and as I had no clear recollection of the mysterious event
which had unhinged it, I thought that I was mad, and remained silent and
dismayed, fearful lest any word should escape to betray the loss of my
faculties.

At last, little by little, I collected my thoughts. I asked for some
wine, as I felt weak; and no sooner had I drunk a few drops than all the
scenes of the fatal day unrolled themselves before me as if by magic.
I even remembered the words that I had heard Patience utter immediately
after the event. It was as if they had been graven in that part of the
memory which preserves the sound of words, even when the other part
which treasures up their sense is asleep. For one more moment I was
uncertain; I wondered if my gun could have gone off in my hands just
as I was leaving Edmee. I distinctly remembered firing it at a pewit
an hour before, for Edmee had wanted to examine the bird's plumage.
Further, when I heard the shot which had hit her, my gun was in my
hands, and I had not thrown it down until a few seconds later, so it
could not have been this weapon which had gone off on falling. Besides,
even granting a fatality which was incredible, I was much too far from
Edmee at that moment to have shot her. Finally, I had not a single
bullet on me throughout the day; and it was impossible for my gun to
have been loaded, unknown to myself, since I had not unslung it after
killing the pewit.

Quite convinced, therefore, that I was not the cause of the hideous
accident, it remained to me to find an explanation of this crushing
catastrophe. To me it was perfectly simple; some booby with a gun, I
thought, must have caught sight of Edmee's horse through the branches
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