The struggle had already lasted long, and his clothes were in great disorder.  His new coat was torn, his cravat floated in strips, the button of his collar had been wrenched off, and his open shirt left his breast bare.  In the vestibule and court were heard the frantic cries of the servants and the curious crowd—­of whom there were more than a hundred, whom the news of the crime had collected about the gate, and who burned to hear, and above all to see.

This enraged crowd cried: 

“It is he!  Death to the assassin!  It is Guespin!  See him!”

And the wretch, inspired by an immense fright, continued to struggle.

“Help!” shouted he hoarsely.  “Leave me alone.  I am innocent!”

He had posted himself against the drawing-room door, and they could not force him forward.

“Push him,” ordered the mayor, “push him.”

It was easier to command than to execute.  Terror lent to Guespin enormous force.  But it occurred to the doctor to open the second wing of the door; the support failed the wretch, and he fell, or rather rolled at the foot of the table at which the judge of instruction was seated.  He was straightway on his feet again, and his eyes sought a chance to escape.  Seeing none—­for the windows and doors were crowded with the lookers-on—­he fell into a chair.  The fellow appeared the image of terror, wrought up to paroxysm.  On his livid face, black and blue, were visible the marks of the blows he had received in the struggle; his white lips trembled, and he moved his jaws as if he sought a little saliva for his burning tongue; his staring eyes were bloodshot, and expressed the wildest distress; his body was bent with convulsive spasms.  So terrible was this spectacle, that the mayor thought it might be an example of great moral force.  He turned toward the crowd, and pointing to Guespin, said in a tragic tone: 

“See what crime is!”

The others exchanged surprised looks.

“If he is guilty,” muttered M. Plantat, “why on earth has he returned?”

It was with difficulty that the crowd was kept back; the brigadier was forced to call in the aid of his men.  Then he returned and placed himself beside Guespin, thinking it not prudent to leave him alone with unarmed men.

But the man was little to be feared.  The reaction came; his over-excited energy became exhausted, his strained muscles flaccid, and his prostration resembled the agony of brain fever.  Meanwhile the brigadier recounted what had happened.

“Some of the servants of the chateau and the neighboring houses were chatting near the gate, about the crime, and the disappearance of Guespin last night, when all of a sudden, someone perceived him at a distance, staggering, and singing boisterously, as if he were drunk.”

“Was he really drunk?” asked M. Domini.

“Very,” returned the brigadier.

“Then we owe it to the wine that we have caught him, and thus all will be explained.”