Bruno, resolved not to betray any embarrassment or confusion, answered that he would conduct them to the spot. Thereupon he started for the wood, followed by all, and when he had reached the fork in the road he quickly turned down the path to the right. At this juncture Andoche tapped him on the shoulder, saying: “You need go no farther, Bruno: you are not the man who did this deed.” “Ah, then you are convinced?” said L’Ours. “What do you mean?” demanded Bruno, with a ferocious scowl. “This morning, Monsieur Bérard, when you questioned me,” went on the blacksmith, “I told you that I knew nothing. But now I can affirm that Bruno did not kill Monsieur Savin.” “Why?” “Because he does not know where the crime was committed.” “And do you know?” “Yes.” “How?” “This morning after reaching here I followed the traces of blood from Savin’s wound, and finally I came to the place where he received the fatal shot.” “Andoche speaks in this manner,” sneered Bruno, “because the snow now has obliterated all marks.” “Well, show us the spot where the bullet was fired,” said Jean Manant. Going about twenty paces farther, at random, Bruno stopped. “Here is the spot,” he boldly asserted. “What stupidity,” muttered Léocadia Faillot to herself. “Why can’t they believe a man when he declares himself guilty? What a set of dunces! If I were the justice, do you think I would listen to that bear of a Manant or that soak of an Andoche?” “My child,” said a deep voice behind her, “don’t be so positive of that.” It was Jeannille Marselon who spoke, and this was the third time she had opened her mouth to-day. Léocadia answered her with an insolent smile. Meanwhile Bruno was requested to recount the circumstances of the murder. Then in truth he faltered, realizing how difficult it was to pass himself off for an assassin. So many wretched beings find it impossible to prove their innocence; and behold, here was a man vainly endeavoring to prove his guilt! “It would be far easier, my boy, to establish your innocence,” said Jean Manant, ironically. “Leave me, L’Ours,” returned Bruno, with vehemence. “Do not trouble me any more. Do you think I find it an agreeable duty to confess myself a criminal?” “You are no criminal.--Am I not right, Sidonie?” The little cripple answered with a sigh. Her tears made a greater impression upon Bruno than had all the preceding objurgations. The evidence that he was causing her torment, as well as the thought that she was wasting her love on him, stung his feelings. He who could not see a woman or child in danger without rushing to the rescue was now moved by the poor girl’s sorrow. But he soon rallied, and turning he said: “I stood here, and the keeper came from that direction. I took aim----”