here esteemed and loved him."

"And the countess?" asked the judge of instruction.

"An angel, Monsieur, an angel on earth! Poor lady! You will soon
see her remains, and surely you would not guess that she has been
the queen of the country, by reason of her beauty."

"Were they rich?"

"Yes; they must have had, together, more than a hundred thousand
francs income--oh, yes, much more; for within five or six months
the count, who had not the bucolic tastes of poor Sauvresy, sold
some lands to buy consols."

"Have they been married long?"

M. Courtois scratched his head; it was his appeal to memory.

"Faith," he answered, "it was in September of last year; just six
months ago. I married them myself. Poor Sauvresy had been dead a
year."

The judge of instruction looked up from his notes with a surprised
air.

"Who is this Sauvresy," he inquired, "of whom you speak?"

Papa Plantat, who was furiously biting his nails in a corner,
apparently a stranger to what was passing, rose abruptly.