“Even if it should be a mistake,” said Monsieur Mouilleron, “the excitement of the crowd is so great, and their minds are so exasperated, that I fear for the safety of the accused. I should like to get him arrested, and that might satisfy these people.”
“Who would ever have believed that Monsieur Maxence Gilet had inspired so much affection in this town?” asked Lousteau-Prangin.
“One of my men says there’s a crowd of twelve hundred more just coming in from the faubourg de Rome,” said the lieutenant of gendarmes, “and they are threatening death to the assassin.”
“Where is your guest?” said Monsieur Mouilleron to Monsieur Hochon.
“He has gone to walk in the country, I believe.”
“Call Gritte,” said the judge gravely. “I was in hopes he had not left the house. You are aware that the crime was committed not far from here, at daybreak.”
While Monsieur Hochon went to find Gritte, the three functionaries looked at each other significantly.
“I never liked that painter’s face,” said the lieutenant to Monsieur Mouilleron.
“My good woman,” said the judge to Gritte, when she appeared, “they say you saw Monsieur Joseph Bridau leave the house this morning?”
“Yes, monsieur,” she answered, trembling like a leaf.