“Alas! no,” replied Master Jacques, still with his sad smile; “we have not that consolation. That man is a stone. We might have him boiled in the March� aux Pourceaux, before he would say anything. Nevertheless, we are sparing nothing for the sake of getting at the truth; he is already thoroughly dislocated, we are applying all the herbs of Saint John’s day; as saith the old comedian Plautus, —

‘Advorsum stimulos, l�minas, crucesque, compedesque,

Nerros, catenas, carceres, numellas, pedicas, boias.

’

Nothing answers; that man is terrible. I am at my wit’s end over him.”

“You have found nothing new in his house?”