“Are you really Baron Bourlac?” asked the commissary. “Oh, monsieur!” “The fact is that the municipal judge and I doubted if it were possible that you and your grandson could be guilty. We thought, and the doctor, too, that some scoundrels had taken your name.” He took the baron aside, and added:-- “Did you go to see Doctor Halpersohn this morning?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Your grandson went there half an hour after you.” “Did he? I knew nothing of that. I have just returned home, and have not seen my grandson for two days.” “The writs he has shown me and the examination explain everything,” said the commissary of police. “I see the cause of the crime. Monsieur, I ought by rights to arrest you as accomplice to your grandson; for your answers confirm the allegations in Doctor Halpersohn’s complaint. But these papers, which I here return to you,” holding out to the old man a bundle of papers, “do prove you to be Baron Bourlac. Nevertheless, you must hold yourself ready to appear before Monsieur Marest, the judge of the Municipal Court who has cognizance of the case. As for your grandson, I will speak to the _procureur du roi_, and we will take all the care of him that is due to the grandson of a former judge,--the victim, no doubt, of youthful error. But the complaint has been made, the delinquent admits his guilt, I have drawn up the proces-verbal, and served the warrant of arrest; I cannot go back on that. As for the incarceration, I will put him in the Conciergerie.” “Thank you, monsieur,” said the unhappy Bourlac. With the words he fell rigid on the snow, and rolled into one of the hollows round the trees of the boulevard. The commissary of police called for help, and Nepomucene ran up, together with Madame Vauthier. The old man was carried to his room, and Madame Vauthier begged the commissary to call on his way in the rue d’Enfer, and send Doctor Berton as soon as possible. “What is the matter with my grandfather?” asked poor Auguste. “He is out of his head. You see what it is to steal,” said the Vauthier. Auguste made a movement as though he would dash out his brains. The two agents caught him. “Come, young man, be calm,” said the commissary of police; “you have done wrong, but it may not be irreparable--” “Monsieur, will you tell that woman my grandfather hasn’t had anything to ear for twenty-four hours?” “Oh! the poor things!” exclaimed the commissary under his breath. He stopped the coach, which had started, and said a word in the ear of one of his agents, who got out and ran to Madame Vauthier, and then returned.