The former soldier, Mederic Rompel, familiarly called Mederic by the country folks, left the post office of Roily-le-Tors at the usual hour. After passing through the village with his long stride, he cut across the meadows of Villaume and reached the bank of the Brindille, following the path along the water's edge to the village of Carvelin, where he commenced to deliver his letters. He walked quickly, following the course of the narrow river, which frothed, murmured and boiled in its grassy1 bed beneath an arch of willows3.
Mederic went on without stopping, with only this thought in his mind: “My first letter is for the Poivron family, then I have one for Monsieur Renardet; so I must cross the wood.”
His blue blouse, fastened round his waist by a black leather belt, moved in a quick, regular fashion above the green hedge of willow2 trees, and his stout4 stick of holly5 kept time with his steady tread.
He crossed the Brindille on a bridge consisting of a tree trunk, with a handrail of rope, fastened at either end to a stake driven into the ground.
The wood, which belonged to Monsieur Renardet, the mayor of Carvelin and the largest landowner in the district, consisted of huge old trees, straight as pillars and extending for about half a league along the left bank of the stream which served as a boundary to this immense dome6 of foliage7. Alongside the water large shrubs8 had grown up in the sunlight, but under the trees one found nothing but moss9, thick, soft and yielding, from which arose, in the still air, an odor of dampness and of dead wood.
Mederic slackened his pace, took off his black cap adorned10 with red lace and wiped his forehead, for it was by this time hot in the meadows, though it was not yet eight o'clock in the morning.
He had just recovered from the effects of the heat and resumed his quick pace when he noticed at the foot of a tree a knife, a child's small knife. When he picked it up he discovered a thimble and also a needlecase not far away.
Having taken up these objects, he thought: “I'll entrust11 them to the mayor,” and he resumed his journey, but now he kept his eyes open, expecting to find something else.
All of a sudden he stopped short, as if he had struck against a wooden barrier. Ten paces in front of him lay stretched on her back on the moss a little girl, perfectly12 nude13, her face covered with a handkerchief. She was about twelve years old.
Meredic advanced on tiptoe, as if he apprehended15 some danger, and he glanced toward the spot uneasily.
What was this? No doubt she was asleep. Then he reflected that a person does not go to sleep naked at half-past seven in the morning under the cool trees. So, then, she must be dead, and he must be face to face with a crime. At this thought a cold shiver ran through his frame, although he was an old soldier. And then a murder was such a rare thing in the country, and, above all, the murder of a child, that he could not believe his eyes. But she had no wound-nothing save a spot of blood on her leg. How, then, had she been killed?
He stopped close to her and gazed at her, while he leaned on his stick. Certainly he must know her, for he knew all the inhabitants of the district; but, not being able to get a look at her face, he could not guess her name. He stooped forward in order to take off the handkerchief which covered her face, then paused, with outstretched hand, restrained by an idea that occurred to him.
Had he the right to disarrange anything in the condition of the corpse16 before the official investigation17? He pictured justice to himself as a kind of general whom nothing escapes and who attaches as much importance to a lost button as to the stab of a knife in the stomach. Perhaps under this handkerchief evidence could be found to sustain a charge of murder; in fact, if such proof were there it might lose its value if touched by an awkward hand.
Then he raised himself with the intention of hastening toward the mayor's residence, but again another thought held him back. If the little girl were still alive, by any chance, he could not leave her lying there in this way. He sank on his knees very gently, a little distance from her, through precaution, and extended his hand toward her foot. It was icy cold, with the terrible coldness of death which leaves us no longer in doubt. The letter carrier, as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he said himself afterward18, and his mouth parched19. Rising up abruptly20, he rushed off under the trees toward Monsieur Renardet's house.
He walked on faster than ever, with his stick under his arm, his hands clenched22 and his head thrust forward, while his leathern bag, filled with letters and newspapers, kept flapping at his side.
The mayor's residence was at the end of the wood which served as a park, and one side of it was washed by the Brindille.
It was a big square house of gray stone, very old, and had stood many a siege in former days, and at the end of it was a huge tower, twenty metres high, rising out of the water.
From the top of this fortress23 one could formerly24 see all the surrounding country. It was called the Fox's tower, without any one knowing exactly why; and from this appellation25, no doubt, had come the name Renardet, borne by the owners of this fief, which had remained in the same family, it was said, for more than two hundred years. For the Renardets formed part of the upper middle class, all but noble, to be met with so often in the province before the Revolution.
The postman dashed into the kitchen, where the servants were taking breakfast, and exclaimed:
“Is the mayor up? I want to speak to him at once.”
Mederic was recognized as a man of standing26 and authority, and they understood that something serious had happened.
As soon as word was brought to Monsieur Renardet, he ordered the postman to be sent up to him. Pale and out of breath, with his cap in his hand, Mederic found the mayor seated at a long table covered with scattered27 papers.
He was a large, tall man, heavy and red-faced, strong as an ox, and was greatly liked in the district, although of an excessively violent disposition28. Almost forty years old and a widower29 for the past six months, he lived on his estate like a country gentleman. His choleric30 temperament31 had often brought him into trouble from which the magistrates33 of Roily-le-Tors, like indulgent and prudent34 friends, had extricated35 him. Had he not one day thrown the conductor of the diligence from the top of his seat because he came near running over his retriever, Micmac? Had he not broken the ribs36 of a gamekeeper who abused him for having, gun in hand, passed through a neighbor's property? Had he not even caught by the collar the sub-prefect, who stopped over in the village during an administrative37 circuit, called by Monsieur Renardet an electioneering circuit, for he was opposed to the government, in accordance with family traditions.
The mayor asked:
“What's the matter now, Mederic?”
“I found a little girl dead in your wood.”
Renardet rose to his feet, his face the color of brick.
“What do you say—a little girl?”
“Yes, m'sieu, a little girl, quite naked, on her back, with blood on her, dead—quite dead!”
“By God, I'd make a bet it is little Louise Roque! I have just learned that she did not go home to her mother last night. Where did you find her?”
The postman described the spot, gave full details and offered to conduct the mayor to the place.
But Renardet became brusque:
“No, I don't need you. Send the watchman, the mayor's secretary and the doctor to me at once, and resume your rounds. Quick, quick, go and tell them to meet me in the wood.”
The letter carrier, a man used to discipline, obeyed and withdrew, angry and grieved at not being able to be present at the investigation.
The mayor, in his turn, prepared to go out, took his big soft hat and paused for a few seconds on the threshold of his abode39. In front of him stretched a wide sward, in which were three large beds of flowers in full bloom, one facing the house and the others at either side of it. Farther on the outlying trees of the wood rose skyward, while at the left, beyond the Brindille, which at that spot widened into a pond, could be seen long meadows, an entirely40 green flat sweep of country, intersected by trenches41 and hedges of pollard willows.
To the right, behind the stables, the outhouses and all the buildings connected with the property, might be seen the village, which was wealthy, being mainly inhabited by cattle breeders.
Renardet slowly descended42 the steps in front of his house, and, turning to the left, gained the water's edge, which he followed at a slow pace, his hand behind his back. He walked on, with bent43 head, and from time to time glanced round in search of the persons he had sent for.
When he stood beneath the trees he stopped, took off his hat and wiped his forehead as Mederic had done, for the burning sun was darting44 its fiery45 rays on the earth. Then the mayor resumed his journey, stopped once more and retraced46 his steps. Suddenly, stooping down, he steeped his handkerchief in the stream that glided47 along at his feet and spread it over his head, under his hat. Drops of water flowed down his temples over his ears, which were always purple, over his strong red neck, and made their way, one after the other, under his white shirt collar.
As nobody had appeared, he began tapping with his foot, then he called out:
“Hello! Hello!”
A voice at his right answered:
“Hello! Hello!”
And the doctor appeared under the trees. He was a thin little man, an ex-military surgeon, who passed in the neighborhood for a very skillful practitioner48. He limped, having been wounded while in the service, and had to use a stick to assist him in walking.
Next came the watchman and the mayor's secretary, who, having been sent for at the same time, arrived together. They looked scared, and hurried forward, out of breath, walking and running alternately to hasten their progress, and moving their arms up and down so vigorously that they seemed to do more work with them than with their legs.
Renardet said to the doctor:
“You know what the trouble is about?”
“Yes, a child found dead in the wood by Mederic.”
“That's quite correct. Come on!”
They walked along, side by side, followed by the two men.
Their steps made no sound on the moss. Their eyes were gazing ahead in front of them.
Suddenly the doctor, extending his arm, said:
“See, there she is!”
Far ahead of them under the trees they saw something white on which the sun gleamed down through the branches. As they approached they gradually distinguished50 a human form lying there, its head toward the river, the face covered and the arms extended as though on a crucifix.
“I am fearfully warm,” said the mayor, and stooping down, he again soaked his handkerchief in the water and placed it round his forehead.
The doctor hastened his steps, interested by the discovery. As soon as they were near the corpse, he bent down to examine it without touching51 it. He had put on his pince-nez, as one does in examining some curious object, and turned round very quietly.
He said, without rising:
“Violated and murdered, as we shall prove presently. This little girl, moreover, is almost a woman—look at her throat.”
The doctor lightly drew away the handkerchief which covered her face, which looked black, frightful52, the tongue protruding53, the eyes bloodshot. He went on:
“By heavens! She was strangled the moment the deed was done.”
He felt her neck.
“Strangled with the hands without leaving any special trace, neither the mark of the nails nor the imprint54 of the fingers. Quite right. It is little Louise Roque, sure enough!”
He carefully replaced the handkerchief.
“There's nothing for me to do. She's been dead for the last hour at least. We must give notice of the matter to the authorities.”
Renardet, standing up, with his hands behind his back, kept staring with a stony55 look at the little body exposed to view on the grass. He murmured:
The doctor felt the hands, the arms, the legs. He said:
“She had been bathing no doubt. They ought to be at the water's edge.”
The mayor thereupon gave directions:
“Do you, Principe” (this was his secretary), “go and find those clothes for me along the stream. You, Maxime” (this was the watchman), “hurry on toward Rouy-le-Tors and bring with you the magistrate32 with the gendarmes57. They must be here within an hour. You understand?”
The two men started at once, and Renardet said to the doctor:
The doctor murmured:
“Who knows? Any one is capable of that. Every one in particular and nobody in general. No matter, it must be some prowler, some workman out of employment. Since we have become a Republic we meet only this kind of person along the roads.”
Both of them were Bonapartists.
The mayor went on:
The doctor added, with the shadow of a smile on his face:
“And without a wife. Having neither a good supper nor a good bed, he became reckless. You can't tell how many men there may be in the world capable of a crime at a given moment. Did you know that this little girl had disappeared?”
And with the end of his stick he touched one after the other the stiffened60 fingers of the corpse, resting on them as on the keys of a piano.
“Yes, the mother came last night to look for me about nine o'clock, the child not having come home at seven to supper. We looked for her along the roads up to midnight, but we did not think of the wood. However, we needed daylight to carry out a thorough search.”
“Will you have a cigar?” said the doctor.
“Thanks, I don't care to smoke. This thing affects me so.”
They remained standing beside the corpse of the young girl, so pale on the dark moss. A big blue fly was walking over the body with his lively, jerky movements. The two men kept watching this wandering speck61.
The doctor said:
“How pretty it is, a fly on the skin! The ladies of the last century had good reason to paste them on their faces. Why has this fashion gone out?”
But, all of a sudden, he turned round, surprised by a shrill63 noise. A woman in a cap and blue apron64 was running toward them under the trees. It was the mother, La Roque. As soon as she saw Renardet she began to shriek65:
“My little girl! Where's my little girl?” so distractedly that she did not glance down at the ground. Suddenly she saw the corpse, stopped short, clasped her hands and raised both her arms while she uttered a sharp, heartrending cry—the cry of a wounded animal. Then she rushed toward the body, fell on her knees and snatched away the handkerchief that covered the face. When she saw that frightful countenance67, black and distorted, she rose to her feet with a shudder68, then sinking to the ground, face downward, she pressed her face against the ground and uttered frightful, continuous screams on the thick moss.
Her tall, thin frame, with its close-clinging dress, was palpitating, shaken with spasms69. One could see her bony ankles and her dried-up calves70 covered with coarse blue stockings shaking horribly. She was digging the soil with her crooked71 fingers, as though she were trying to make a hole in which to hide herself.
“Poor old woman!”
Renardet felt a strange sensation. Then he gave vent to a sort of loud sneeze, and, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he began to weep internally, coughing, sobbing73 and blowing his nose noisily.
“Damn—damn—damned pig to do this! I would like to see him guillotined.”
Principe reappeared with his hands empty. He murmured:
“I have found nothing, M'sieu le Maire, nothing at all anywhere.”
The mayor, alarmed, replied in a thick voice, drowned in tears:
“What is that you could not find?”
“The little girl's clothes.”
“Well—well—look again, and find them—or you 'll have to answer to me.”
The man, knowing that the mayor would not brook75 opposition76, set forth77 again with hesitating steps, casting a timid side glance at the corpse.
Distant voices were heard under the trees, a confused sound, the noise of an approaching crowd, for Mederic had, in the course of his rounds, carried the news from door to door. The people of the neighborhood, dazed at first, had gossiped about it in the street, from one threshold to another. Then they gathered together. They talked over, discussed and commented on the event for some minutes and had now come to see for themselves.
They arrived in groups, a little faltering78 and uneasy through fear of the first impression of such a scene on their minds. When they saw the body they stopped, not daring to advance, and speaking low. Then they grew bolder, went on a few steps, stopped again, advanced once more, and presently formed around the dead girl, her mother, the doctor and Renardet a close circle, restless and noisy, which crowded forward at the sudden impact of newcomers. And now they touched the corpse. Some of them even bent down to feel it with their fingers. The doctor kept them back. But the mayor, waking abruptly out of his torpor79, flew into a rage, and seizing Dr. Labarbe's stick, flung himself on his townspeople, stammering80:
“Clear out—clear out—you pack of brutes—clear out!”
And in a second the crowd of sightseers had fallen back two hundred paces.
Mother La Roque had risen to a sitting posture82 and now remained weeping, with her hands clasped over her face.
The crowd was discussing the affair, and young lads' eager eyes curiously83 scrutinized84 this nude young form. Renardet perceived this, and, abruptly taking off his coat, he flung it over the little girl, who was entirely hidden from view beneath the large garment.
The secretary drew near quietly. The wood was filled with people, and a continuous hum of voices rose up under the tangled85 foliage of the tall trees.
The mayor, in his shirt sleeves, remained standing, with his stick in his hands, in a fighting attitude. He seemed exasperated86 by this curiosity on the part of the people and kept repeating:
“If one of you come nearer I'll break his head just as I would a dog's.”
The peasants were greatly afraid of him. They held back. Dr. Labarbe, who was smoking, sat down beside La Roque and spoke87 to her in order to distract her attention. The old woman at once removed her hands from her face and replied with a flood of tearful words, emptying her grief in copious88 talk. She told the whole story of her life, her marriage, the death of her man, a cattle drover, who had been gored89 to death, the infancy90 of her daughter, her wretched existence as a widow without resources and with a child to support. She had only this one, her little Louise, and the child had been killed—killed in this wood. Then she felt anxious to see her again, and, dragging herself on her knees toward the corpse, she raised up one corner of the garment that covered her; then she let it fall again and began wailing91 once more. The crowd remained silent, eagerly watching all the mother's gestures.
Two gendarmes appeared in the distance, advancing at a rapid trot94, escorting their captain and a little gentleman with red whiskers, who was bobbing up and down like a monkey on a big white mare95.
The watchman had just found Monsieur Putoin, the magistrate, at the moment when he was mounting his horse to take his daily ride, for he posed as a good horseman, to the great amusement of the officers.
He dismounted, along with the captain, and pressed the hands of the mayor and the doctor, casting a ferret-like glance on the linen96 coat beneath which lay the corpse.
When he was made acquainted with all the facts, he first gave orders to disperse97 the crowd, whom the gendarmes drove out of the wood, but who soon reappeared in the meadow and formed a hedge, a big hedge of excited and moving heads, on the other side of the stream.
The doctor, in his turn, gave explanations, which Renardet noted98 down in his memorandum99 book. All the evidence was given, taken down and commented on without leading to any discovery. Maxime, too, came back without having found any trace of the clothes.
This disappearance100 surprised everybody; no one could explain it except on the theory of theft, and as her rags were not worth twenty sous, even this theory was inadmissible.
The magistrate, the mayor, the captain and the doctor set to work searching in pairs, putting aside the smallest branch along the water.
Renardet said to the judge:
“How does it happen that this wretch has concealed102 or carried away the clothes, and has thus left the body exposed, in sight of every one?”
“Ha! ha! Perhaps a dodge104? This crime has been committed either by a brute81 or by a sly scoundrel. In any case, we'll easily succeed in finding him.”
The noise of wheels made them turn their heads round. It was the deputy magistrate, the doctor and the registrar105 of the court who had arrived in their turn. They resumed their search, all chatting in an animated106 fashion.
Renardet said suddenly:
Every one smilingly accepted the invitation, and the magistrate, thinking that the case of little Louise Roque had occupied enough attention for one day, turned toward the mayor.
“I can have the body brought to your house, can I not? You have a room in which you can keep it for me till this evening?”
The other became confused and stammered:
“Yes—no—no. To tell the truth, I prefer that it should not come into my house on account of—on account of my servants, who are already talking about ghosts in—in my tower, in the Fox's tower. You know—I could no longer keep a single one. No—I prefer not to have it in my house.”
The magistrate began to smile.
“Good! I will have it taken at once to Roily for the legal examination.” And, turning to his deputy, he said:
“I can make use of your trap, can I not?”
“Yes, certainly.”
They all came back to the place where the corpse lay. Mother La Roque, now seated beside her daughter, was holding her hand and was staring right before her with a wandering, listless eye.
The two doctors endeavored to lead her away, so that she might not witness the dead girl's removal, but she understood at once what they wanted to do, and, flinging herself on the body, she threw both arms round it. Lying on top of the corpse, she exclaimed:
“You shall not have it—it's mine—it's mine now. They have killed her for me, and I want to keep her—you shall not have her——”
All the men, affected and not knowing how to act, remained standing around her. Renardet fell on his knees and said to her:
“Listen, La Roque, it is necessary, in order to find out who killed her. Without this, we could not find out. We must make a search for the man in order to punish him. When we have found him we'll give her up to you. I promise you this.”
This explanation bewildered the woman, and a feeling of hatred108 manifested itself in her distracted glance.
“So then they'll arrest him?”
“Yes, I promise you that.”
She rose up, deciding to let them do as they liked, but when the captain remarked:
“It is surprising that her clothes were not found,” a new idea, which she had not previously109 thought of, abruptly entered her mind, and she asked:
“Where are her clothes? They're mine. I want them. Where have they been put?”
They explained to her that they had not been found. Then she demanded them persistently110, crying and moaning.
“They're mine—I want them. Where are they? I want them!”
The more they tried to calm her the more she sobbed111 and persisted in her demands. She no longer wanted the body, she insisted on having the clothes, as much perhaps through the unconscious cupidity112 of a wretched being to whom a piece of silver represents a fortune as through maternal113 tenderness.
And when the little body, rolled up in blankets which had been brought out from Renardet's house, had disappeared in the vehicle, the old woman standing under the trees, sustained by the mayor and the captain, exclaimed:
“I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world, not even her little cap —her little cap.”
The cure, a young priest, had just arrived. He took it on himself to accompany the mother, and they went away together toward the village. The mother's grief was modified by the sugary words of the clergyman, who promised her a thousand compensations. But she kept repeating: “If I had only her little cap.” This idea now dominated every other.
Renardet called from the distance:
“You will lunch with us, Monsieur l'Abbe—in an hour's time.”
The priest turned his head round and replied:
“With pleasure, Monsieur le Maire. I'll be with you at twelve.”
And they all directed their steps toward the house, whose gray front, with the large tower built on the edge of the Brindille, could be seen through the branches.
The meal lasted a long time. They talked about the crime. Everybody was of the same opinion. It had been committed by some tramp passing there by mere14 chance while the little girl was bathing.
Then the magistrates returned to Rouy, announcing that they would return next day at an early hour. The doctor and the cure went to their respective homes, while Renardet, after a long walk through the meadows, returned to the wood, where he remained walking till nightfall with slow steps, his hands behind his back.
He went to bed early and was still asleep next morning when the magistrate entered his room. He was rubbing his hands together with a self-satisfied air.
“Ha! ha! You are still sleeping! Well, my dear fellow, we have news this morning.”
The mayor sat up in his bed.
“What, pray?”
“Oh! Something strange. You remember well how the mother clamored yesterday for some memento114 of her daughter, especially her little cap? Well, on opening her door this morning she found on the threshold her child's two little wooden shoes. This proves that the crime was perpetrated by some one from the district, some one who felt pity for her. Besides, the postman, Mederic, brought me the thimble, the knife and the needle case of the dead girl. So, then, the man in carrying off the clothes to hide them must have let fall the articles which were in the pocket. As for me, I attach special importance to the wooden shoes, as they indicate a certain moral culture and a faculty115 for tenderness on the part of the assassin. We will, therefore, if you have no objection, go over together the principal inhabitants of your district.”
The mayor got up. He rang for his shaving water and said:
“With pleasure, but it will take some time, and we may begin at once.”
M. Putoin sat astride a chair.
Renardet covered his chin with a white lather116 while he looked at himself in the glass. Then he sharpened his razor on the strop and continued:
“The principal inhabitant of Carvelin bears the name of Joseph Renardet, mayor, a rich landowner, a rough man who beats guards and coachmen—”
The examining magistrate burst out laughing.
“That's enough. Let us pass on to the next.”
“The second in importance is Pelledent, his deputy, a cattle breeder, an equally rich landowner, a crafty peasant, very sly, very close-fisted on every question of money, but incapable117 in my opinion of having perpetrated such a crime.”
“Continue,” said M. Putoin.
Renardet, while proceeding118 with his toilet, reviewed the characters of all the inhabitants of Carvelin. After two hours' discussion their suspicions were fixed119 on three individuals who had hitherto borne a shady reputation—a poacher named Cavalle, a fisherman named Paquet, who caught trout120 and crabs121, and a cattle drover named Clovis. II
The search for the perpetrator of the crime lasted all summer, but he was not discovered. Those who were suspected and arrested easily proved their innocence122, and the authorities were compelled to abandon the attempt to capture the criminal.
But this murder seemed to have moved the entire country in a singular manner. There remained in every one's mind a disquietude, a vague fear, a sensation of mysterious terror, springing not merely from the impossibility of discovering any trace of the assassin, but also and above all from that strange finding of the wooden shoes in front of La Roque's door the day after the crime. The certainty that the murderer had assisted at the investigation, that he was still, doubtless, living in the village, possessed123 all minds and seemed to brood over the neighborhood like a constant menace.
Formerly the inhabitants went there to spend every Sunday afternoon. They used to sit down on the moss at the feet of the huge tall trees or walk along the water's edge watching the trout gliding125 among the weeds. The boy's used to play bowls, hide-and-seek and other games where the ground had been cleared and levelled, and the girls, in rows of four or five, would trip along, holding one another by the arms and screaming songs with their shrill voices. Now nobody ventured there for fear of finding some corpse lying on the ground.
Autumn arrived, the leaves began to fall from the tall trees, whirling round and round to the ground, and the sky could be seen through the bare branches. Sometimes, when a gust126 of wind swept over the tree tops, the slow, continuous rain suddenly grew heavier and became a rough storm that covered the moss with a thick yellow carpet that made a kind of creaking sound beneath one's feet.
And the sound of the falling leaves seemed like a wail92 and the leaves themselves like tears shed by these great, sorrowful trees, that wept in the silence of the bare and empty wood, this dreaded and deserted127 wood where wandered lonely the soul, the little soul of little Louise Roque.
The Brindille, swollen128 by the storms, rushed on more quickly, yellow and angry, between its dry banks, bordered by two thin, bare, willow hedges.
And here was Renardet suddenly resuming his walks under the trees. Every day, at sunset, he came out of his house, descended the front steps slowly and entered the wood in a dreamy fashion, with his hands in his pockets, and paced over the damp soft moss, while a legion of rooks from all the neighboring haunts came thither129 to rest in the tall trees and then flew off like a black cloud uttering loud, discordant130 cries.
Night came on, and Renardet was still strolling slowly under the trees; then, when the darkness prevented him from walking any longer, he would go back to the house and sink into his armchair in front of the glowing hearth, stretching his damp feet toward the fire.
One morning an important bit of news was circulated through the district; the mayor was having his wood cut down.
Twenty woodcutters were already at work. They had commenced at the corner nearest to the house and worked rapidly in the master's presence.
And each day the wood grew thinner, losing its trees, which fell down one by one, as an army loses its soldiers.
Renardet no longer walked up, and down. He remained from morning till night, contemplating131, motionless, with his hands behind his back, the slow destruction of his wood. When a tree fell he placed his foot on it as if it were a corpse. Then he raised his eyes to the next with a kind of secret, calm impatience132, as if he expected, hoped for something at the end of this slaughter133.
Meanwhile they were approaching the place where little Louise Roque had been found. They came to it one evening in the twilight134.
As it was dark, the sky being overcast135, the woodcutters wanted to stop their work, putting off till next day the fall of an enormous beech136 tree, but the mayor objected to this and insisted that they should at once lop and cut down this giant, which had sheltered the crime.
When the lopper had laid it bare and the woodcutters had sapped its base, five men commenced hauling at the rope attached to the top.
The tree resisted; its powerful trunk, although notched137 to the centre, was as rigid138 as iron. The workmen, all together, with a sort of simultaneous motion, strained at the rope, bending backward and uttering a cry which timed and regulated their efforts.
Two woodcutters standing close to the giant remained with axes in their grip, like two executioners ready to strike once more, and Renardet, motionless, with his hand on the trunk, awaited the fall with an uneasy, nervous feeling.
One of the men said to him:
“You are too near, Monsieur le Maire. When it falls it may hurt you.”
He did not reply and did not move away. He seemed ready to catch the beech tree in his open arms and to cast it on the ground like a wrestler139.
All at once, at the base of the tall column of wood there was a rent which seemed to run to the top, like a painful shock; it bent slightly, ready to fall, but still resisting. The men, in a state of excitement, stiffened their arms, renewed their efforts with greater vigor49, and, just as the tree came crashing down, Renardet suddenly made a forward step, then stopped, his shoulders raised to receive the irresistible140 shock, the mortal shock which would crush him to the earth.
But the beech tree, having deviated141 a little, only rubbed against his loins, throwing him on his face, five metres away.
The workmen dashed forward to lift him up. He had already arisen to his knees, stupefied, with bewildered eyes and passing his hand across his forehead, as if he were awaking from an attack of madness.
When he had got to his feet once more the men, astonished, questioned him, not being able to understand what he had done. He replied in faltering tones that he had been dazed for a moment, or, rather, he had been thinking of his childhood days; that he thought he would have time to run under the tree, just as street boys rush in front of vehicles driving rapidly past; that he had played at danger; that for the past eight days he felt this desire growing stronger within him, asking himself each time a tree began to fall whether he could pass beneath it without being touched. It was a piece of stupidity, he confessed, but every one has these moments of insanity142 and these temptations to boyish folly143.
He made this explanation in a slow tone, searching for his words, and speaking in a colorless tone.
Then he went off, saying:
“Till to-morrow, my friends-till to-morrow.”
As soon as he got back to his room he sat down at his table which his lamp lighted up brightly, and, burying his head in his hands, he began to cry.
He remained thus for a long time, then wiped his eyes, raised his head and looked at the clock. It was not yet six o'clock.
He thought:
“I have time before dinner.”
And he went to the door and locked it. He then came back, and, sitting down at his table, pulled out the middle drawer. Taking from it a revolver, he laid it down on his papers in full view. The barrel of the firearm glittered, giving out gleams of light.
Renardet gazed at it for some time with the uneasy glance of a drunken man. Then he rose and began to pace up and down the room.
He walked from one end of the apartment to the other, stopping from time to time, only to pace up and down again a moment afterward. Suddenly he opened the door of his dressing-room, steeped a towel in the water pitcher144 and moistened his forehead, as he had done on the morning of the crime.
Then he, began walking up and down again. Each time he passed the table the gleaming revolver attracted his glance, tempted145 his hand, but he kept watching the clock and reflected:
“I have still time.”
It struck half-past six. Then he took up the revolver, opened his mouth wide with a frightful grimace146 and stuck the barrel into it as if he wanted to swallow it. He remained in this position for some seconds without moving, his finger on the trigger. Then, suddenly seized with a shudder of horror, he dropped the pistol on the carpet.
He fell back on his armchair, sobbing:
“I cannot. I dare not! My God! my God! How can I have the courage to kill myself?'”
There was a knock at the door. He rose up, bewildered. A servant said:
“Monsieur's dinner is ready.”
He replied:
“All right. I'm coming down.”
Then he picked up the revolver, locked it up again in the drawer and looked at himself in the mirror over the mantelpiece to see whether his face did not look too much troubled. It was as red as usual, a little redder perhaps. That was all. He went down and seated himself at table.
He ate slowly, like a man who wants to prolong the meal, who does not want to be alone.
Then he smoked several pipes in the hall while the table was being cleared. After that he went back to his room.
As soon as he had locked himself in he looked, under the bed, opened all the closets, explored every corner, rummaged147 through all the furniture. Then he lighted the candles on the mantelpiece, and, turning round several times, ran his eye all over the apartment with an anguish148 of terror that distorted his face, for he knew well that he would see her, as he did every night—little Louise Roque, the little girl he had attacked and afterward strangled.
Every night the odious149 vision came back again. First he seemed to hear a kind of roaring sound, such as is made by a threshing machine or the distant passage of a train over a bridge. Then he commenced to gasp150, to suffocate151, and he had to unbutton his collar and his belt. He moved about to make his blood circulate, he tried to read, he attempted to sing. It was in vain. His thoughts, in spite of himself, went back to the day of the murder and made him begin it all over again in all its most secret details, with all the violent emotions he had experienced from the first minute to the last.
He had felt on rising that morning, the morning of the horrible day, a little dizziness and headache, which he attributed to the heat, so that he remained in his room until breakfast time.
After the meal he had taken a siesta152, then, toward the close of the afternoon, he had gone out to breathe the fresh, soothing153 breeze under the trees in the wood.
But, as soon as he was outside, the heavy, scorching154 air of the plain oppressed him still more. The sun, still high in the heavens, poured down on the parched soil waves of burning light. Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves. Every beast and bird, even the grasshoppers155, were silent. Renardet reached the tall trees and began to walk over the moss where the Brindille produced a slight freshness of the air beneath the immense roof of branches. But he felt ill at ease. It seemed to him that an unknown, invisible hand was strangling him, and he scarcely thought of anything, having usually few ideas in his head. For the last three months only one thought haunted him, the thought of marrying again. He suffered from living alone, suffered from it morally and physically156. Accustomed for ten years past to feeling a woman near him, habituated to her presence every moment, he had need, an imperious and perplexing need of such association. Since Madame Renardet's death he had suffered continually without knowing why, he had suffered at not feeling her dress brushing past him, and, above all, from no longer being able to calm and rest himself in her arms. He had been scarcely six months a widower and he was already looking about in the district for some young girl or some widow he might marry when his period of mourning was at an end.
He had a chaste157 soul, but it was lodged158 in a powerful, herculean body, and carnal imaginings began to disturb his sleep and his vigils. He drove them away; they came back again; and he murmured from time to time, smiling at himself:
“Here I am, like St. Anthony.”
Having this special morning had several of these visions, the desire suddenly came into his breast to bathe in the Brindille in order to refresh himself and cool his blood.
He knew of a large deep pool, a little farther down, where the people of the neighborhood came sometimes to take a dip in summer. He went there.
Thick willow trees hid this clear body of water where the current rested and went to sleep for a while before starting on its way again. Renardet, as he appeared, thought he heard a light sound, a faint plashing which was not that of the stream on the banks. He softly put aside the leaves and looked. A little girl, quite naked in the transparent159 water, was beating the water with both hands, dancing about in it and dipping herself with pretty movements. She was not a child nor was she yet a woman. She was plump and developed, while preserving an air of youthful precocity160, as of one who had grown rapidly. He no longer moved, overcome with surprise, with desire, holding his breath with a strange, poignant161 emotion. He remained there, his heart beating as if one of his sensuous162 dreams had just been realized, as if an impure163 fairy had conjured164 up before him this young creature, this little rustic165 Venus, rising from the eddies166 of the stream as the real Venus rose from the waves of the sea.
Suddenly the little girl came out of the water, and, without seeing him, came over to where he stood, looking for her clothes in order to dress herself. As she approached gingerly, on account of the sharp-pointed stones, he felt himself pushed toward her by an irresistible force, by a bestial167 transport of passion, which stirred his flesh, bewildered his mind and made him tremble from head to foot.
She remained standing some seconds behind the willow tree which concealed him from view. Then, losing his reason entirely, he pushed aside the branches, rushed on her and seized her in his arms. She fell, too terrified to offer any resistance, too terror-stricken to cry out. He seemed possessed, not understanding what he was doing.
He woke from his crime as one wakes from a nightmare. The child burst out weeping.
“Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!” he said. “I'll give you money.”
But she did not hear him and went on sobbing.
“Come now, hold your tongue! Do hold your tongue! Keep quiet!” he continued.
She kept shrieking168 as she tried to free herself. He suddenly realized that he was ruined, and he caught her by the neck to stop her mouth from uttering these heartrending, dreadful screams. As she continued to struggle with the desperate strength of a being who is seeking to fly from death, he pressed his enormous hands on the little throat swollen with screaming, and in a few seconds he had strangled her, so furiously did he grip her. He had not intended to kill her, but only to make her keep quiet.
Then he stood up, overwhelmed with horror.
She lay before him, her face bleeding and blackned. He was about to rush away when there sprang up in his agitated169 soul the mysterious and undefined instinct that guides all beings in the hour of danger.
He was going to throw the body into the water, but another impulse drove him toward the clothes, which he made into a small package. Then, as he had a piece of twine170 in his pocket, he tied it up and hid it in a deep portion of the stream, beneath the trunk of a tree that overhung the Brindille.
Then he went off at a rapid pace, reached the meadows, took a wide turn in order to show himself to some peasants who dwelt some distance away at the opposite side of the district, and came back to dine at the usual hour, telling his servants all that was supposed to have happened during his walk.
He slept, however, that night; he slept with a heavy, brutish sleep like the sleep of certain persons condemned171 to death. He did not open his eyes until the first glimmer172 of dawn, and he waited till his usual hour for riding, so as to excite no suspicion.
Then he had to be present at the inquiry173 as to the cause of death. He did so like a somnambulist, in a kind of vision which showed him men and things as in a dream, in a cloud of intoxication174, with that sense of unreality which perplexes the mind at the time of the greatest catastrophes175.
But the agonized176 cry of Mother Roque pierced his heart. At that moment he had felt inclined to cast himself at the old woman's feet and to exclaim:
“I am the guilty one!”
But he had restrained himself. He went back, however, during the night to fish up the dead girl's wooden shoes, in order to place them on her mother's threshold.
As long as the inquiry lasted, as long as it was necessary to lead justice astray he was calm, master of himself, crafty and smiling. He discussed quietly with the magistrates all the suppositions that passed through their minds, combated their opinions and demolished177 their arguments. He even took a keen and mournful pleasure in disturbing their investigations178, in embroiling179 their ideas, in showing the innocence of those whom they suspected.
But as soon as the inquiry was abandoned he became gradually nervous, more excitable than he had been before, although he mastered his irritability180. Sudden noises made him start with fear; he shuddered181 at the slightest thing and trembled sometimes from head to foot when a fly alighted on his forehead. Then he was seized with an imperious desire for motion, which impelled182 him to take long walks and to remain up whole nights pacing up and down his room.
It was not that he was goaded183 by remorse184. His brutal185 nature did not lend itself to any shade of sentiment or of moral terror. A man of energy and even of violence, born to make war, to ravage186 conquered countries and to massacre187 the vanquished188, full of the savage189 instincts of the hunter and the fighter, he scarcely took count of human life. Though he respected the Church outwardly, from policy, he believed neither in God nor the devil, expecting neither chastisement190 nor recompense for his acts in another life. His sole belief was a vague philosophy drawn191 from all the ideas of the encyclopedists of the last century, and he regarded religion as a moral sanction of the law, the one and the other having been invented by men to regulate social relations. To kill any one in a duel192, or in war, or in a quarrel, or by accident, or for the sake of revenge, or even through bravado193 would have seemed to him an amusing and clever thing and would not have left more impression on his mind than a shot fired at a hare; but he had experienced a profound emotion at the murder of this child. He had, in the first place, perpetrated it in the heat of an irresistible gust of passion, in a sort of tempest of the senses that had overpowered his reason. And he had cherished in his heart, in his flesh, on his lips, even to the very tips of his murderous fingers a kind of bestial love, as well as a feeling of terrified horror, toward this little girl surprised by him and basely killed. Every moment his thoughts returned to that horrible scene, and, though he endeavored to drive this picture from his mind, though he put it aside with terror, with disgust, he felt it surging through his soul, moving about in him, waiting incessantly194 for the moment to reappear.
Then, as evening approached, he was afraid of the shadow falling around him. He did not yet know why the darkness seemed frightful to him, but he instinctively195 feared it, he felt that it was peopled with terrors. The bright daylight did not lend itself to fears. Things and beings were visible then, and only natural things and beings could exhibit themselves in the light of day. But the night, the impenetrable night, thicker than walls and empty; the infinite night, so black, so vast, in which one might brush against frightful things; the night, when one feels that a mysterious terror is wandering, prowling about, appeared to him to conceal101 an unknown threatening danger, close beside him.
What was it?
He knew ere long. As he sat in his armchair, rather late one evening when he could not sleep, he thought he saw the curtain of his window move. He waited, uneasily, with beating heart. The drapery did not stir; then, all of a sudden, it moved once more. He did not venture to rise; he no longer ventured to breathe, and yet he was brave. He had often fought, and he would have liked to catch thieves in his house.
Was it true that this curtain did move? he asked himself, fearing that his eyes had deceived him. It was, moreover, such a slight thing, a gentle flutter of drapery, a kind of trembling in its folds, less than an undulation caused by the wind.
Renardet sat still, with staring eyes and outstretched neck. He sprang to his feet abruptly, ashamed of his fear, took four steps, seized the drapery with both hands and pulled it wide apart. At first he saw nothing but darkened glass, resembling plates of glittering ink. The night, the vast, impenetrable night, stretched beyond as far as the invisible horizon. He remained standing in front of this illimitable shadow, and suddenly he perceived a light, a moving light, which seemed some distance away.
Then he put his face close to the window pane196, thinking that a person looking for crabs might be poaching in the Brindille, for it was past midnight, and this light rose up at the edge of the stream, under the trees. As he was not yet able to see clearly, Renardet placed his hands over his eyes, and suddenly this light became an illumination, and he beheld197 little Louise Roque naked and bleeding on the moss. He recoiled198, frozen with horror, knocked over his chair and fell over on his back. He remained there some minutes in anguish of mind; then he sat up and began to reflect. He had had a hallucination—that was all, a hallucination due to the fact that a night marauder was walking with a lantern in his hand near the water's edge. What was there astonishing, besides, in the circumstance that the recollection of his crime should sometimes bring before him the vision of the dead girl?
He rose from the ground, swallowed a glass of wine and sat down again. He was thinking:
“What am I to do if this occurs again?”
And it would occur; he felt it; he was sure of it. Already his glance was drawn toward the window; it called him; it attracted him. In order to avoid looking at it, he turned his chair round. Then he took a book and tried to read, but it seemed to him that he presently heard something stirring behind him, and he swung round his armchair on one foot.
The curtain was moving again; unquestionably, it moved this time. He could no longer have any doubt about it.
He rushed forward and grasped it so violently that he pulled it down with its pole. Then he eagerly glued his face to the glass. He saw nothing. All was black outside, and he breathed with the joy of a man whose life has just been saved.
Then he went back to his chair and sat down again, but almost immediately he felt a longing199 to look out once more through the window. Since the curtain had fallen down, the window made a sort of gap, fascinating and terrible, on the dark landscape. In order not to yield to this dangerous temptation, he undressed, blew out the light and closed his eyes.
Lying on his back motionless, his skin warm and moist, he awaited sleep. Suddenly a great gleam of light flashed across his eyelids200. He opened them, believing that his dwelling201 was on fire. All was black as before, and he leaned on his elbow to try to distinguish the window which had still for him an unconquerable attraction. By dint202 of, straining his eyes he could perceive some stars, and he rose, groped his way across the room, discovered the panes203 with his outstretched hands, and placed his forehead close to them. There below, under the trees, lay the body of the little girl gleaming like phosphorus, lighting204 up the surrounding darkness.
Renardet uttered a cry and rushed toward his bed, where he lay till morning, his head hidden under the pillow.
From that moment his life became intolerable. He passed his days in apprehension205 of each succeeding night, and each night the vision came back again. As soon as he had locked himself up in his room he strove to resist it, but in vain. An irresistible force lifted him up and pushed him against the window, as if to call the phantom206, and he saw it at once, lying first in the spot where the crime was committed in the position in which it had been found.
Then the dead girl rose up and came toward him with little steps just as the child had done when she came out of the river. She advanced quietly, passing straight across the grass and over the bed of withered207 flowers. Then she rose up in the air toward Renardet's window. She came toward him as she had come on the day of the crime. And the man recoiled before the apparition208—he retreated to his bed and sank down upon it, knowing well that the little one had entered the room and that she now was standing behind the curtain, which presently moved. And until daybreak he kept staring at this curtain with a fixed glance, ever waiting to see his victim depart.
But she did not show herself any more; she remained there behind the curtain, which quivered tremulously now and then.
And Renardet, his fingers clutching the clothes, squeezed them as he had squeezed the throat of little Louise Roque.
He heard the clock striking the hours, and in the stillness the pendulum209 kept ticking in time with the loud beating of his heart. And he suffered, the wretched man, more than any man had ever suffered before.
Then, as soon as a white streak210 of light on the ceiling announced the approaching day, he felt himself free, alone at last, alone in his room; and he went to sleep. He slept several hours—a restless, feverish211 sleep in which he retraced in dreams the horrible vision of the past night.
When he went down to the late breakfast he felt exhausted212 as after unusual exertion213, and he scarcely ate anything, still haunted as he was by the fear of what he had seen the night before.
He knew well, however, that it was not an apparition, that the dead do not come back, and that his sick soul, his soul possessed by one thought alone, by an indelible remembrance, was the only cause of his torture, was what brought the dead girl back to life and raised her form before his eyes, on which it was ineffaceably imprinted214. But he knew, too, that there was no cure, that he would never escape from the savage persecution215 of his memory, and he resolved to die rather than to endure these tortures any longer.
Then he thought of how he would kill himself, It must be something simple and natural, which would preclude216 the idea of suicide. For he clung to his reputation, to the name bequeathed to him by his ancestors; and if his death awakened217 any suspicion people's thoughts might be, perhaps, directed toward the mysterious crime, toward the murderer who could not be found, and they would not hesitate to accuse him of the crime.
A strange idea came into his head, that of allowing himself to be crushed by the tree at the foot of which he had assassinated218 little Louise Roque. So he determined219 to have the wood cut down and to simulate an accident. But the beech tree refused to crush his ribs.
Returning to his house, a prey220 to utter despair, he had snatched up his revolver, and then did not dare to fire it.
The dinner bell summoned him. He could eat nothing, and he went upstairs again. And he did not know what to do. Now that he had escaped the first time, he felt himself a coward. Presently he would be ready, brave, decided221, master of his courage and of his resolution; now he was weak and feared death as much as he did the dead girl.
“I dare not venture it again—I dare not venture it.”
Then he glanced with terror, first at the revolver on the table and next at the curtain which hid his window. It seemed to him, moreover, that something horrible would occur as soon as his life was ended. Something? What? A meeting with her, perhaps. She was watching for him; she was waiting for him; she was calling him; and it was in order to seize him in her turn, to draw him toward the doom223 that would avenge224 her, and to lead him to die, that she appeared thus every night.
He began to cry like a child, repeating:
“I will not venture it again—I will not venture it.”
Then he fell on his knees and murmured:
“My God! my God!” without believing, nevertheless, in God. And he no longer dared, in fact, to look at his window, where he knew the apparition was hiding, nor at his table, where his revolver gleamed. When he had risen up he said:
“This cannot last; there must be an end of it”
The sound of his voice in the silent room made a chill of fear pass through his limbs, but as he could not bring himself to come to a determination, as he felt certain that his finger would always refuse to pull the trigger of his revolver, he turned round to hide his head under the bedclothes and began to reflect.
He would have to find some way in which he could force himself to die, to play some trick on himself which would not permit of any hesitation225 on his part, any delay, any possible regrets. He envied condemned criminals who are led to the scaffold surrounded by soldiers. Oh! if he could only beg of some one to shoot him; if after confessing his crime to a true friend who would never divulge226 it he could procure227 death at his hand. But from whom could he ask this terrible service? From whom? He thought of all the people he knew. The doctor? No, he would talk about it afterward, most probably. And suddenly a fantastic idea entered his mind. He would write to the magistrate, who was on terms of close friendship with him, and would denounce himself as the perpetrator of the crime. He would in this letter confess everything, revealing how his soul had been tortured, how he had resolved to die, how he had hesitated about carrying out his resolution and what means he had employed to strengthen his failing courage. And in the name of their old friendship he would implore228 of the other to destroy the letter as soon as he had ascertained229 that the culprit had inflicted230 justice on himself. Renardet could rely on this magistrate; he knew him to be true, discreet231, incapable of even an idle word. He was one of those men who have an inflexible232 conscience, governed, directed, regulated by their reason alone.
Scarcely had he formed this project when a strange feeling of joy took possession of his heart. He was calm now. He would write his letter slowly, then at daybreak he would deposit it in the box nailed to the outside wall of his office; then he would ascend233 his tower to watch for the postman's arrival; and when the man in the blue blouse had gone away, he would cast himself head foremost on the rocks on which the foundations rested, He would take care to be seen first by the workmen who had cut down his wood. He could climb to the projecting stone which bore the flagstaff displayed on festivals, He would smash this pole with a shake and carry it along with him as he fell.
Who would suspect that it was not an accident? And he would be killed outright234, owing to his weight and the height of the tower.
Presently he got out of bed, went over to the table and began to write. He omitted nothing, not a single detail of the crime, not a single detail of the torments235 of his heart, and he ended by announcing that he had passed sentence on himself, that he was going to execute the criminal, and begged his friend, his old friend, to be careful that there should never be any stain on his memory.
When he had finished this letter he saw that the day had dawned.
He closed, sealed it and wrote the address. Then he descended with light steps, hurried toward the little white box fastened to the outside wall in the corner of the farmhouse236, and when he had thrown into it this letter, which made his hand tremble, he came back quickly, drew the bolts of the great door and climbed up to his tower to wait for the passing of the postman, who was to bear away his death sentence.
A cold dry wind, an icy wind passed across his face. He inhaled238 it eagerly with open mouth, drinking in its chilling kiss. The sky was red, a wintry red, and all the plain, whitened with frost, glistened239 under the first rays of the sun, as if it were covered with powdered glass.
Renardet, standing up, his head bare, gazed at the vast tract66 of country before him, the meadows to the left and to the right the village whose chimneys were beginning to smoke in preparation for the morning meal. At his feet he saw the Brindille flowing amid the rocks, where he would soon be crushed to death. He felt new life on that beautiful frosty morning. The light bathed him, entered his being like a new-born hope. A thousand recollections assailed240 him, recollections of similar mornings, of rapid walks on the hard earth which rang beneath his footsteps, of happy days of shooting on the edges of pools where wild ducks sleep. All the good things that he loved, the good things of existence, rushed to his memory, penetrated241 him with fresh desires, awakened all the vigorous appetites of his active, powerful body.
And he was about to die! Why? He was going to kill himself stupidly because he was afraid of a shadow-afraid of nothing! He was still rich and in the prime of life. What folly! All he needed was distraction242, absence, a voyage in order to forget.
This night even he had not seen the little girl because his mind was preoccupied243 and had wandered toward some other subject. Perhaps he would not see her any more? And even if she still haunted him in this house, certainly she would not follow him elsewhere! The earth was wide, the future was long.
Why should he die?
His glance travelled across the meadows, and he perceived a blue spot in the path which wound alongside the Brindille. It was Mederic coming to bring letters from the town and to carry away those of the village.
Renardet gave a start, a sensation of pain shot through his breast, and he rushed down the winding244 staircase to get back his letter, to demand it back from the postman. Little did it matter to him now whether he was seen, He hurried across the grass damp from the light frost of the previous night and arrived in front of the box in the corner of the farmhouse exactly at the same time as the letter carrier.
The latter had opened the little wooden door and drew forth the four papers deposited there by the inhabitants of the locality.
Renardet said to him:
“Good-morrow, Mederic.”
“Good-morrow, Monsieur le Maire.”
“I say, Mederic, I threw a letter into the box that I want back again. I came to ask you to give it back to me.”
“That's all right, Monsieur le Maire—you'll get it.”
And the postman raised his eyes. He stood petrified245 at the sight of Renardet's face. The mayor's cheeks were purple, his eyes were anxious and sunken, with black circles round them, his hair was unbrushed, his beard untrimmed, his necktie unfastened. It was evident that he had not been in bed.
The postman asked:
“Are you ill, Monsieur le Maire?”
The other, suddenly comprehending that his appearance must be unusual, lost countenance and faltered:
“Oh! no-oh! no. Only I jumped out of bed to ask you for this letter. I was asleep. You understand?”
He said in reply:
“What letter?”
“The one you are going to give back to me.”
Mederic now began to hesitate. The mayor's attitude did not strike him as natural. There was perhaps a secret in that letter, a political secret. He knew Renardet was not a Republican, and he knew all the tricks and chicanery246 employed at elections.
He asked:
“To whom is it addressed, this letter of yours?”
“To Monsieur Putoin, the magistrate—you know, my friend, Monsieur Putoin!”
The postman searched through the papers and found the one asked for. Then he began looking at it, turning it round and round between his fingers, much perplexed247, much troubled by the fear of either committing a grave offence or of making an enemy of the mayor.
Seeing his hesitation, Renardet made a movement for the purpose of seizing the letter and snatching it away from him. This abrupt21 action convinced Mederic that some important secret was at stake and made him resolve to do his duty, cost what it may.
So he flung the letter into his bag and fastened it up, with the reply:
“No, I can't, Monsieur le Maire. As long as it is for the magistrate, I can't.”
“Why, you know me well. You are even able to recognize my handwriting. I tell you I want that paper.”
“I can't.”
“Look here, Mederic, you know that I'm incapable of deceiving you—I tell you I want it.”
“No, I can't.”
“Damn it all, take care! You know that I never trifle and that I could get you out of your job, my good fellow, and without much delay, either, And then, I am the mayor of the district, after all; and I now order you to give me back that paper.”
The postman answered firmly:
“No, I can't, Monsieur le Maire.”
Thereupon Renardet, losing his head, caught hold of the postman's arms in order to take away his bag; but, freeing himself by a strong effort, and springing backward, the letter carrier raised his big holly stick. Without losing his temper, he said emphatically:
“Don't touch me, Monsieur le Maire, or I'll strike. Take care, I'm only doing my duty!”
Feeling that he was lost, Renardet suddenly became humble251, gentle, appealing to him like a whimpering child:
“Look here, look here, my friend, give me back that letter and I'll recompense you—I'll give you money. Stop! stop! I'll give you a hundred francs, you understand—a hundred francs!”
The postman turned on his heel and started on his journey.
Renardet followed him, out of breath, stammering:
“Mederic, Mederic, listen! I'll give you a thousand francs, you understand—a thousand francs.”
The postman still went on without giving any answer.
Renardet went on:
“I'll make your fortune, you understand—whatever you wish—fifty thousand francs—fifty thousand francs for that letter! What does it matter to you? You won't? Well, a hundred thousand—I say—a hundred thousand francs. Do you understand? A hundred thousand francs—a hundred thousand francs.”
The postman turned back, his face hard, his eye severe:
“Enough of this, or else I'll repeat to the magistrate everything you have just said to me.”
Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over. He turned back and rushed toward his house, running like a hunted animal.
Then, in his turn, Mederic stopped and watched his flight with stupefaction. He saw the mayor reenter his house, and he waited still, as if something astonishing were about to happen.
In fact, presently the tall form of Renardet appeared on the summit of the Fox's tower. He ran round the platform like a madman. Then he seized the flagstaff and shook it furiously without succeeding in breaking it; then, all of a sudden, like a diver, with his two hands before him, he plunged into space.
Mederic rushed forward to his assistance. He saw the woodcutters going to work and called out to them, telling them an accident had occurred. At the foot of the walls they found a bleeding body, its head crushed on a rock. The Brindille surrounded this rock, and over its clear, calm waters could be seen a long red thread of mingled252 brains and blood.
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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8
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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9
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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10
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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11
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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12
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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13
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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14
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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15
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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16
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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17
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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18
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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19
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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20
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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21
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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22
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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24
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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25
appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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26
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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27
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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28
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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29
widower
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|
| n.鳏夫 | |
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30
choleric
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|
| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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31
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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32
magistrate
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|
| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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33
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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34
prudent
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|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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35
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
ribs
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|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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37
administrative
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|
| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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38
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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39
abode
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|
| n.住处，住所 | |
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40
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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41
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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42
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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43
bent
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|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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45
fiery
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|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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46
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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47
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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48
practitioner
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|
| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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49
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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50
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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51
touching
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|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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52
frightful
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|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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53
protruding
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|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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54
imprint
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|
| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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55
stony
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|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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56
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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57
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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58
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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59
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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60
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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61
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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62
plunged
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|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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63
shrill
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|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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64
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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65
shriek
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|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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66
tract
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|
| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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67
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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68
shudder
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|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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69
spasms
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|
| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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70
calves
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|
| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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71
crooked
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|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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72
affected
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|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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73
sobbing
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|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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74
stammered
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|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
brook
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|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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76
opposition
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|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
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77
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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78
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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79
torpor
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|
| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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80
stammering
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|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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81
brute
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|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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82
posture
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|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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83
curiously
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|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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84
scrutinized
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|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
tangled
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|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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86
exasperated
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|
| adj.恼怒的 | |
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87
spoke
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|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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88
copious
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|
| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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89
gored
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|
| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
infancy
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|
| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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91
wailing
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|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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92
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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93
commotion
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|
| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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94
trot
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|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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95
mare
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|
| n.母马，母驴 | |
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96
linen
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|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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97
disperse
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|
| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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98
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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99
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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100
disappearance
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|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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101
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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102
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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103
crafty
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|
| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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104
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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105
registrar
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| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
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106
animated
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|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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107
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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108
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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109
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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110
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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111
sobbed
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|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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112
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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113
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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114
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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115
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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116
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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117
incapable
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|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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118
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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119
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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120
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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121
crabs
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|
| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
innocence
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|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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123
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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124
dreaded
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|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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125
gliding
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|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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126
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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127
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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128
swollen
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|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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129
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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130
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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131
contemplating
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|
| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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132
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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133
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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134
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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135
overcast
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|
| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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136
beech
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|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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137
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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138
rigid
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|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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139
wrestler
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| n.摔角选手，扭 | |
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140
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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141
deviated
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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143
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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144
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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145
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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146
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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147
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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148
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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149
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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150
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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151
suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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152
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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153
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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154
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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155
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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156
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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157
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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158
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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159
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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160
precocity
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| n.早熟，早成 | |
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161
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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162
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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163
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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164
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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165
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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166
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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167
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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168
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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169
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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170
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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171
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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172
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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173
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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174
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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175
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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176
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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177
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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178
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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179
embroiling
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| v.使（自己或他人）卷入纠纷( embroil的现在分词 ) | |
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180
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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181
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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182
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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184
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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185
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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186
ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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187
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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188
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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189
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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190
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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191
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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192
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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193
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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194
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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195
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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196
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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197
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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198
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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199
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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200
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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201
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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202
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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203
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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204
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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205
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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206
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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207
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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208
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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209
pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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210
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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211
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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212
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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213
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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214
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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215
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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216
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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217
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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218
assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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219
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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220
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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221
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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222
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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223
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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224
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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225
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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226
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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227
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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228
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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229
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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230
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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231
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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232
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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233
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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234
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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235
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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236
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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237
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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238
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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239
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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241
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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242
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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243
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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244
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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245
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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246
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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247
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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248
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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249
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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250
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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251
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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252
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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