“The accusation,” he continued, with the coolness of an old lawyer, “rests upon two grounds:  first, the presence without cause of the accused upon the spot where the crime was committed; second, the nature of the weapon used.—­Two simple but peremptory replies will make the scaffold which has been erected upon this double supposition fall to the ground.  First, Lambernier had a rendezvous at this place, and at the exact hour when this crime with which he is accused took place; this will be proved by a witness, and will be established by evidence in a most indisputable manner.  His presence will thus be explained without its being interpreted in any way against him.  Second, the public prosecutor has admitted that the carrying of a weapon which Lambernier may have been in the habit of using in his regular trade could not be used as an argument against him, and for that same reason could not be used as an argument in favor of premeditation; now, this is precisely the case in question.  This weapon was neither a sword, bayonet, nor stiletto, nothing that the fertile imagination of the public prosecutor could imagine; it was a simple tool used by the accused in his profession, the presence of which in his pocket is as easily understood as that of a snuff-box in the pocket of my neighbor, the notary, who takes twenty pinches of snuff a minute.  Gentlemen, this weapon was a pair of carpenter’s compasses.”

“A compass!” exclaimed several voices at once.

“A compass!” exclaimed the Baron, gazing fixedly at the artist.  Then he carried his hand to his pocket, and suddenly withdrew it, as he felt the workman’s compass there, where it had been ever since the scene upon the rocks.

“An iron compass,” repeated the artist, “about ten inches long, more or less, the legs of it being closed.”

“Will you explain yourself, Monsieur?” excitedly exclaimed the public prosecutor, “for it really seems as if you had witnessed the crime.  In that case you will be called out as a witness for the defence.  Justice is impartial, gentlemen.  Justice has not two pairs of scales.”

“To the devil with justice!  You must have come from Timbuctoo to use such old-fashioned metaphors.”

“Make your deposition, witness; I require you to make your deposition,” said the magistrate, whose increasing drunkenness appeared as dignified and solemn as the artist was noisy.

“I have nothing to state; I saw nothing.”

Here the Baron drew a long breath, as if these words were a relief.

“But I saw something!” said Gerfaut to himself, as he gazed at the Baron’s face, upon which anxiety was depicted.

“I reason by hypothesis and supposition,” continued the artist.  “I had a little altercation with Lambernier a few days ago, and, but for my good poniard, he would have put an end to me as he did to this fellow to-day.”

He then related his meeting with Lambernier, but the consideration due Mademoiselle Gobillot’s honor imposed numberless circumlocutions and concealments which ended by making his story rather unintelligible to his auditors, and in the midst of it his head became so muddled that he was completely put out.