"Look here; I'm better than my reputation, after all," said he. "There are many folks who can't say as much. You see many things when you go about at night--enough." He was urged to explain his allusions, but in vain. When he was asked where and how he had passed the night, he answered, that having left the cabaret at ten o'clock, he went to put down some traps in Mauprevoir wood; and had gone home and to bed about one o'clock. "By the bye," added he, "there ought to be some game in those traps by this time." "Can you bring a witness to prove that you went home at one?" asked the mayor, who bethought him of the count's clock, stopped at twenty minutes past three. "Don't know, I'm sure," carelessly responded the poacher, "it's quite likely that my son didn't wake up when I went to bed." He added, seeing the judge reflect: "I suspect that you are going to imprison me until the murderers are discovered. If it was winter, I wouldn't complain much; a fellow is well off in prison then, for it's warm there. But just at the time for hunting, it's provoking. It will be a good lesson for that Philippe; it'll teach him what it costs to render a service to gentlefolks." "Enough!" interrupted M. Domini, sternly. "Do you know Guespin?" This name suddenly subdued the careless insolence of the marauder; his little gray eyes experienced a singular restlessness. "Certainly," he answered in an embarrassed tone, "we have often made a party at cards, you understand, while sipping our 'gloria.'"* [* Coffee and brandy.] The man's inquietude struck the four who heard him. Plantat, especially, betrayed profound surprise. The old vagabond was too shrewd not to perceive the effect which he produced. "Faith, so much the worse!" cried he: "I'll tell you everything. Every man for himself, isn't it? If Guespin has done the deed, it will not blacken him any more, nor make him any the worse off. I know him, simply because he used to sell me the grapes and strawberries from the count's conservatories; I suppose he stole them; we divided the money, and I left." Plantat could not refrain from an exclamation of satisfaction, as if to say, "Good luck! I knew it well enough!" When he said he would be sent to prison, Bertaud was not wrong. The judge ordered his arrest. It was now Philippe's turn. The poor fellow was in a pitiable state; he was crying bitterly. "To accuse me of such a crime, me!" he kept repeating.