and mistaken it for a wild beast; and I did not dream of accusing any
one of a deliberate attempt at murder. I discovered, however, that I was
accused myself. I drew the truth from Marcasse. He informed me that the
chevalier and all the people who took part in the hunt had attributed
the misfortune to a pure accident, their opinion being that, to my great
sorrow, my gun had gone off when my horse threw me, for it was believed
that I had been thrown. This was practically the view they all took. In
the few words that Edmee had been able to utter she seemed to confirm
the supposition. Only one person accused me, and that was Patience; but
he had accused me before none but his two friends, Marcasse and the Abbe
Aubert, and then only after pledging them to secrecy.

"There is no need," added Marcasse, "for me to tell you that the abbe
maintains an absolute silence, and refuses to believe that you are
guilty. As for myself, I swear to you that I shall never--"

"Stop! stop!" I said. "Do not tell me even that; it would imply
that some one in the world might actually believe it. But Edmee said
something extraordinary to Patience just as she was dying; for she is
dead; it is useless for you to try to deceive me. She is dead, and I
shall never see her again."

"She is not dead!" cried Marcasse.

And his solemn oaths convinced me, for I knew that he would have tried
in vain to lie; his simple soul would have risen in revolt against
his charitable intentions. As for Edmee's words, he frankly refused
to repeat them; from which I gathered that their testimony seemed
overwhelming. Thereupon I dragged myself out of bed, and stubbornly
resisted all Marcasse's efforts to keep me back; I had the farmer's