“No.”
“Did you see it commence?”
“Yes.”
“How did it commence?”
The idiot looked fixedly at the Countess Claudieuse with the timid and abject expression of a dog who tries to read something in his master’s eyes.
“Tell us, my friend,” said the Countess gently,—“tell us.”
A flash of intelligence shone in Cocoleu’s eyes.
“They—they set it on fire,” he stammered.
“On purpose?”
“Yes.”