"What is the matter, my friend?" he asked. "Are you ill?"
The judge left his notes, to look at him. "Why," said he, "Monsieur
Plantat is very pale—"
But M. Plantat speedily resumed his habitual expression.
"'Tis nothing," he answered, "really nothing. With my abominable stomach, as soon as I change my hour of eating—"
Having reached his peroration, M. Courtois raised his voice.
"Return," said he, "to your peaceable homes, your quiet avocations. Rest assured the law protects you. Already justice has begun its work; two of the criminals are in its power, and we are on the track of their accomplices."
"Of all the servants of the chateau," remarked M. Plantat, "there remains not one who knew Sauvresy. The domestics have one by one been replaced."
"No doubt," answered the doctor, "the sight of the old servants would be disagreeable to Monsieur de Tremorel."
He was interrupted by the mayor, who re-entered, his eyes glowing, his face animated, wiping his forehead.
"I have let the people know," said he, "the indecency of their curiosity. They have all gone away. They were anxious to get at Philippe Bertaud, the brigadier says; public opinion has a sharp scent."