“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.”