that dinner was ready. The meal was lesssad than they had anticipated. Everybody, to be sure, felt a heavinessat heart as he thought that at the same hour a jailer probably broughtJacques his meal to his cell; nor could Dionysia keep from dropping atear when she saw M. Folgat sitting in her lover's place. But no one,except the young advocate, thought that Jacques was in real danger.

  M. Seneschal, however, who came in just as coffee was handed round,evidently shared M. Folgat's apprehensions. The good mayor came to hearthe news, and to tell his friends how he had spent the day. The funeralof the firemen had passed off quietly, although amid deep emotion. Nodisturbance had taken place, as was feared; and Dr. Seignebos had notspoken at the graveyard. Both a disturbance and a row would have beenbadly received, said M. Seneschal; for he was sorry to say, the immensemajority of the people of Sauveterre did not doubt M. de Boiscoran'sguilt. In several groups he had heard people say, "And still you willsee they will not condemn him. A poor devil who should commit such ahorrible crime would be hanged sure enough; but the son of the Marquisde Boiscoran--you will see, he'll come out of it as white as snow."

  The rolling of a carriage, which stopped at the door, fortunatelyinterrupted him at this point.

  "Who can that be?" asked Dionysia, half frightened.

  They heard in the passage the noise of steps and voices, something likea scuffle; and almost instantly the tenant's son Michael pushed open thedoor of the sitting-room, crying out,--

  "I have gotten him! Here he is!"

  And with these words he pushed in Cocoleu, all struggling, and lookingaround him, like a wild beast caught in a trap.

  "Upon my word, my good fellow," said M. Seneschal, "you have done betterthan the gendarmes!"

  The manner in which Michael winked with his eye showed that he had not avery exalted opinion of the cleverness of the gendarmes.

  "I promised the baron," he said, "I would get hold of Cocoleu somehow orother. I knew that at certain times he went and buried himself, like thewild beast that he is, in a hole which he has scratched under a rock inthe densest part of the forest of Rochepommier. I had discovered thisden of his one day by accident; for a man might pass by a hundred times,and never dream of where it was. But, as soon as the baron told me thatthe innocent had disappeared, I said to myself, 'I am sure he is in hishole: let us go and see.' So I gathered up my legs; I ran down to therocks: and there was Cocoleu. But it was not so easy to pull him out ofhis den. He would not come; and, while defending himself, he bit me inthe hand, like the mad dog that he is."

  And Michael held up his left hand, wrapped up in a bloody piece oflinen.

  "It was pretty hard work to get the madman here. I was compelled to tiehim hand and foot, and to carry him bodily to my father's house. Therewe put him into the little carriage, and here he is. Just look at thepretty fellow!"

  He was hideous at that moment, with his livid face spotted all over withred marks, his hanging lips covered with white foam, and his brutishglances.

  "Why would you not come?" asked M. Seneschal.

  The idiot looked as if he did not hear.

  "Why did you bite Michael?" continued the mayor.

  Cocoleu made no reply.

  "Do you know that M. de Boiscoran is in prison because of what you havesaid?"

  Still no reply.

  "Ah!" said Michael, "it is of no use to question him. You might beat himtill to-morrow, and he would rather give up the ghost than say a word."

  "I am--I am hungry," stammered Cocoleu.

  M. Folgat looked indignant.

  "And to think," he said, "that, upon the testimony of such a thing, acapital charge has been made!"

  Grandpapa Chandore seemed to be seriously embarrassed. He said,--

  "But now, what in the world are we to do with the idiot?"

  "I am going to take him," said M. Seneschal, "to the hospital. I willgo with him myself, and let Dr. Seignebos know, and the commonwealthattorney."

  Dr. Seignebos was an eccentric man, beyond doubt; and the absurd storieswhich his enemies attributed to him were not all unfounded. But he had,at all events, the rare quality of professing for his art, as he calledit, a respect very nearly akin to enthusiasm. According to his views,the faculty were infallible, as much so as the pope, whom he denied. Hewould, to be sure, in confidence, admit that some of his colleagues wereamazing donkeys; but he would never have allowed any one else to say soin his presence. From the moment that a man possessed the famous diplomawhich gives him the right over life and death, that man became in hiseyes an august personage for the world at large. It was a crime, hethought, not to submit blindly to the decision of a physician. Hencehis obstinacy in opposing M. Galpin, hence the bitterness of hiscontradictions, and the rudeness with which he had requested the"gentlemen of the law" to leave the room in which _his_ patient waslying.

  "For these devils," he said, "would kill one man in order to get themeans of cutting off another man's head."

  And thereupon, resuming his probes and his sponge, he had gone to workonce more, with the aid of the countess, digging out grain by grain thelead which had honeycombed the flesh of the count. At nine o'clock thework was done.

  "Not that I fancy I have gotten them all out," he said modestly, "but,if there is any thing left, it is out of reach, and I shall have to waitfor certain symptoms which will tell me where they are."

  As he had foreseen, the count had grown rather worse. His firstexcitement had given way to perfect prostration; and he seemed to beinsensible to what was going on around him. Fever began to show itself;and, considering the count's constitution, it was easily to be foreseenthat delirium would set in before the day was out.

  "Nevertheless, I think there is hardly any danger," said the doctor tothe countess, after having pointed out to her all the probable symptoms,so as to keep her from being alarmed. Then he recommended to her to letno o
ne approach her husband's bed, and M. Galpin least of all.

  This recommendation was not useless; for almost at the same moment apeasant came in to say that there was a man from Sauveterre at the doorwho wished to see the count.

  "Show him in," said the doctor; "I'll speak to him."

  It was a man called Tetard, a former constable, who had given up hisplace, and become a dealer in stones. But besides being a former officerof justice and a merchant, as his cards told the world, he was alsothe agent of a fire insurance company. It was in this capacity that hepresumed, as he told the countess, to present himself in person. He hadbeen informed that the farm buildings at Valpinson, which were insuredin his company, had been destroyed by fire; that they had been purposelyset on fire by M. de Boiscoran; and that he wished to confer withCount Claudieuse on the subject. Far from him, he added, to decline theresponsibility of his company: he only wished to establish the factswhich would enable him to fall back upon M. de Boiscoran, who was a manof fortune, and would certainly be condemned to make compensationfor the injury done. For this purpose, certain formalities had tobe attended to; and he had come to arrange with Count Claudieuse thenecessary measures.

  "And I," said Dr. Seignebos,--"I request you to take to your heels." Headded with a thundering voice,--

  "I think you are very bold to dare to speak in that way of M. deBoiscoran."

  M. Tetard disappeared without saying another word; and the doctor,very much excited by this scene, turned to the youngest daughter of thecountess, the one with whom she was sitting up when the fire broke out,and who was now decidedly better: after that nothing could keep him atValpinson. He carefully pocketed the pieces of lead which he had takenfrom the count's wounds, and then, drawing the countess out to the door,he said,--

  "Before I go away, madam, I should like to know what you think of theseevents."

  The poor lady, who looked as pale as death itself, could hardly hold upany longer. There seemed to be nothing alive in her but her eyes, whichwere lighted up with unusual brilliancy.

  "Ah! I do not know, sir," she replied in a feeble voice. "How can Icollect my thoughts after such terrible shocks?"

  "Still you questioned Cocoleu."

  "Who would not have done so, when the truth was at stake?"

  "And you were not surprised at the name he mentioned?"

  "You must have seen, sir."

  "I saw; and that is exactly why I ask you, and why I want to know whatyou really think of the state of mind of the poor creature."

  "Don't you know that he is idiotic?"

  "I know; and that is why I was so surprised to see you insist uponmaking him talk. Do you really think, that, in spite of his habitualimbecility, he may have glimpses of sense?"

  "He had, a few moments before, saved my children from death."

  "That proves his devotion for you."

  "He is very much attached to me indeed, just like a poor animal that Imight have picked up and cared for."

  "Perhaps so. And still he showed more than mere animal instinct."

  "That may well be so. I have more than once noticed flashes ofintelligence in Cocoleu."

  The doctor had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them furiously.

  "It is a great pity that one of these flashes of intelligence did notenlighten him when he saw M. de Boiscoran make a fire and get ready tomurder Count Claudieuse."

  The countess leaned against the door-posts, as if about to faint.

  "But it is exactly to his excitement at the sight of the flames, and athearing the shots fired, that I ascribe Cocoleu's return to reason."

  "May be," said the doctor, "may be."

  Then putting on his spectacles again, he added,--

  "That is a question to be decided by the professional men who will haveto examine the poor imbecile creature."

  "What! Is he going to be examined?"

  "Yes, and very thoroughly, madam, I tell you. And now I have the honorof wishing you good-bye. However, I shall come back to-night, unlessyou should succeed during the day in finding lodgings in Sauveterre,--anarrangement which would be very desirable for myself, in the firstplace, and not less so for your husband and your daughter. They are notcomfortable in this cottage."

  Thereupon he lifted his hat, returned to town, and immediately askedM. Seneschal in the most imperious manner to have Cocoleu arrested.Unfortunately the gendarmes had been unsuccessful; and Dr. Seignebos,who saw how unfortunate all this was for Jacques, began to get terriblyimpatient, when on Saturday night, towards ten o'clock, M. Seneschalcame in, and said,--

  "Cocoleu is found."

  The doctor jumped up, and in a moment his hat on his head, and stick inhand, asked,--

  "Where is he?"

  "At the hospital. I have seen him myself put into a separate room."

  "I am going there."

  "What, at this hour?"

  "Am I not one of the hospital physicians? And is it not open to me bynight and by day?"

  "The sisters will be in bed."

  The doctor shrugged his shoulders furiously; then he said,--

  "To be sure, it would be a sacrilege to break the slumbers of these goodsisters, these dear sisters, as you say. Ah, my dear mayor! When shallwe have laymen for our hospitals? And when will you put good stoutnurses in the place of these holy damsels?"

  M. Seneschal had too often discussed that subject with the doctor, toopen it anew. He kept silent, and that was wise; for Dr. Seignebos satdown, saying,--

  "Well, I must wait till to-morrow."