“Well, what would they see?” disagreed old Mathieu. “The snow has enveloped everything.” Twenty minutes later the conveyance was ready, and Banastre entered the court-room with handcuffs. Those who happened to look at Jeannille Marselon at that moment saw a strange agitation written on her features. On seeing the manacles Bruno made a gesture of revolt. The exclamation, “I am innocent,” rose to his lips. Jeannille regarded him with a troubled expression. Then she gazed toward the road leading to Vaumarin, her long fingers moved convulsively. Nervously she directed her steps toward Andoche, the blacksmith. “I wish to speak to the justice,” she said, simply. For more than a year Jeannille had not addressed a living person, save Sidonie. Her remark created a sensation. “Jeannille wants to speak, Jeannille wants to speak,” all cried in concert. Every one eagerly awaited her next words. She must have something decisive to say or she would not open her mouth, they reasoned. Andoche whispered to the young magistrate, and then Monsieur Bérard explained that “Aunt” Jeannille was a strange woman, who had not spoken aloud for months. Out of curiosity the magistrate decided to let her speak. “You have something of importance to communicate,” he said to her. Jeannille looked at him for a moment and then turned her face toward the forest. “Here comes Jean--L’Ours,” she said. For a moment they thought she must be mad. But every one was curious. Half the inhabitants of the town, at least, were willing to believe that L’Ours must have been born for the sole purpose of saving Bruno from peril. Consequently to them the arrival of Jean Manant meant but one thing--Bruno should be saved. A few moments previous to his emerging from the forest L’Ours had awakened Sidonie, and she, now entirely rested, had urged him to go on and let her follow slowly. This he did, and with giant strides he soon came in sight of the conveyance all ready to take to Avallon Bruno, who stood on the doorstep in custody of a gendarme, with an excited crowd around him. In another moment he stood beside Monsieur Bérard, to whom he said: “You must not imprison that man!” “Why? What have you to say about it?” “I come to prove to you that Bruno is innocent of this crime, and I am convinced that you will set him at liberty.” The aspect of Jean Manant was not calculated to gain confidence. His dark, swarthy skin, keen black eyes, and brawny arms did not fascinate the average person. And the magistrate was not prepossessed in his favor. “Listen,” said L’Ours. “I am not here to make trouble. But I must defend young Bruno. Neither you nor your gendarmes can take him away if I say he shall not go.” “Insolent----” “No, I am not insolent, Monsieur. It is the truth. Ask anybody here. Ask Andoche, for instance.” Andoche, leaning toward Monsieur Bérard, said: “A blow from his fist would prostrate any man here. No one would dare stand up against him.”