He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his hand.
“This is a very serious matter, gentlemen,” he said at last.
“A criminal charge is always serious,” replied M. Folgat.
“Upon my word,” cried M. de Chandore, “you are not in doubt about Jacques’s innocence?”
M. Seneschal did not say, No. He was silent, thinking of the wise remarks made by his wife the evening before.
“How can we know,” he began at last, “what may be going on in young brains of twenty-five when they are set on fire by the remembrance of certain insults! Wrath is a dangerous counsellor.”
Grandpapa Chandore refused to hear any more.
“What! do you talk to me of wrath?” he broke in; “and what do you see of wrath in this Valpinson affair? I see nothing in it, for my part, but the very meanest crime, long prepared and coolly carried out.”
The mayor very seriously shook his head, and said,--
“Sir,” added M. Folgat, “it is precisely for the purpose of hearing what has happened that we come to you.”
Thereupon he went to work to describe the events which he had witnessed at Valpinson, and those, which, as he had learned from the commonwealth attorney, had taken place at Boiscoran; and this he did with all the lucidity of an experienced old lawyer who is accustomed to unravel the mysteries of complicated suits. He wound up by saying,--
“Finally, do you know what Daubigeon said to me, whose evidence you will certainly know how to appreciate? He said in so many words, ‘Galpin could not but order the arrest of M. de Boiscoran. Is he guilty? I do not know what to think of it. The accusation is overwhelming. He swears by all the gods that he is innocent; but he will not tell how he spent the night.’”
M. de Chandore, in spite of his vigor, was near fainting, although his face remained as crimson as ever. Nothing on earth could make him turn pale.
“Great God!” he murmured, “what will Dionysia say?”
Then, turning to M. Folgat, he said aloud,--
“And yet Jacques had something in his mind for that evening.”
“I am sure of it. But for that, he would certainly have come to the house, as he has done every evening for a month. Besides, he said so himself in the letter which he sent Dionysia by one of his tenants, and which she mentioned to you. He wrote, ‘I curse from the bottom of my heart the business which prevents me from spending the evening with you; but I cannot possibly defer it any longer. To-morrow!’”