which makes of Cocoleu the most perfect imbecile that was ever dreamed
of."

He was walking up and down in the room with long strides, and, unwilling
to listen, he went on,--

"But Master Galpin need not think of crowing over us yet. The end is not
yet; they will not get rid of Dr. Seignebos so easily. I have said that
Cocoleu was a wretched cheat, a miserable impostor, a false witness, and
I shall prove it. Boiscoran can count upon me."

He broke off here, and, placing himself before M. Folgat, he added,--

"And I say M. de Boiscoran may count upon me, because I have my reasons.
I have formed very singular suspicions, sir,--very singular."

M. Folgat, Dionysia, and the marchioness urged him to explain; but he
declared that the moment had not come yet, that he was not perfectly
sure yet.

And he left again, vowing that he was overworked, that he had forsaken
his patients for forty-eight hours, and that the Countess Claudieuse was
waiting for him, as her husband was getting worse and worse.

"What can the old man suspect?" Grandpapa Chandore asked again, an hour
after the doctor had left.

M. Folgat might have replied that these probable suspicions were no
doubt his own suspicions, only better founded, and more fully developed.
But why should he say so, since all inquiry was prohibited, and a single