"It makes one shudder," continued Philomène. "Just fancy, that ferocious brute Cabuche whom they arrested still covered with the blood of that poor lady! What an idiot a man must be to kill a woman because he is in love with her, as if that would help him, when the woman no longer existed! And what I shall never forget so long as I live, was when Monsieur Cauche, over there on the platform, came and arrested Monsieur Roubaud as well. I was there. You know this did not happen until a week afterwards, when Monsieur Roubaud, the day following the burial of his wife, resumed his duty with an air of perfect tranquillity. So then, Monsieur Cauche tapped him on the shoulder, saying he had orders to take him to prison. What do you think of that? Those two who never left one another, who gambled together night after night till daybreak! But when you are a commissary of police you must take even your father and mother to the guillotine if it is your duty to do so. Monsieur Cauche does not care a fig! I caught sight of him at the Café du Commerce a little while ago shuffling the cards, without troubling any more about his friend than the great Mogul!" Pecqueux, clenching his teeth, struck his fist on the table, and exclaimed with a violent oath: "If I were in the place of that Roubaud I'd----" Then, breaking off and turning to Jacques, he added: "What! you make love to his wife, another man kills her, and they take him off to the assizes. No; it's enough to make one burst with rage!" "But, you great donkey," said Philomène, "it is because they accuse him of having urged the other to rid him of his wife. Yes, in connection with money matters, or something else! It appears that the watch belonging to President Grandmorin, was found in the hut of Cabuche. You remember, the gentleman who was murdered in a railway carriage eighteen months ago. Then they hooked that nasty job on to the one of the other day, and made a long story of it, as black as ink. I cannot explain it all to you, but it was in the newspaper where it filled at least two columns." Jacques, who was absent-minded, did not even seem to be listening. "What is the use of puzzling our brains about it?" he murmured. "What does it matter to us? If the judicial authorities do not know what they are doing, how can we expect to know?" Then, with eyes lost in space, and pallid cheeks, he murmured: "In all this there is only that poor girl who excites pity! Ah! the poor, poor girl!" "As for me," concluded Pecqueux, "if anyone took it into his head to interfere with my wench, I should begin by strangling them both. After that, they might cut off my head. I should not care a straw."