“Because the wood-merchant at Brechy is a thief, and everybody knows
that master has kicked him out of the house some three years ago. We
sell all our wood at Sauveterre.”
M. Folgat had taken out a note-book, and wrote down some of Anthony’s
statements, preparing thus the outline of his defence. This being done,
he commenced again,--
“Now we come to Cocoleu.”
“Ah the wretch!” cried Anthony.
“You know him?”
“How could I help knowing him, when I lived all my life here at
Boiscoran in the service of master’s uncle?”
“Then what kind of a man is he?”
“An idiot, sir or, as they here call it, an innocent, who has Saint
Vitus dance into the bargain, and epilepsy moreover.”
“Then it is perfectly notorious that he is imbecile?”
“Yes, sir, although I have heard people insist that he is not quite
so stupid as he looks, and that, as they say here, he plays the ass in
order to get his oats”--