“Well, my dear sir, you have heard the decision of the court? Which of us was right?” M. Daubigeon shrugged his shoulders, and said angrily,-- “Of course I am nothing but an old fool, a maniac: I give it up; and I say, like Horace’s man,-- ‘Stultum me fateor, liceat concedere vires Atque etiam insanum.’” “You are joking. But what would have happened if I had listened to you?” “I don’t care to know.” “M. de Boiscoran would none the less have been sent to a jury.” “May be.” “Anybody else would have collected the proofs of his guilt just as well as I.” “That is a question.” “And I should have injured my reputation very seriously; for they would have called me one of those timid magistrates who are frightened at a nothing.” “That is as good a reputation as some others,” broke in the commonwealth attorney. He had vowed he would answer only in monosyllables; but his anger made him forget his oath. He added in a very severe tone,-- “Another man would not have been bent exclusively upon proving that M. de Boiscoran was guilty.” “I certainly have proved it.” “Another man would have tried to solve the mystery.” “But I have solved it, I should think.” M. Daubigeon bowed ironically, and said,-- “I congratulate you. It must be delightful to know the secret of all things, only you may be mistaken. You are an excellent hand at such investigations; but I am an older man than you in the profession. The more I think in this case, the less I understand it. If you know every thing so perfectly well, I wish you would tell me what could have been the motive for the crime, for, after all, we do not run the risk of losing our head without some very powerful and tangible purpose. Where was Jacques’s interest? You will tell me he hated Count Claudieuse. But is that an answer. Come, go for a moment to your own conscience. But stop! No one likes to do that.” M. Galpin was beginning to regret that he had ever come. He had hoped to find M. Daubigeon quite penitent, and here he was worse than ever. “The Court of Inquiry has felt no such scruples,” he said dryly. “No; but the jury may feel some. They are, occasionally, men of sense.” “The jury will condemn M. de Boiscoran without hesitation.” “I would not swear to that.” “You would if you knew who will plead.” “Oh!” “The prosecution will employ M. Gransiere!” “Oh, oh!” “You will not deny that he is a first-class man?” The magistrate was evidently becoming angry; his ears reddened up; and in the same proportion M. Daubigeon regained his calmness. “God forbid that I should deny M. Gransiere’s eloquence. He is a powerful speaker, and rarely misses his man. But then, you know, cases are like books: they have their luck or ill luck. Jacques will be well defended.” “I am not afraid of M. Magloire.” “But Mr. Folgat?” “A young man with no weight. I should be far more afraid of M. Lachant.” “Do you know the plan of the defence?”