not be such a fool as to show himself here."

"Oh, we'll find him," returned M. Domini. "Before leaving Corbeil,
I sent a despatch to the prefecture of police at Paris, to ask for
a police agent, who will doubtless be here shortly."

"While waiting," proposed the mayor, "perhaps you would like to see
the scene of the crime?"

M. Domini made a motion as if to rise; then sat down again.

"In fact, no," said he; "we will see nothing till the agent arrives.
But I must have some information concerning the Count and Countess
de Tremorel."

The worthy mayor again triumphed.

"Oh, I can give it to you," answered he quickly, "better than
anybody. Ever since their advent here, I may say, I have been one
of their best friends. Ah, sir, what charming people! excellent,
and affable, and devoted--"

And at the remembrance of all his friends' good qualities, M.
Courtois choked in his utterance.

"The Count de Tremorel," he resumed, "was a man of thirty-four
years, handsome, witty to the tips of his nails. He had sometimes,
however, periods of melancholy, during which he did not wish to see
anybody; but he was ordinarily so affable, so polite, so obliging;
he knew so well how to be noble without haughtiness, that everybody