“And she escaped toward the house, while I remained rooted to the spot, almost stupefied, and asking myself if she was not, perhaps at that moment, telling Count Claudieuse every thing. It was at that moment that I drew from my gun, almost mechanically, the burnt cartridge and put in a fresh one. Then, as nothing stirred, I went off with rapid strides.” “What time was it?” asked M. Magloire. “I could not tell you precisely. My state of mind was such, that I had lost all idea of time. I went back through the forest of Rochepommier.” “And you saw nothing?” “No.” “Heard nothing?” “Nothing.” “Still, from your statement, you could not have been far from Valpinson when the fire broke out.” “That is true, and, in the open country, I should certainly have seen the fire; but I was in a dense wood: the trees cut off all view.” “And these same trees prevented the sound of the two shots fired at Count Claudieuse from reaching your ear?” “They might have helped to prevent it; but there was no need for that. I was walking against the wind, which was very high; and it is an established fact, that, under such circumstances, the sound of a gun is not heard beyond fifty yards.” M. Magloire once more could hardly restrain his impatience; and, utterly unconscious that he was even harsher than the magistrate, he said,-- “And you think your statement explains every thing?” “I believe that my statement, which is founded upon the most exact truth, explains the charges brought against me by M. Galpin. It explains how I tried to keep my visit to Valpinson secret; how I was met in going and in coming back, and at hours which correspond with the time of the fire. It explains, finally, how I came at first to deny. It explains how one of my cartridge-cases was found near the ruins, and why I had to wash my hands when I reached home.” Nothing seemed to be able to shake the lawyer’s conviction. He asked,-- “And the day after, when they came to arrest you, what was your first impression?” “I thought at once of Valpinson.” “And when you were told that a crime had been committed?” “I said to myself, ‘The countess wants to be a widow.’” All of M. Magloire’s blood seemed to rise in his face. He cried,-- “Unhappy man! How can you dare accuse the Countess Claudieuse of such a crime?” Indignation gave Jacques strength to reply,-- “Whom else should I accuse? A crime has been committed, and under such circumstances that it cannot have been committed by any one except by her or by myself. I am innocent: consequently she is guilty.” “Why did you not say so at once?” Jacques shrugged his shoulders, and replied in a tone of bitter irony,--