الفصل الفصل 15 · 第14章（2）

"Yes, father."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, father."

"Do you swear it?"

"Yes, father."

"I beg of you, I implore of you, son do not forget. I bind you to it."

"No, father."

"You will go yourself. I want you to make sure of everything."

"Yes, father."

"And, then, you will see--you will see what she will explain to you. As

for me, I can say no more to you. You have vowed to do it."

"Yes, father."

"That's good, my son. Embrace me. Farewell. I am going to break up, I'm

sure. Tell them they may come in."

Young Hautot embraced his father, groaning while he did so; then, always

docile, he opened the door, and the priest appeared in a white surplice,

carrying the holy oils.

But the dying man had closed his eyes, and he refused to open them

again, he refused to answer, he refused to show, even by a sign, that he

understood.

He had spoken enough, this man; he could speak no more. Besides he now

felt his heart calm; he wanted to die in peace. What need had he to make

a confession to the deputy of God, since he had just done so to his son,

who constituted his own family?

He received the last rites, was purified and absolved, in the midst of

his friends and his servants on their bended knees, without any movement

of his face indicating that he still lived.

He expired about midnight, after four hours' convulsive movements, which

showed that he must have suffered dreadfully in his last moments.

* * * * *

PART II

It was on the following Tuesday that they buried him, the shooting

opened on Sunday. On his return home, after having accompanied his

father to the cemetery, Cesar Hautot spent the rest of the day weeping.

He scarcely slept at all on the following night, and he felt so sad on

awakening that he asked himself how he could go on living.

However, he kept thinking until evening that, in order to obey the last

wish of his father, he ought to repair to Rouen next day, and see this

girl Catholine Donet, who resided in the Rue d'Eperlan in the third

story, second door. He had repeated to himself in a whisper, just as a

little boy repeats a prayer, this name and address, a countless number

of times, so that he might not forget them, and he ended by lisping them

continually, without being able to stop or to think of what it was, so

much were his tongue and his mind possessed by the appellation.

According, on the following day, about eight o'clock, he ordered

Graindorge to be yoked to the tilbury, and set forth, at the quick

trotting pace of the heavy Norman horse, along the high road from the

Ainville to Rouen. He wore his black frock coat drawn over his

shoulders, a tall silk hat on his head, and on his legs his breeches

with straps; and he did not wish, on account of the occasion, to

dispense with the handsome costume, the blue overall which swelled in

the wind, protected the cloth from dust and from stains, and which was

to be removed quickly on reaching his destination the moment he had

jumped out of the coach.

He entered Rouen accordingly just as it was striking ten o'clock, drew

up, as he had usually done at the Hotel des Bon-Enfants, in the Rue des

Trois-Mares, submitted to the hugs of the landlord and his wife and

their five children, for they had heard the melancholy news; after that,

he had to tell them all the particulars about the accident, which caused

him to shed tears, to repel all the proffered attentions which they

sought to thrust upon him merely because he was wealthy, and to decline

even the breakfast they wanted him to partake of, thus wounding their

sensibilities.

Then, having wiped the dust off his hat, brushed his coat and removed

the mud stains from his boots, he set forth in search of the Rue de

l'Eperlan, without venturing to make inquiries from anyone, for fear of

being recognized and arousing suspicions.

At length, being unable to find the place, he saw a priest passing by,

and, trusting to the professional discretion which churchmen possess, he

questioned the ecclesiastic.

He had only a hundred steps farther to go; it was exactly the second

street to the right.

Then he hesitated. Up to that moment, he had obeyed, like a mere animal,

the expressed wish of the deceased. Now he felt quite agitated,

confused, humiliated, at the idea of finding himself--the son--in the

presence of this woman who had been his father's mistress. All the

morality which lies buried in our breasts, heaped up at the bottom of

our sensuous emotions by centuries of hereditary instruction, all that

he had been taught since he had learned his catechism about creatures of

evil life, to instinctive contempt which every man entertains towards

them, even though he may marry one of them, all the narrow honesty of

the peasant in his character, was stirred up within him, and held him

back, making him grow red with shame.

But he said to himself:

"I promised the father, I must not break my promise."

Then he gave a push to the door of the house bearing the number 18,

which stood ajar, discovered a gloomy-looking staircase, ascended three

flights, perceived a door, then a second door, came upon the string of a

bell, and pulled it. The ringing, which resounded in the apartment

before which he stood, sent a shiver through his frame. The door was

opened, and he found himself facing a young lady very well dressed, a

brunette with a fresh complexion who gazed at him with eyes of

astonishment.

He did not know what to say to her, and she who suspected nothing, and

who was waiting for the other, did not invite him to come in. They stood

looking thus at one another for nearly half-a-minute, at the end of

which she said in a questioning tone:

"You have something to tell me Monsieur?" He falteringly replied:

"I am M. Hautot's son."

She gave a start, turned pale, and stammered out as If she had known him

for a long time:

"Monsieur Cesar?"

"Yes."

"And what next?"

"I have come to speak to you on the part of my father."

She articulated:

"Oh my God!"

She then drew back so that he might enter. He shut the door and followed

her into the interior. Then he saw a little boy of four or five years

playing with a cat, seated on a floor in front of a stove, from which

rose the steam of dishes which were being kept hot.

"Take a seat," she said.

He sat down.

She asked:

"Well?"

He no longer ventured to speak, keeping his eyes fixed on the table

which stood in the center of the room, with three covers laid on it,

one of which was for a child. He glanced at the chair which had its back

turned to the fire. They had been expecting him. That was his bread

which he saw, and which he recognized near the fork, for the crust had

been removed on account of Hautot's bad teeth. Then, raising his eyes,

he noticed on the wall his father's portrait, the large photograph taken

at Paris the year of the exhibition, the same as that which hung above

the bed in the sleeping apartment at Ainville.

The young woman again asked:

"Well, Monsieur Cesar?"

He kept staring at her. Her face was livid with anguish; and she waited,

her hands trembling with fear.

Then he took courage.

"Well, Mam'zelle, papa died on Sunday last just after he had opened the

shooting."

She was so much overwhelmed that she did not move. After a silence of a

few seconds, she faltered in an almost inaudible tone:

"Oh! it is not possible!"

Then, on a sudden, tears showed themselves in her eyes, and covering her

face with her hands, she burst out sobbing.

At that point the little boy turned round, and, seeing his mother

weeping, began to howl. Then, realizing that this sudden trouble was

brought about by the stranger, he rushed at Cesar, caught hold of his

breeches with one hand, and with the other hit him with all his strength

on the thigh. And Cesar remained agitated, deeply affected, with this

woman mourning for his father at one side of him, and the little boy

defending his mother at the other. He felt their emotion taking

possession of himself, and his eyes were beginning to brim over with the

same sorrow; so, to recover her self-command, he began to talk:

"Yes," he said, "the accident occurred on Sunday, at eight o'clock--."

And he told, as if she were listening to him, all the facts without

forgetting a single detail, mentioning the most trivial matters with the

minuteness of a countryman. And the child still kept assailing him,

making kicks at his ankles.

When he came to the time at which his father had spoken about her, her

attention was caught by hearing her own name, and, uncovering her face

she said:

"Pardon me! I was not following you; I would like to know--If you did

not mind beginning over again."

He related everything at great length, with stoppages, breaks and

reflections of his own from time to time. She listened to him eagerly

now perceiving with a woman's keen sensibility all the sudden changes of

fortune which his narrative indicated, and trembling with horror, every

now and then, exclaiming:

"Oh, my God!"

The little fellow, believing that she had calmed down, ceased beating

Cesar, in order to catch his mother's hand, and he listened, too, as if

he understood.

When the narrative was finished, young Hautot continued:

"Now we will settle matters together in accordance with his wishes."

"Listen: I am well off he has left me plenty of means. I don't want you

to have anything to complain about--"

But she quickly interrupted him.

"Oh, Monsieur Cesar, Monsieur Cesar, not to-day. I am cut to the

heart--another time--another day. No, not to-day. If I accept, listen!

'Tis not for myself--no, no, no, I swear to you. 'Tis for the child.

Besides this provision will be put to his account."

Thereupon, Cesar scared, divined the truth, and stammering:

"So then--'tis his--the child?"

"Why, yes," she said.

And Hautot, Junior, gazed at his brother with a confused emotion,

intense and painful.

After a lengthened silence, for she had begun to weep afresh, Cesar,

quite embarrassed, went on:

"Well, then, Mam'zelle Donet I am going. When would you wish to talk

this over with me?"

She exclaimed:

"Oh! no, don't go! don't go. Don't leave me all alone with Emile. I

would die of grief. I have no longer anyone, anyone but my child. Oh!

what wretchedness, what wretchedness. Mousieur Cesar! Stop! Sit down

again. You will say something more to me. You will tell me what he was

doing over there all the week."

And Cesar resumed his seat, accustomed to obey.

She drew over another chair for herself in front of the stove, where the

dishes had all this time been simmering, took Emile upon her knees, and

asked Cesar a thousand questions about his father with reference to

matters of an intimate nature, which made him feel without reasoning on

the subject, that she had loved Hautot with all the strength of her

frail woman's heart.

And, by the natural concatenation of his ideas--which were rather

limited in number--he recurred once more to the accident, and set about

telling the story over again with all the same details.

When he said:

"He had a hole in his stomach--you could put your two fists into it."

She gave vent to a sort of shriek, and the tears gushed forth again from

her eyes.

Then seized by the contagion of her grief, Cesar began to weep, too, and

as tears always soften the fibers of the heart, he bent over Emile whose

forehead was close to his own mouth, and kissed him.

The mother, recovering her breath, murmured:

"Poor lad, he is an orphan now!"

"And so am I," said Cesar.

And they ceased to talk.

But suddenly the practical instinct of the housewife, accustomed to be

thoughtful about many things, revived in the young woman's breast.

"You have perhaps taken nothing all the morning, Monsieur Cesar."

"No, Mam'zelle."

"Oh! you must be hungry. You will eat a morsel."

"Thanks," he said, "I am not hungry; I have had too much trouble."

She replied:

"In spite of sorrow, we must live. You will not refuse to let me get

something for you! And then you will remain a little longer. When you

are gone, I don't know what will become of me."

He yielded after some further resistance, and, sitting down with his

back to the fire, facing her, he ate a plateful of tripe, which had been

bubbling in the stove, and drank a glass of red wine. But he would not

allow her to uncork the bottle of white wine. He several times wiped

the mouth of the little boy, who had smeared all his chin with sauce.

As he was rising up to go, he asked:

"When would you like me to come back to speak about this business to

you, Mam'zelle Donet?"

"If it is all the same to you, say next Thursday, Monsieur Cesar. In

that way, I would lose none of my time, as I always have my Thursdays

free."

"That will suit me--next Thursday."

"You will come to lunch. Won't you?"

"Oh! On that point I can't give you a promise."

"The reason I suggested is that people can chat better when they are

eating. One has more time too."

"Well, be it so. About twelve o'clock, then."

And he took his departure, after he had again kissed little Emile, and

pressed Mademoiselle Donet's hand.

* * * * *

PART III

The week appeared long to Cesar Hautot. He had never before found

himself alone, and the isolation seemed to him insupportable. Till now,

he had lived at his father's side, just like his shadow, followed him

into the fields, superintended the execution of his orders, and, when

they had been a short time separated, again met him at dinner. They had

spent the evenings smoking their pipes, face to face with one another,

chatting about horses, cows or sheep, and the grip of their hands when

they rose up in the morning might have been regarded as a manifestation

of deep family affection on both sides.

Now Cesar was alone, he went vacantly through the process of dressing

the soil of autumn, every moment expecting to see the tall gesticulating

silhouette of his father rising up at the end of a plain. To kill time,

he entered the houses of his neighbors, told about the accident to all

who had not heard of it, and sometimes repeated it to the others. Then,

after he had finished his occupations and his reflections, he would sit

down at the side of a road, asking himself whether this kind of life was

going to last for ever.

He frequently thought of Mademoiselle Donet. He liked her. He considered

her thoroughly respectable, a gentle and honest young woman, as his

father had said. Yes, undoubtedly she was an honest girl. He resolved to

act handsomely towards her, and to give her two thousand francs a year,

settling the capital on the child. He even experienced a certain

pleasure in thinking that he was going to see her on the following

Thursday and arrange this matter with her. And then the notion of this

brother, this little chap of five, who was his father's son, plagued

him, annoyed him a little, and, at the same time, exhibited him. He had,

as it were, a family in this brat, sprung from a clandestine alliance,

who would never bear the name of Hautot, a family which he might take or

leave, just as he pleased, but which would recall his father.

And so, when he saw himself on the road to Rouen on Thursday morning,

carried along by Graindorge trotting with clattering foot-beats, he felt

his heart lighter, more at peace than he had hitherto felt it since his

bereavement.

On entering Mademoiselle Donet's apartment, he saw the table laid as on

the previous Thursday with the sole difference that the crust had not

been removed from the bread. He pressed the young woman's hand, kissed

Emile on the cheeks, and sat down, more at ease than if he were in his

own house, his heart swelling in the same way. Mademoiselle Donet seemed

to him a little thinner and paler. She must have grieved sorely. She

wore now an air of constraint in his presence, as if she understood what

she had not felt the week before under the first blow of her misfortune,

and she exhibited an excessive deference towards him, a mournful

humility, and made touching efforts to please him, as if to pay him back

by her attentions for the kindness he had manifested towards her. They

were a long time at lunch talking over the business, which had brought

him there. She did not want so much money. It was too much. She earned

enough to live on herself, but she only wished that Emile might find a

few sous awaiting him when he grew big. Cesar held out, however, and

even added a gift of a thousand francs for herself for the expense of

mourning.

When he had taken his coffee, she asked:

"Do you smoke?"

"Yes--I have my pipe."

He felt in his pocket. Good God! He had forgotten it! He was becoming

quite woebegone about it when she offered him a pipe of his father that

had been shut up in a cupboard. He accepted it, took it up in his hand,

recognized it, smelled it, spoke of its quality in a tone of emotion,

filled it with tobacco, and lighted it. Then, he set Emile astride on

his knee, and made him play the cavalier, while she removed the

tablecloth, and put the soiled plates at one end of the sideboard in

order to wash them as soon as he was gone.

About three o'clock, he rose up with regret, quite annoyed at the

thought of having to go.

"Well! Mademoiselle Donet," he said, "I wish you good evening, and am

delighted to have found you like this."

She remained standing before him, blushing, much affected, and gazed at

him while she thought of the other.

"Shall we not see one another again?" she said.

He replied simply:

"Why, yes, mam'zelle, if it gives you pleasure."

"Certainly, Monsieur Cesar. Will next Thursday suit you then?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle Donet."

"You will come to lunch, of course?"

"Well--if you are so kind as to invite me, I can't refuse."

"It is understood, then, Monsieur Cesar--next Thursday at twelve, the

same as to-day."

"Thursday at twelve, Mam'zelle Donet!"

* * * * *

LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE

Mederic Rompel, the postman, who was familiarly called by the country

people Mederi, started at the usual hour from the posthouse at

Rouy-le-Tors. Having passed through the little town with his big strides

of an old trooper, he first cut across the meadows of Villaumes in order

to reach the bank of the Brindelle, which led him along the water's edge

to the village of Carvelin, where his distribution commenced. He went

quickly, following the course of the narrow river, which frothed,

murmured, and boiled along its bed of grass, under an arch of

willow-trees. The big stones, impeding the flow, had around them a

cushion of water, a sort of cravat ending in a knot of foam. In some

places, there were cascades, a foot wide, often invisible, which made

under the leaves, under the tendrils, under a roof of verdure, a big

noise at once angry and gentle; then, further on, the banks widened out,

and you saw a small, placid lake where trouts were swimming in the midst

of all that green vegetation which keeps undulating in the depths of

tranquil streams.

Mederic went on without a halt, seeing nothing, and with only this

thought in his mind: "My first letter is for the Poivron family, then I

have one for M. Renardet; so I must cross the wood."

His blue blouse, fastened round his waist by a black leathern belt moved

in a quick, regular fashion above the green hedge of the willow-trees;

and his stick of stout holly kept time with the steady movement of his

legs.

Then, he crossed the Brindelle over a bridge formed of a single tree

thrown lengthwise, with a rope attached to two stakes driven into the

river's banks as its only balustrade.

The wood, which belonged to M. Renardet, the Mayor of Carvelin, and the

largest landowner in the district, consisted of a number 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 for this immense

arch of foliage. Alongside the water there were large shrubs warmed by

the sun; but under the trees you found nothing but moss, thick, soft,

plastic moss, which exhaled into the stagnant air a light odor of loam

with withered branches.

Mederic slackened his pace, took off his black cap adorned 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

accelerated 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 needle-case not far away.

Having taken up these objects, he thought: "I'll intrust 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 drew up stiffly as if he had knocked himself against

a wooden bar; for, ten paces in front of him, lay stretched on her back

a little girl, quite naked, on the moss. She was about twelve years old.

Her arms were hanging down, her legs parted, and her face covered with

a handkerchief. There were little spots of blood on her thighs.

Mederic advanced now on tiptoe, as if he were afraid to make a noise,

apprehended some danger, and he glanced towards the spot uneasily.

What was this? No doubt, she was asleep. Then, he reflected that a

person does not go to sleep thus naked, at half-past seven in the

morning under 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 this blood

stuck on her leg. How, then, had she been killed?

He stopped quite near her; and he stared at her, while he leaned on his

stick. Certainly, he knew her, as 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 corpse

before the magisterial investigation? 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 a stab of a knife in the stomach.

Perhaps under this handkerchief evidence to support a capital charge

could be found; in fact if there were sufficient proof there to secure a

conviction, it might lost its value, if touched by an awkward hand.

Then, he raised himself with the intention of hastening towards the

Mayor's residence, but again another thought held him back. If the

little girl was still alive, by any chance, he could not leave her lying

there in this way. He sank on his knees very gently, a little bit away

from her through precaution, and extended his hand towards her feet. It

was icy cold, with the terrible coldness which makes the dead flesh

frightful, and which leaves us no longer in doubt. The letter-carrier,

as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he said to himself

afterwards and his lips were parched with dry spittle. Rising up

abruptly he rushed off under the trees towards M. Renardet's house.

He walked on in double-quick time, with his stick under his arm, his

hands clenched, and his head thrust forward, and his leathern bag,

filled with letters and newspapers, kept regularly flapping at his side.

The Mayor's residence was at the end of the wood which he used as a

park, and one side of it was washed by a little pool formed at this spot

by the Brindelle.

It was a big, square house of gray stone, very old, which had stood many

a siege in former days, and at the end of it was a huge tower, twenty

meters high, built in the water.

From the top of this fortress the entire country around it could be seen

in olden times. It was called the Fox's tower, without anyone knowing

exactly why; and from this appellation, 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 provinces 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 weight and authority, and it was soon

understood that something serious had happened.

As soon as word was brought to M. 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 in front of a long table covered with

scattered papers.

He was a big, tall man, heavy and red-faced, strong as an ox and was

greatly liked in the district, though of an excessively violent

disposition. Very nearly forty years old, and a widower for the past six

months, he lived on his estate like a country gentleman. His choleric

temperament had often brought him into trouble, from which the

magistrates of Rouy-le-Tors, like indulgent and prudent friends, had

extricated him. Had he not one day thrown the conductor of the diligence

from the top of his seat because he was near crushing his retriever,

Micmac? Had he not broken the ribs of a gamekeeper, who abused him for

having, with a gun in his hand, passed through a neighbor's property?

Had he not even caught by the collar the sub-prefect, who stopped in the

village in the course of an administrative round described by M.

Renardet as an electioneering round; for he was against the government,

according to his family tradition.

The Mayor asked:

"What's the matter now, Mederic?"

"I found a little girl dead in your wood."

Renardet rose up, with his face the color of brick.

"Do you say--a little girl?"

"Yes, m'sieur, a little girl, quite naked, on her back, with blood on

her, dead--quite dead!"

The Mayor gave vent to an oath:

"My God, I'd make a bet 'tis 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 pointed out where the place was, gave full details, and

offered to conduct the Mayor to the spot.

But Renardet became brusque:

"No, I don't need you. Send the steward, the Mayor's secretary, and the

doctor immediately to me, and resume your rounds. Quick, quick, go and

tell them to meet me in the woods."

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 hat, a big soft

hat, and paused for a few seconds on the threshold of his abode. In

front of him stretched a wide sward, in which three large patches were

conspicuous--three large beds of flowers in full bloom, one facing the

house and the others at either side of it. Further on, rose skyward the

principal trees in the wood, while at the left, above the Brindelle

widened into a pool, could be seen long meadows, an entirely green flat

sweep of the country, cut by dikes and willow edges like monsters,

twisted dwarf-trees, always cut short, and having on their thick squat

trunks a quivering tuft of thick branches.

At the right, behind the stables, the outhouses, all the buildings

connected with the property, might be seen the village, which was

wealthy, being mainly inhabited by rearers of oxen.

Renardet slowly descended 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 went on with bent head, and from time to

time he glanced round in search of the persons for whom he had sent.

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 falling in

fiery rain upon the ground. Then the Mayor resumed his journey, stopped

once more, and retraced his steps. Suddenly, stooping down, he steeped

his handkerchief in the stream that glided at his feet, and stretched it

round his head, under his hat. Drops of water flowed along his temples

over his ears always purple over his strong red neck, and made their

way, one after the other, under his white shirt-collar.

As nobody yet appeared he began tapping with his foot, then he called

out--

"Hallo! Hallo!"

A voice at his right, answered:

"Hallo! Hallo!"

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

practitioner. He limped, having been wounded while in the service, and

had to use a stick to assist him in walking.

Next came the steward 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 trotting in turn in order 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 on side by side, followed by the two men.

Their steps made no noise on the moss, their eyes were gazing downward

right in front of them.

The doctor hastened his steps, interested by the discovery. As soon as

they were near the corpse, he bent down to examine it without touching

it. He had put on a pair of glasses, as when one is looking at some

curious object, and turned round very quietly.

He said without rising up:

"Violated and assassinated, as we are going to prove presently. This

little girl moreover, is almost a woman--look at her throat."

Her two breasts, already nearly full-developed, fell over her chest,

relaxed by death.

The doctor lightly drew away the handkerchief which covered her face. It

looked black, frightful, the tongue protruding, the eyes bloodshot. He

went on:

"Faith, 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 imprint of the fingers. Quite right. It is

little Louise Roque, sure enough!"

He delicately 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."