“Ah! how can I?” “If you are innocent, nothing is easier. Tell us how you employed yourself last night.” “I have told you all I can say.” The magistrate seemed to reflect for a full minute; then he said,-- “Take care, M. de Boiscoran: I shall have to have you arrested.” “Do so.” “I shall be obliged to order your arrest at once, and to send you to jail in Sauveterre.” “Very well.” “Then you confess?” “I confess that I am the victim of an unheard-of combination of circumstances; I confess that you are right, and that certain fatalities can only be explained by the belief in Providence: but I swear by all that is holy in the world, I am innocent.” “Prove it.” “Ah! would I not do it if I could?” “Be good enough, then, to dress, sir, and to follow the gendarmes.” Without a word, M. de Boiscoran went into his dressing-room, followed by his servant, who carried him his clothes. M. Galpin was so busy dictating to the clerk the latter part of the examination, that he seemed to forget his prisoner. Old Anthony availed himself of this opportunity. “Sir,” he whispered into his master’s ear while helping him to put on his clothes. “What?” “Hush! Don’t speak so loud! The other window is open. It is only about twenty feet to the ground: the ground is soft. Close by is one of the cellar openings; and in there, you know, there is the old hiding-place. It is only five miles to the coast, and I will have a good horse ready for you to-night, at the park-gate.” A bitter smile rose on M. de Boiscoran’s lips, as he said,-- “And you too, my old friend: you think I am guilty?” “I conjure you,” said Anthony, “I answer for any thing. It is barely twenty feet. In your mother’s name”-- But, instead of answering him, M. de Boiscoran turned round, and called M. Galpin. When he had come in, he said to him, “Look at that window, sir! I have money, fast horses; and the sea is only five miles off. A guilty man would have escaped. I stay here; for I am innocent.” In one point, at least, M. de Boiscoran had been right. Nothing would have been easier for him than to escape, to get into the garden, and to reach the hiding-place which his servant had suggested to him. But after that? He had, to be sure, with old Anthony’s assistance, some chance of escaping altogether. But, after all, he might have been found out in his hiding-place, or he might have been overtaken in his ride to the coast. Even if he had succeeded, what would have become of him? His flight would necessarily have been looked upon as a confession of his guilt.