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Updated: June 16, 2025
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.
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.
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 pane, 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.
The Brindille surrounded this rock, and over its clear, calm waters could be seen a long red thread of mingled brains and blood. There was not a breath of air stirring; a heavy mist was lying over the river. It was like a layer of cotton placed on the water. The banks themselves were indistinct, hidden behind strange fogs. But day was breaking and the hill was becoming visible.
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.
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 winding staircase to get back his letter, to demand it back from the postman.
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.
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.
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 entirely green flat sweep of country, intersected by trenches and hedges of pollard willows.
He walked on faster than ever, with his stick under his arm, his hands clenched 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.
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