“What? What do you want me to confess?”
“That you have committed the crime at Valpinson.”
The young man pressed his hands convulsively on his brow, and cried
out,--
“But I am mad! I should have committed such a fearful, cowardly crime?
Is that possible? Is that likely? I might confess, and you would not
believe me. No! I am sure you would not believe my own words.”
He would have moved the marble on his mantelpiece sooner than M. Galpin.
The latter replied in icy tones,--
“I am not part of the question here. Why will you refer to relations
which must be forgotten? It is no longer the friend who speaks to you,
not even the man, but simply the magistrate. You were seen”--
“Who is the wretch?”
“Cocoleu!”