"There, those are surely exact details; but I question whether they have advanced us a step in this grave matter which occupies us all—to find the murderers of the count and countess."
M. Plantat, at these words, bent on the judge of instruction his clear and deep look, as if to search his conscience to the bottom.
"These details were indispensable," returned M. Domini, "and they are very clear. Those rendezvous at the hotel struck me; one knows not to what extremities jealousy might lead a woman—"
He stopped abruptly, seeking, no doubt, some connection between the pretty Parisian and the murderers; then resumed:
"Now that I know the Tremorels as if I had lived with them intimately, let us proceed to the actual facts."
The brilliant eye of M. Plantat immediately grew dim; he opened his lips as if to speak; but kept his peace. The doctor alone, who had not ceased to study the old justice of the peace, remarked the sudden change of his features.
"It only remains," said M. Domini, "to know how the new couple lived."
M. Courtois thought it due to his dignity to anticipate M. Plantat.
"You ask how the new couple lived," said he hastily; "they lived in perfect concord; nobody knows better about it than I, who was most intimate with them. The memory of poor Sauvresy was a bond of happiness between them; if they liked me so well, it was because I often talked of him. Never a cloud, never a cross word. Hector—I called him so, familiarly, this poor, dear count—gave his wife the tender attentions of a lover; those delicate cares, which I fear most married people soon dispense with."
"And the countess?" asked M. Plantat, in a tone too marked not to be ironical.