They were those of a man elegantly shod, wearing spurs on his heels, for the spurs had left their marks upon the snow.
Jacques had not hesitated to follow these marks.

The track of his heavy shoes could be seen near the prints of the delicate boot--the large foot of the peasant near the slender foot of the city man.
It was now five o'clock.

Day was breaking, and Michel resolved to go no further.

Jacques was on the trail, and the young poacher was worth as much as the old one.

Michel circled the open as if he were returning from Ceyzeriat, resolving to enter the inn and wait for Jacques' return; certain that his son would know he had followed him and had stopped short at this isolated house.
Michel knocked on the window-shutter and was soon admitted.