to see underneath. I will look after the sideboard.” He got up and waited while the man carried out his orders.
Lenient, short and fat, took off his helmet, threw himself on his stomach, and gluing his head to the ground, gazed for some time into the black hollow under the bed. Then he suddenly cried out: “I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”
The inspector bent over the constable: “What have you got, the rabbit?”
“No, the thief!”
“The thief! Fetch him out, fetch him out!”
The constable, whose arms were both under the bed, was pulling at something with all his strength. At last with his right hand he pulled out a foot wearing a heavy shoe. The inspector caught hold of it: “Courage, courage! pull hard!”
Lenient, who was now on his knees, pulled at the other leg. But it was hard work, for the prisoner was kicking steadily, rolling about and arching his back, wedged up against the crossbar of the bed by his hips.
“Courage, courage! Pull,” cried Sénateur.
They pulled so hard that the crossbar gave way and the man’s body was dragged out, but not his head, with which he was still holding on to his hiding-place.
At last they managed to get it out too, and they saw the angry, terrified face of Polyte, whose arms were still under the bed.
“One more pull!” cried the inspector. Then there was a strange sound, and as arms followed shoulders, and hands followed arms, first a casserole-handle was seen in the hands, and the end of the handle the casserole itself, which contained the stewed rabbit.
“Good Lord! good Lord!” bellowed the inspector, wild with joy, while Lenient made sure of the prisoner.
The rabbit-skin, undeniable proof of theft, the last and most damning piece of evidence, was discovered in the mattress.
Then the police returned to the village in triumph with the prisoner, the stewed rabbit, and the rabbit-skin.
A week later, the whole affair having made a considerable stir, Master Lecacheur, on arriving at the Hall to discuss matters with the schoolmaster, was told that the shepherd Severin had been waiting for an hour to see him.
He was sitting on a chair in the corner with his stick between his legs. When he caught sight of the mayor he got up, took off his cap and bowed, saying: “Good day, Master Cacheux,” but he did not sit down again, as he felt shy and awkward.
“What do you want?” said the farmer.
“Well, there, Master Cacheux, is it true that a rabbit was stolen from your place the other week?”
“Yes, that’s true, Severin.”
“Ah, well, then it’s really true?”
“Yes, my good fellow.”
“And who stole it, the rabbit?”
“Polyte Ancas, the labourer.”
“Ah, well. It is also really true that he was found under my bed?”
“What do you mean, the rabbit?”
“The rabbit and Polyte as well, one at one end and the other at the other.”
“Yes, poor old chap. That’s true.”
“Then it’s really true?”
“Yes. Whoever told you about it?”
“Pretty well everybody. I understand. And then, and then, well, you must know all about married life, seeing that you as a mayor marry people.”
“What do you mean, about married life?”
“I mean about one’s rights.”
“What do you mean by one’s rights?”
“All about the rights of husband and wife.”
“Yes, I know all that.”
“Well, then, tell me, Master Cacheux, has my wife the right to sleep with Polyte?”
“What do you mean, to sleep with Polyte?”
“Yes, has she the right, according to law and seeing that she is my wife, to sleep with Polyte?”
“No, no, of course not, she has not the right.”
“If I find her at it again, have I the right to beat her, have I? To beat her and him too?”
“Why … why … why, yes.”
“That’s all right and settled. Now I am going to tell you why I asked.
“One night last week, as I had my doubts, I went home and found them there, and not lying back to back, mind you. I chucked Polyte out of doors to sleep; but that was all, as I did not know what my rights were. This time I did not see them, I heard about it. Well, it’s over, we will say no more about it. But if I catch them at it again … by G⸺, if I catch them at it again, I’ll make them lose all taste for this kind of joke, Master Cacheux, as sure as my name is Severin. …”
The Orderly
Crowded with officers, the cemetery looked like a field of flowers. Red caps and breeches, gold stripes and buttons, swords and the shoulder-knots of the staff officers, the gold lace of the Chasseurs and the Hussars, all moved through the midst of the graves where black or white crosses stretched their mournful arms of iron, marble or wood over the vanished hosts of the dead.
Colonel Limousin’s wife, drowned in her bath two days previously, had just been laid to rest.
All was over, the clergy had departed, but the Colonel, supported by two officers, remained standing before the open grave, at the bottom of which he could still see the wooden coffin which hid the mouldering corpse of his young wife.
He was getting on in years, tall and thin, with a white moustache. Three years earlier, he had married a comrade’s daughter, who had been left an orphan after the death of her father, Colonel Sortis.
The captain and lieutenant upon whom their chief was leaning tried to lead him away. He resisted them, his eyes full of tears which he bravely forced back; and murmuring in a low voice: “No, no! wait a little,” he insisted on remaining there, scarcely able to stand, on the edge of the grave, which appeared bottomless to him, an abyss which had swallowed up love and life, all that remained to him on earth.
Suddenly General Ormont approached, seized the Colonel by the arm, and dragged him away rather roughly, saying: “Come, come, old friend, you must not stay there!” The Colonel submitted and returned home.
As he opened the door of his study, he noticed a
