where they
did not long remain. At midnight the wine-shop closed, and Michel having
nowhere to go for the four hours that still remained until daybreak,
Pierre offered him a bed of straw in the stable. Michel accepted. The
two friends went back arm-in-arm; Pierre staggering, Michel pretending
to stagger.

At three o'clock in the morning the servant of the hotel awakened
Michel. The traveller wanted his horse. Michel, pretending that he must
be off to see to his game, also rose. His toilet was not long in making;
he had only to shake the straw from his hair, game-bag, and blouse,
after which he took leave of his friend Pierre and hid himself at the
corner of the street.

Fifteen minutes later the gate opened and a man rode out on a pacing
horse. It was M. de Valensolle. He took the street that led to the
Geneva road. Michel followed without concealment, whistling a hunting
air. Only, as Michel could not run for fear of attracting the rider's
notice, he lost sight of him before long. But Jacques was there, thought
he, waiting at the fork of the roads. Yes, Jacques had been there,
but he had been there for over six hours of a winter's night, in five
degrees of cold. Had he the courage to stand six hours in the snow and
kick his soles against a tree?

Thinking thus, Michel took a short cut through the streets and lanes,
running at full speed; but horse and rider, in spite of his haste, had
gone faster than he. He reached the fork of the roads. All was silent
and solitary. The snow, trampled the day before, a Sunday, no longer
showed distinct tracks. The steps of the horse were lost in the mud of
the road. Nor did he waste further time in vain searching. He wondered
what had become of Jacques; but his poacher's eye soon told him.

Jacques had stood on watch at the foot of a tree. For how long? It was
difficult to say, but long enough to become very cold. The snow was well
beaten down by his heavy hunting-boots. He had evidently tried to keep
warm by walking up and down. Then suddenly he must have remembered a
little mud hut on the other side of the road, such as the road-menders
build as a shelter against the rain. He had gone down the ditch and
crossed the road. His trail, lost for a moment in the centre of the
road, was visible on the snow at either side. This trail formed a
diagonal line, making straight for the hut. It was evidently in the hut
that Jacques had passed the night. But when had he left it? And why
had h