azard."

"Your gun on your shoulder?"

"I always take my gun: my servant can tell you so."

"Did you cross the Seille marshes?"

"No."

The magistrate shook his head gravely. He said,--

"You are not telling the truth."

"Sir!"

"Your boots there at the foot of the bed speak against you. Where does
the mud come from with which they are covered?"

"The meadows around Boiscoran are very wet."

"Do not attempt to deny it. You have been seen there."

"But"--

"Young Ribot met you at the moment when you were crossing the canal."

M. de Boiscoran made no reply.

"Where were you going?" asked the magistrate.

For the first time a real embarrassment appeared in the features of the
accused,--the embarrassment of a man who suddenly sees an abyss opening
before him. He hesitated; and, seeing that it was useless to deny, he
said,--

"I was going to Brechy."

"To whom?"

"To my wood-merchant, who has bought all this year's wood. I did not
find him at home, and came back on the high road."

M. Galpin stopped him by a gesture.

"That is not so," he said severely.

"Oh!"

"You never went to Brechy."

"I beg your pardon."

"And the proof is, that, about eleven o'clock, you were hurriedly
crossing the forest of Rochepommier."

"I?"

"Yes, you! And do not say No; for there are your trousers torn to pieces
by the thorns and briers through which you must have made your way."

"There are briers elsewhere as well as in the forest."

"To be sure; but you were seen there."

"By whom?"

"By Gaudry the poacher. And he saw so much of you, that he could tell
us in what a bad humor you were. You were very angry. You were talking
loud, and pulling the leaves from the trees."

As he said so, the magistrate got up and took the shooting-jacket, which
was lying on a chair not far from him. He searched the pockets, and
pulled out of one a handful of leaves.

"Look here! you see, Gaudry has told the truth."

"There are leaves everywhere," said M. de Boiscoran half aloud.

"Yes; but a woman, Mrs. Courtois, saw you come out of the forest of
Rochepommier. You helped her to put a sack of flour on her ass, which
she could not lift alone. Do you deny it? No, you are right; for, look
here! on the sleeve of your coat I see something white, which, no doubt,
is flour from her bag."

M. de Boiscoran hung his head. The magistrate went on,--

"You confess, then, that last night, between ten and eleven you were at
Valpi