“Oh, but that is not half so interesting,” protested the heartless Rosalie.
“Cruel frog,” exclaimed Andoche, doubtless thinking that a more insulting epithet than that of an aquatic animal could not be conceived—he himself being so averse to water.
“But no,” said a young fellow of sixteen, “Felicien Collas says he has not been shot.”
“What is the matter, then?”
“His leg is broken.”
“How did that happen?” inquired Mathieu, vexed that he had not guessed aright.
“How? How? Go and ask Cremailly of Trinquelin.”
Cremailly was the proprietor of a mill, and just now he held the attention of the listeners. Under the calm but piercing gaze of Jeannille Marselon he related how Firmin had broken his leg under conditions and at a moment when he could not be accused of murder.
“Well, tell us all you know about it,” urged Rosalie.
“Last evening at a quarter to eleven I opened the sluice for the night, and was going to bed, when I heard a noise at the door.”