‘A dozen at least!’ repeated he, in an accent of wonderment. ‘_Ma foi_, a very formidable gang. Do you remember any of their names?’ ‘Devil take their names! how should I know them? Come, cut these cords, will you? We can talk just as well when I ‘m free.’ ‘Not so fast, not so fast,’ said he, admonishing me with a bland motion of his hand. ‘Everything must be done in order. Now, since you don’t know their names, we must put them down as “parties unknown.”’ ‘Put them down whatever you like; but let me loose!’ ‘All in good time. Let us proceed regularly. Who are your witnesses?’ ‘Witnesses!’ screamed I, overcome with passion; ‘you’ll drive me distracted! I tell you I was waylaid in the wood by a party of scoundrels, and you ask me for their names, and then for my witnesses! Cut these cords, and don’t be so infernally stupid! Come, old fellow, look alive, will you?’ ‘Softly, softly; don’t interrupt public justice,’ said he, with a most provoking composure. ‘We must draw up the _procès-verbal_.’ ‘To be sure,’ said I, endeavouring to see what might be done by concurrence with him, ‘nothing more natural But let me loose first; and then we ‘ll arrange the _procès_.’ ‘Not at all; you’re all wrong,’ interposed he. ‘I must have two witnesses first, to establish the fact of your present position; ay, and they must be of sound mind, and able to sign their names.’ ‘May Heaven grant me patience, or I’ll burst!’ said I to myself, while he continued in a regular sing-song tone-- ‘Then we’ll take the depositions in form. Where do you come from?’ ‘Ireland,’ said I, with a deep sigh, wishing I were up to the neck in a bog-hole there, in preference to my actual misfortune. ‘What language do you usually speak?’ ‘English.’ ‘There, now,’ said he, brightening up, ‘there’s an important fact already in the class No. 1--identity--which speaks of “all traits, marks, and characteristic signs by which the plaintiff may be known.” Now, we’ll set you forth as “an Irishman that speaks English.”’ ‘If you go on this way a little longer, you may put me down as “insane,” for I vow to heaven I’m becoming so!’ ‘Come, Bobeche,’ said he, turning towards the natural, who stood in mute admiration at his side, ‘go over to Claude Gueirans, at the mill, and see if the _notaire_ be up there--there was a marriage of his niece this morning, and I think you ‘ll find him; then cross the bridge, and make for Papalot’s, and ask him to come up here, and bring some stamped paper to take informations with him. You may tell the curé as you go by that there’s been a dreadful crime committed in the forest, and that “la justice s’informe.’” These last words were pronounced with an accent of the most magniloquent solemnity.