“And why did you want to kill the count?”
“Because I wanted the great lady to marry M. de Boiscoran.”
“Ah! She told you to do it, did she?”
“Oh, no! But she cried so much; and then she told me she would be so happy if her husband were dead. And she was always good to Cocoleu; and the count was always bad; and so I shot him.”
“Well! But why, then, did you say it was M. de Boiscoran who shot the count?”
“They said at first it was me. I did not like that. I would rather they should cut off his head than mine.”
He shuddered as he said this, so that Goudar, afraid of having gone rather too fast, took up his violin, and gave him a verse of his song to quiet him. Then accompanying his words still now and then with a few notes, and after having allowed Cocoleu to caress his bottle once more, he asked again,—
“Where did you get a gun?”
“I—I had taken it from the count to shoot birds: and I—I have it still—still. It is hid in the hole where Michael found me.”
Poor Dr. Seignebos could not stand it any longer. He suddenly pushed open the door, and, rushing into the court, he cried,—