stories of the prosecution. 'Cocoleu is an idiot,' says M. Galpin
peremptorily. 'He is an idiot, or ought to be one,' reechoes my learned
brother. 'He spoke on the occasion of the crime by an inspiration from
on high,' the magistrate goes on to say. 'Evidently,' adds the brother,
'there was an inspiration from on high.' For this is the conclusion at
which my learned brother arrives in his report: 'Cocoleu is an idiot who
had been providentially inspired by a flash of reason.' He does not say
it in these words; but it amounts to the same thing."

He had taken off his spectacles, and was wiping them industriously.

"But what do you think, doctor?" asked M. Folgat.

Dr. Seignebos solemnly put on again his spectacles, and replied
coldly,--

"My opinion, which I have fully developed in my report, is, that Cocoleu
is not idiotic at all."

M. Chandore started: the proposition seemed to him monstrous. He
knew Cocoleu very well; he had seen him wander through the streets of
Sauveterre during the eighteen months which the poor creature had spent
under the doctor's treatment.

"What! Cocoleu not idiotic?" he repeated.

"No!" Dr. Seignebos declared peremptorily; "and you have only to look at
him to be convinced. Has he a large flat face, disproportionate mouth,
a yellow, tanned complexion, thick lips, defective teeth, and squinting
eyes? Does his deformed head sway from side to side, being too heavy to