Suddenly somebody was heard knocking furiously at the door.
“Come in!” cried M. Seneschal.
The door opened and three peasants appeared, looking bewildered, but evidently well pleased.
“We have just,” said one of them, “found something curious.”
“What?” asked M. Galpin.
“It looks very much like a case; but Pitard says it is the paper of a cartridge.”
Count Claudieuse raised himself on his pillows, and said eagerly,—
“Let me see! I have during these last days fired several times quite near to the house to frighten the birds away that eat my fruit. I want to see if the paper is mine.”
The peasant gave it to him.
It was a very thin lead form, such as contain the cartridges used in American breech-loading guns. What was singular was that it was blackened by burnt powder; but it had not been torn, nor had it blazed up in the discharge. It was so perfectly uninjured, that one could read the embossed letters of the name of the manufacturer, Clebb.