“It will not always do to tell it,” murmured the lawyer.
“Yes, sir, always,” replied the physician,—“always, and at all hazards, and whatever may happen. I am M. de Boiscoran’s friend; but I am still more the friend of truth. If Cocoleu is a wretched impostor, as I am firmly convinced, our duty is to unmask him.”
Dr. Seignebos did not say—and he probably did not confess it to himself—that it was a personal matter between Cocoleu and himself. He thought Cocoleu had taken him in, and been the cause of a host of small witticisms, under which he had suffered cruelly, though he had allowed no one to see it. To unmask Cocoleu would have given him his revenge, and return upon his enemies the ridicule with which they had overwhelmed him.
“I have made up my mind,” he said, “and, whatever you may resolve, I mean to go to work at once, and try to obtain the appointment of a commission.”
“It might be prudent,” M. Folgat said, “to consider before doing any thing, to consult with M. Magloire.”
“I do not want to consult with Magloire when duty calls.”
“You will grant us twenty-four hours, I hope.”
Dr. Seignebos frowned till he looked formidable.
“Not an hour,” he replied; “and I go from here to M. Daubigeon, the commonwealth attorney.”
Thereupon, taking his hat and cane, he bowed and left, as dissatisfied as possible, without stopping even to answer M. de Chandore, who asked him how Count Claudieuse was, who was, according to reports in town, getting worse and worse.