“Above all, be prudent and circumspect. The public mind is already but too much inflamed. Politics are mixed up with the case. I am afraid of some disturbance at the burial of the firemen; and they bring me word that Dr. Seignebos wants to make a speech at the graveyard. Good-by and good luck!”
The driver whipped the horse, and, as the carriage was going down through the suburbs, M. de Chandore said,—
“I cannot understand why Anthony did not come to me immediately after his master had been arrested. What can have happened to him?”
IV.
M. Seneschal’s horse was perhaps one of the very best in the whole province; but M. de Chandore’s was still better. In less than fifty minutes they had driven the whole distance to Boiscoran; and during this time M. de Chandore and M. Folgat had not exchanged fifty words.
When they reached Boiscoran, the courtyard was silent and deserted. Doors and windows were hermetically closed. On the steps of the porch sat a stout young peasant, who, at the sight of the newcomers, rose, and carried his hand to his cap.
“Where is Anthony?” asked M. de Chandore.
“Up stairs, sir.”
The old gentleman tried to open the door: it resisted.
“O sir! Anthony has barricaded the door from the inside.”