"A compass!" exclaimed several voices at once.

"A compass!" exclaimed the Baron, gazing fixedly at the artist. Then he
carried his hand to his pocket, and suddenly withdrew it, as he felt the
workman's compass there, where it had been ever since the scene upon the
rocks.

"An iron compass," repeated the artist, "about ten inches long, more or
less, the legs of it being closed."

"Will you explain yourself, Monsieur?" excitedly exclaimed the public
prosecutor, "for it really seems as if you had witnessed the crime. In
that case you will be called out as a witness for the defence. Justice
is impartial, gentlemen. Justice has not two pairs of scales."

"To the devil with justice! You must have come from Timbuctoo to use
such old-fashioned metaphors."

"Make your deposition, witness; I require you to make your deposition,"
said the magistrate, whose increasing drunkenness appeared as dignified
and solemn as the artist was noisy.

"I have nothing to state; I saw nothing."

Here the Baron drew a long breath, as if these words were a relief.

"But I saw something!" said Gerfaut to himself, as he gazed at the
Baron's face, upon which anxiety was depicted.