e left it? The first question was unanswerable. But to the most
inexperienced scout the second was plain enough. He had left it to
follow M. de Valensolle. The same footsteps that had approached the hut
were to be seen going, as they left it, in the direction of Ceyzeriat.

The traveller had really taken the road to Geneva. Jacques' footsteps
showed it plainly. The stride was long, like that of a man running, and
he had followed the road behind the trees, evidently to conceal himself
from the rider. At a wretched tavern, one of those with the legend
inscribed over its door: "Here we give food and drink, equestrian and
pedestrian lodgings," the trail stopped. It was clear that the rider had
stopped before this inn, for Jacques had also paused behind a tree some
twenty feet distant, where the snow was-trampled. Then, probably after
the gate had closed on horse and rider, Jacques had left his tree,
crossed the road, this time with hesitation, his short steps leading,
not to the door, but to the window.

Michel put his own feet in his son's footprints and reached the window.
Through the chinks in the shutter the interior, when lighted, could be
seen; but now all was dark, and Michel could see nothing. But Jacques
had certainly looked through the window; no doubt it was then lighted,
and he had been able to see something.

Where had he gone on leaving the window? Round the house, close to the
wall. This excursion was easy to follow. The snow was virgin. As for
his purpose in going round the house that was not difficult to make out.
Jacques, like a lad of sense, had concluded that the traveller had not
left a good hotel, saying that he was going to Geneva, to put up at a
miserable tavern a mile from the town.

He must have ridden through the yard and gone out by some other exit.
Jacques had, therefore, skirted the house in the hope of recovering the
trail, if not of the horse, at least of the rider on the other side.

Sure enough, from a small gate in the rear, opening toward the forest
that extends from Coterz to Ceyzeriat, footsteps could be seen advancing
in a straight line to the edge of the woods. They were those of a man
elegantly shod, wearing spurs on his heels, for the spurs had left their
marks upon the snow.

Jacques had not hesitated to follow these marks. The track of his heavy
shoes could be seen near the prints of the delicate boot--the large foot
of the peasant near the slender foot of the city man.

It