"Let no one advance," said he, and, followed by the justice of the
peace, he approached the corpse. Although the face could not be
distinguished, both recognized the countess. Both had seen her in this
gray robe, adorned with blue trimmings.
Now, how came she there?
The mayor thought that having succeeded in escaping from the hands of
the murderers, she had fled wildly. They had pursued her, had caught up
with her there, and she had fallen to rise no more. This version
explained the traces of the struggle. It must have been the count's body
that they had dragged across the lawn.
M. Courtois talked excitedly, trying to impose his ideas on the justice.
But M. Plantat hardly listened; you might have thought him a hundred
leagues from Valfeuillu; he only responded by monosyllables--yes, no,
perhaps. And the worthy mayor gave himself great pains; he went and
came, measured steps, minutely scrutinized the ground.
There was not at this place more than a foot of water. A mud-bank, upon
which grew some clumps of flags and some water-lilies, descended by a
gentle decline from the bank to the middle of the river. The water was
very clear, and there was no current; the slippery and slimy mire could
be distinctly seen.
M. Courtois had gone thus far in his investigations, when he was struck
by a sudden idea.
"Bertaud," said he, "come here."
The old poacher obeyed.
"You say that you saw the body from your boat?"
"Yes, Monsieur Mayor."
"Where is your boat?"
"There, hauled up to that field."
"Well, lead us to it."
It was clear to all that this order had a great effect upon the man. He
trembled and turned pale under his rough skin, tanned as it was by sun
and storm. He was even seen to cast a menacing look toward his son.
"Let us go," said he at last.
They were returning to the house when the valet proposed to pass over
the ditch. "That will be the quickest way," said he, "I will go for a
ladder which we will put across."
He went off, and quickly reappeared with his improvised foot-bridge. But
at the moment he was adjusting it, the mayor cried out to him:
"Stop!"
The imprints left by the Bertauds on both sides of the ditch had just
caught his eye.
"What is this?" said he; "evidently someone has crossed here, and not
long ago; for the traces of the steps are quite fresh."
After an examination of some minutes he ordered that the ladder should
be placed farther off. When they had reached the boat, he said to Jean,
"Is this the boat with which you went to take up your nets this
morning?"
"Yes."
"Then," resumed M. Courtois, "what implements did you use? your cast net
is perfectly dry; this boat-hook and these oars have not been wet for
twenty-four hours."
The distress of the father and son became more and more evident.
"Do you persist in what you say, Bertaud?" said the mayor.
"Certainly."
"And you, Philippe?"
"Monsieur," stammered the young man, "we have told the truth."
"Really!" said M. Courtois, in an ironical tone. "Then you will explain
to the proper authorities how it was that you could see anything from a
boat which you had not entered. It will be proved to you, also, that the
body is in a position where it is impossible to see it from the middle
of the river. Then you will still have to tell what these foot-prints on
the grass are, which go from your boat to the place where the ditch has
been crossed several times and by several persons."
The two Bertauds hung their heads.
"Brigadier," ordered the mayor, "arrest these two men in the name of the
law, and prevent all communication between them."
Philippe seemed to be ill. As for old Jean, he contented himself with
shrugging his shoulders and saying to his son:
"Well, you would have it so, wouldn't you?"
While the brigadier led the two poachers away, and shut them up
separately, and under the guard of his men, the justice and the mayor
returned to the park. "With all this," muttered M. Courtois, "no traces
of the count."
They proceeded to take up the body of the countess. The mayor sent for
two planks, which, with a thousand precautions, they placed on the
ground, being able thus to move the countess without effacing the
imprints necessary for the legal examination. Alas! it was indeed she
who had been the beautiful, the charming Countess de Tremorel! Here were
her smiling face, her lovely, speaking eyes, her fine, sensitive mouth.
There remained nothing of her former self. The face was unrecognizable,
so soiled and wounded was it. Her clothes were in tatters. Surely a
furious frenzy had moved the monsters who had slain the poor lady! She
had received more than twenty knife-wounds, and must have been struck
with a stick, or rather with a hammer; she had been dragged by her feet
and by her hair!
In her left hand she grasped a strip of common cloth, torn, doubtless,
from the clothes of one of the assassins. The mayor, in viewing the
spectacle, felt his legs fail him, and supported himself on the arm of
the impassible Plantat.
"Let us carry her to the house," said the justice, "and then we will
search for the count."
The valet and brigadier (who had now returned) called on the domestics
for assistance. The women rushed into the garden. There was then a
terrible concert of cries, lamentations, and imprecations.
"The wretches! So noble a mistress! So good a lady!"