Then examining it more carefully:
"She passed here at about four o'clock this morning."
"How do you know that?"
"The track is fresh, but there is sleet around it. Last night at twelve o'clock I went out to lock the doors, and sleet was falling then; there is none on this footprint, and therefore it must have been made since then."
"That is true, Sperver; but it may have been made later, at nine or ten o'clock for instance."
"No; look! It is covered with frost. There is no mist to freeze except at daybreak; the old woman passed here after the sleet and before the frost; that is to say, between three and four this morning."
I was astonished at the accuracy of Sperver's reasoning. He got up, slapping his hands together to shake off the snow, and looking at me thoughtfully, he added, as if speaking to himself:
"Let us call it, at the latest, five o'clock! It is now twelve, isn't it?"
"Quarter to twelve."
"Very good; the hag has seven hours' start of us. We must follow her step by step wherever she may lead us. On horseback we can come up with her in from one hour to two, and if she is still moving, by seven or eight this evening she ought to be in our clutches. Come on, Gaston; there is no time to lose!"