“If I were in your place, I would stop here, and consider the answer as not given.”
But M. Galpin was one of those men who are blinded by self-conceit, and who would rather be cut to pieces than admit that they have been mistaken. He answered,—
“I shall go on.”
Then turning once more to Cocoleu, in the midst of so deep a silence that the buzzing of a fly would have been distinctly heard, he asked,—
“Do you know, my boy, what you say? Do you know that you are accusing a man of a horrible crime?”
Whether Cocoleu understood, or not, he was evidently deeply agitated. Big drops of perspiration rolled slowly down his temples; and nervous shocks agitated his limbs, and convulsed his features.
“I, I—am—telling the—truth!” he said at last.
“M. de. Boiscoran has set Valpinson on fire?”
“Yes.”
“How did he do it?”