to save had been carried to a distance, and safely stored away under the shelter of the ruins of the old castle.  There, furniture and other articles were piled up pell-mell.  There, carts and agricultural machines were standing about, empty casks, and sacks of oats and rye.  There, also, the cattle were gathered, that had been drawn from their stalls with infinite labor, and at great risk of life,—­horses, oxen, some sheep, and a dozen cows, who lowed piteously.  Few of the people had left as yet.  With greater zeal than ever the firemen, aided by the peasants, deluged the remains of the dwelling-house with water.  They had nothing to fear from the fire; but they desired to keep the bodies of their unfortunate companions from being entirely consumed.

“What a terrible scourge fire is!” said M. Seneschal.

Neither M. Galpin nor the mayor made any answer.  They also felt their hearts oppressed by the sad sight before them, in spite of all the intense excitement before; for a fire is nothing as long as the feverish excitement, and the hope of saving something, continue to keep us up, and as long as the red flames illumine the horizon; but the next day, when all is over, then we realize the extent of the misfortune.

The firemen recognized the mayor, and greeted him with cheers.  He went rapidly towards them; and, for the first time since the alarm had been raised, the magistrate and the attorney were alone.  They were standing close by each other, and for a moment kept silent, while each one tried to read in the other’s eyes the secret of his thoughts.  At last M. Daubigeon asked,—­

“Well?”

M. Galpin trembled.

“This is a fearful calamity,” he said.

“What is your opinion?”

“Ah! do I know it myself?  I have lost my head:  the whole thing looks to me like a nightmare.”

“You cannot really believe that M. de Boiscoran is guilty?”

“I believe nothing.  My reason tells me he is innocent.  I feel he must be innocent; and yet I see terrible evidence rising against him.”

The attorney was overwhelmed.

“Alas!” he said, “why did you, contrary to everybody’s opinion, insist upon examining Cocoleu, a poor idiotic wretch?”

But the magistrate remonstrated—­

“You do not mean to reproach me, sir, for having followed the impulses of my conscience?”

“I reproach you for nothing.”

“A horrible crime has been committed; and my duty compelled me to do all that lies in the power of man to discover the culprit.”

“Yes; and the man who is accused of the crime is your friend, and only yesterday you spoke of his friendship as your best chance of success in life.”

“Sir?”

“Are you surprised to find me so well informed?  Ah, you do not know that nothing escapes the idle curiosity of a village.  I know that your dearest hope was to become a member of M. de Boiscoran’s family, and that you counted upon him to back you in your efforts to obtain the hand of one of his cousins.”