Médéric was known for a man of weight and authority, and they knew at once that something serious had happened.
Monsieur Renardet was notified, and ordered the man to be brought in. Pale and out of breath, the postman, cap in hand, found the mayor seated at a long table covered with scattered papers.
He was a tall, stout man, with an unwieldy figure and a ruddy skin. He was as strong as a bull, and much loved in the locality, for all his quick temper. About forty years of age, and for the past six months a widower, he lived on his land in the style of a country nobleman. His impetuous nature had landed him in many awkward places, from which he had always been rescued by his indulgent and tactful comrades, the magistrates of Roüy-le-Tors. Was it not he, indeed, who one fine day threw the driver of the mail coach from his box, because the fellow had almost run over his pointer Micmac? Had he not broken the ribs of a gamekeeper who prosecuted him for carrying his gun across a piece of land belonging to a neighbour? Had he not even arrested the subprefect who was stopping in the village in the pursuit of his administrative duties—styled by Monsieur Renardet an electioneering campaign, because it was opposed to the good old tradition of government by the family?
“What’s the matter, Médéric?” asked the mayor.
“I’ve found a little girl in your wood, dead.”
Renardet rose, his face brick-red.
“What did you say … a little girl?”
“Yes, sir, a little girl, quite naked, lying on her back, and there was some blood; she’s dead as a doornail.”
“My God,” swore the mayor, “I bet it’s Madame Roque’s little girl! I’ve just been told that last night she never came home to her mother’s. Where did you find her?”
The postman began a detailed explanation, and offered to guide the mayor to the spot.
But Renardet turned gruff. “No, I don’t need you. Send the constable, the town clerk, and the doctor to me as soon as you can, and go on with your delivery. Hurry, man, hurry, and tell them to meet me in the wood.”
The postman, accustomed to discipline, obediently withdrew, angry and disgusted at being excluded from the inquiry.
The mayor thereupon went too, taking his hat, a large soft hat of grey felt, with a very broad brim. He halted a moment upon the threshold of his dwelling. Before him stretched a wide lawn where gleamed three great splashes of red, blue, and white, three monstrous baskets of flowers in full bloom, one right opposite the house, the other two at the sides. In the background thrust the first few trees of the wood; on the left, on the far side of the Brindille which here widened into a pool, a wide expanse of meadows lay open to his view, a green, flat landscape intersected by ditches and hedges of pollard willows. These fantastic tree-creatures, standing there like ghosts or hunchbacks, bore upon their short thick trunks a waving fan of little branches.
On the right were the stables, the outhouses, and all the buildings dependent upon the property; behind them began the village, a prosperous little place chiefly inhabited by cattle-breeders.
Renardet walked slowly down his steps and, turning to the left, reached the bank of the stream, which he followed at a slow pace, his hands behind his back. His head was bent, and from time to time he sent a piercing glance round him in search of the men he had sent for.
When he reached the shelter of the trees, he stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his brow, as Médéric had done; for the blazing July sun fell like a rain of fire upon the earth. Then the mayor resumed his journey, stopped once more, and retraced his steps. Suddenly he bent down and soaked his handkerchief in the stream running at his feet. He spread it upon his head, under his hat; drops of water trickled over his temples, over his purple ears, over his strong red neck, and, one after another, ran beneath the white collar of his shirt.
As no one had yet appeared, he began to tap with his foot; then he shouted: “Hey! Hey!”
From the right a voice answered: “Hey! Hey!”
The doctor appeared under the trees. He was a small thin man, once an army surgeon, with a local reputation for great skill. He was lame, having been wounded on active service, and walked with a stick. The constable and the town clerk appeared next; they arrived together, having both received the news at the same time. They ran up panting, with scared faces, walking and running by turns in their haste, and waving their arms so wildly that they seemed to do more work with them than with their legs.
“You know what the trouble is?” said Renardet to the doctor.
“Yes, a dead child found in the wood by Médéric.”
“That’s right. Come along.”
They set off side by side, following the other pair. Their steps made no sound upon the moss, their eyes continually searched the ground in front of them.
Suddenly Doctor Labarbe stretched out his arm: “There it is.”
Far off, under the trees, something bright could be seen. Had they not known what it was, they would never have guessed. So shining white it looked that anyone would have thought it a sheet dropped on the ground, for a sunbeam came through the branches and lit up the pale flesh with a great ray flung obliquely over the stomach of the corpse. As they drew near, they gradually made out the form, the veiled head turned towards the water, and the two arms flung wide apart as in a crucifixion.
“I’m damned hot,” said the mayor, and, stooping down to the Brindille, he again wetted his handkerchief and replaced it on his head.
The doctor hurried on, interested by the discovery.
