“I mean to see the doctor,” replied M. Folgat. “But first of all we must find this unfortunate idiot.”
“You heard what M. Seneschal said: he has put the gendarmes on his track.”
Anthony made a face, and said,—
“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,—