He looked at the magistrate, as if
expecting a smile of approbation.
"Yes," continued he, after taking breath, "I would say that, and nothing
else; and, unless this man is a hundred times stronger than I suppose
him to be, unless he is made of bronze, of marble, or of steel, he would
fall at my feet and avow his guilt."
"But supposing he were of bronze," said M. Daburon, "and did not fall at
your feet, what would you do next?"
The question evidently embarrassed the old fellow.
"Pshaw!" stammered he; "I don't know; I would see; I would search; but
he would confess."
After a prolonged silence, M. Daburon took a pen, and hurriedly wrote a
few lines.
"I surrender," said he. "M. Albert de Commarin shall be arrested;
that is settled. The different formalities to be gone through and
the perquisitions will occupy some time, which I wish to employ in
interrogating the Count de Commarin, the young man's father, and your
friend M. Noel Gerdy, the young advocate. The letters he possesses are
indispensable to me."
At the name of Gerdy, M. Tabaret's face assumed a most comical
expression of uneasiness.
"Confound it," cried he, "the very thing I most dreaded.
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