“If the gendarmes should take Cocoleu, Cocoleu must have given himself
up voluntarily.”
“Why so?”
“Because, gentlemen, there is no one who knows all the by-ways and
out-of-the-way corners of the country so well as that idiot; for he
has been hiding all his life like a savage in all the holes and
hiding-places that are about here; and, as he can live perfectly well on
roots and berries, he may stay away three months without being seen by
any one.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed M. Folgat angrily.
“I know only one man,” continued Anthony, “who could find out Cocoleu,
and that is our tenant’s son Michael,--the young man you saw down
stairs.”
“Send for him,” said M. de Chandore.
Michael appeared promptly, and, when he had heard what he was expected
to do, he replied,--
“The thing can be done, certainly; but it is not very easy. Cocoleu
has not the sense of a man; but he has all the instincts of a brute.
However, I’ll try.”
There was nothing to keep either M. de Chandore or M. Folgat any longer
at Boiscoran; hence, after having warned Anthony to watch the seals
well, and get a glimpse, if possible, of Jacques’s gun, when the
officers should come for the different articles, they left the chateau.
It was five o’clock when they drove into town again. Dionysia was
waiting for them in the sitting-room. She rose as they entered, looking
quite pale, with dry, brilliant eyes.
“What? You are alone here!” said M. de Chandore. “Why have they left you
alone?”
“Don’t be angry, grandpapa. I have just prevailed on the marchioness,
who was exhausted with fatigue to lie down for an hour or so before
dinner.”
“And your aunts?”
“They have gone out, grandpapa. They are probably, by this time at M.
Galpin’s.”