“I will spare you, monsieur,” said the judge at last, “the usual questions. There are some names and some men of which we are not permitted to be ignorant.” The philosopher did not even incline his head at this compliment. “Not used to the world,” thought the judge, “this is one of those literary men who think it their duty to despise us,” and then aloud: “I come to the fact which was the motive of the summons addressed to you. You know the crime of which young Greslon is accused?” “Pardon, monsieur,” interrupted the philosopher, changing the position which he had instinctively taken to listen to the judge, his elbow on the chair, his chin in his hand, and his index finger on his cheek, as in his grand, solitary meditations, “I have not the least idea.” “It was reported in all the papers with an exactness to which the gentlemen of the press have not accustomed us,” responded the judge, who thought it his duty to reply to the scorn of literature for the robe diagnostic by a little persiflage; and he said to himself: “He is dissimulating--Why? To play sharp? How stupid!” “Pardon, monsieur,” said the philosopher again, “I never read the papers.” The judge looked at him keenly and ejaculated an “Ah!” in which there was more irony than astonishment. “Very good,” thought he, “you want to compel me to state the case, wait a little.” There was a certain irritation in his voice as he said: “Very well, monsieur, I will sum up the accusation in a few words, regretting that you are not better informed of an affair which may very seriously affect your moral if not your legal responsibility.” Here the philosopher raised his head with an anxiety which delighted the judge’s heart. “Caught, my good man,” said he to himself; and aloud: “In any case, you know, monsieur, who Robert Greslon is, and the position which he held in the family of the Marquis Jussat Randon. I have here among these papers copies of several letters which you addressed to him at the château, and which testify that you were--how shall I express it?--the intellectual guide of the accused.” The philosopher again made a motion of the head. “I shall ask you presently to tell me if this young man ever spoke to joy of the domestic life of the family and in what terms. I give you no information probably when I tell you that the family was composed of a father, mother, a son who is a captain of dragoons now in garrison at Lunéville, a second son who was Greslon’s pupil, and a young girl of nineteen, Mlle. Charlotte.” “The daughter was betrothed to the Baron de Plane, an officer in the same company as her brother. The marriage had been delayed some months for family reasons which have nothing to do with the affair. It had been definitely fixed for the fifteenth of last December.”