“And do you suppose, said Bianchon, “that we know all the tragedies that are played out behind the curtain of private life that the public never lifts?--It seems to me that human justice is ill adapted to judge of crimes as between husband and wife. It has every right to intervene as the police; but in equity it knows nothing of the heart of the matter.” “The victim has in many cases been for so long the tormentor,” said Madame de la Baudraye guilelessly, “that the crime would sometimes seem almost excusable if the accused could tell all.” This reply, led up to by Bianchon and by the story which Clagny had told, left the two Parisians excessively puzzled as to Dinah’s position. At bedtime council was held, one of those discussions which take place in the passages of old country-houses where the bachelors linger, candle in hand, for mysterious conversations. Monsieur Gravier was now informed of the object in view during this entertaining evening which had brought Madame de la Baudraye’s innocence to light. “But, after all,” said Lousteau, “our hostess’ serenity may indicate deep depravity instead of the most child-like innocence. The Public Prosecutor looks to me quite capable of suggesting that little La Baudraye should be put in pickle----” “He is not to return till to-morrow; who knows what may happen in the course of the night?” said Gatien. “We will know!” cried Monsieur Gravier. In the life of a country house a number of practical jokes are considered admissible, some of them odiously treacherous. Monsieur Gravier, who had seen so much of the world, proposed setting seals on the door of Madame de la Baudraye and of the Public Prosecutor. The ducks that denounced the poet Ibycus are as nothing in comparison with the single hair that these country spies fasten across the opening of a door by means of two little flattened pills of wax, fixed so high up, or so low down, that the trick is never suspected. If the gallant comes out of his own door and opens the other, the broken hair tells the tale. When everybody was supposed to be asleep, the doctor, the journalist, the receiver of taxes, and Gatien came barefoot, like robbers, and silently fastened up the two doors, agreeing to come again at five in the morning to examine the state of the fastenings. Imagine their astonishment and Gatien’s delight when all four, candle in hand, and with hardly any clothes on, came to look at the hairs, and found them in perfect preservation on both doors. “Is it the same wax?” asked Monsieur Gravier. “Are they the same hairs?” asked Lousteau. “Yes,” replied Gatien. “This quite alters the matter!” cried Lousteau. “You have been beating the bush for a will-o’-the-wisp.” Monsieur Gravier and Gatien exchanged questioning glances which were meant to convey, “Is there not something offensive to us in that speech? Ought we to laugh or to be angry?”