“Because he is an imbecile, sir, an idiot. Because he cannot possibly understand your questions, or the importance of his answers.” “He may give us a valuable hint, nevertheless.” “He? A man who has no sense? You don’t really think so. The law cannot attach any importance to the evidence of a fool.” M. Galpin betrayed his impatience by an increase of stiffness, as he replied,-- “I know my duty, sir.” “And I,” replied the physician,--“I also know what I have to do. You have summoned me to assist you in this investigation. I obey; and I declare officially, that the mental condition of this unfortunate man makes his evidence utterly worthless. I appeal to the commonwealth attorney.” He had hoped for a word of encouragement from M. Daubigeon; but nothing came. Then he went on,-- “Take care, sir, or you may get yourself into trouble. What would you do if this poor fellow should make a formal charge against any one? Could you attach any weight to his word?” The peasants were listening with open mouths. One of them said,-- “Oh! Cocoleu is not so innocent as he looks.” “He can say very well what he wants to say, the scamp!” added another. “At all events, I am indebted to him for the life of my children,” said the count gently. “He thought of them when I was unconscious, and when no one else remembered them. Come, Cocoleu, come nearer, my friend, don’t be afraid: there is no one here to hurt you.” It was very well the count used such kind words; for Cocoleu was thoroughly terrified by the brutal treatment he had received, and was trembling in all his limbs. “I am--not--a--afraid,” he stammered out. “Once more I protest,” said the physician. He had found out that he stood not alone in his opinion. Count Claudieuse came to his assistance, saying,-- “I really think it might be dangerous to question Cocoleu.” But the magistrate was master of the situation, and conscious of all the powers conferred upon him by the laws of France in such cases. “I must beg, gentlemen,” he said, in a tone which did not allow of any reply,--“I must beg to be permitted to act in my own way.” And sitting down, he asked Cocoleu,-- “Come, my boy, listen to me, and try to understand what I say. Do you know what has happened at Valpinson?” “Fire,” replied the idiot. “Yes, my friend, fire, which burns down the house of your benefactor,--fire, which has killed two good men. But that is not all: they have tried to murder the count. Do you see him there in his bed, wounded, and covered with blood? Do you see the countess, how she suffers?” Did Cocoleu follow him? His distorted features betrayed nothing of what might be going on within him. “Nonsense!” growled the doctor, “what obstinacy! What folly!” M. Galpin heard him, and said angrily,-- “Sir, do not force me to remind you that I have not far from here, men whose duty it is to see that my authority is respected here.” Then, turning again to the poor idiot, he went on,--