out at intervals.

They at once noticed the traces left by the fugitive in the trampled
grass. In two places, marks of blackened blood, now almost dried up,
were observed. After the turn at the end of the cloisters, there was
nothing more to be seen, as the nature of the ground, here covered
with pine-needles, did not lend itself to the imprint of a body.
But, in that case, how had the wounded man succeeded in escaping the
eyes of Raymonde, Victor and Albert? There was nothing but a few
brakes, which the servants and the gendarmes had beaten over and
over again, and a number of tombstones, under which they had
explored. The examining magistrate made the gardener, who had the
key, open the chapel, a real gem of carving, a shrine in stone which
had been respected by time and the revolutionaries, and which, with
the delicate sculpture work of its porch and its miniature
population of statuettes, was always looked upon as a marvelous
specimen of the Norman-Gothic style. The chapel, which was very
simple in the interior, with no other ornament than its marble
altar, offered no hiding-place. Besides, the fugitive would have had
to obtain admission. And by what means?

The inspection brought them to the little door in the wall that
served as an entrance for the visitors to the ruins. It opened on a
sunk road running between the park wall and a copsewood containing
some abandoned quarries. M. Filleul stooped forward: the dust of the
road bore marks of anti-skid pneumatic tires. Raymonde and Victor
remembered that, after the shot, they had seemed to hear the throb
of a motor-car.

The magistrate suggested: