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Updated: September 18, 2025
Nothing was charged for except the champagne, and that cost only six francs a bottle, instead of ten, which was the usual price, and when they expressed their surprise at such generosity, Madame Tellier, who was beaming, said to them: "We don't have a holiday every day." To Leon Chapron. Marambot opened the letter which his servant Denis gave him and smiled.
A little yellow dog, a half-starved cur, followed him, barking; stopping when he stopped, and starting off when he started. "Hallo," said Marambot, "there is Madame Husson's 'Rosier'. "Madame Husson's 'Rosier'," I exclaimed in astonishment. "What do you mean?" The doctor began to laugh. "Oh, that is what we call drunkards round here.
But, suddenly, a thought flashed across his mind, and he began to shriek: "Stop, stop, Denis, I have not yet received my money!" The man immediately ceased, and his master could hear his labored breathing in the darkness. M. Marambot then went on: "I have received nothing. M. Malois takes back what he said, the law-suit will take place; that is why you carried the letters to the mail.
And Marambot, eager and almost eloquent, continued: "What beggars, those English! And what sots, my boy; they are all 'Rosiers, those hypocrites!" Then, after a silence, stretching out his arm towards the tiny river that glistened in the meadows, he said: "Did you know that Henry Monnier was one of the most untiring fishermen on the banks of the Epte?" "No, I did not know it."
He was an old school friend whom I had not seen for at least twelve years, and who was practicing medicine in Gisors. He had often written, inviting me to come and see him, and I had always promised to do so, without keeping my word. But at last I would take advantage of this opportunity. I asked the first passer-by: "Do you know where Dr. Marambot lives?"
I heard a sound of forks and of glasses and I cried: "Hallo, Marambot!" A door opened and a large man, with whiskers and a cross look on his face, appeared, carrying a dinner napkin in his hand. I certainly should not have recognized him. One would have said he was forty-five at least, and, in a second, all the provincial life which makes one grow heavy, dull and old came before me.
Nothing was charged for except the champagne, and that cost only six francs a bottle, instead of ten, which was the usual price, and when they expressed their surprise at such generosity, Madame Tellier, who was beaming, said to them: "We don't have a holiday every day." To Leon Chapron. Marambot opened the letter which his servant Denis gave him and smiled.
For twenty years Denis has been a servant in this house. He was a short, stout, jovial man, who was known throughout the countryside as a model servant. He asked: "Is monsieur pleased? Has monsieur received good news?" M. Marambot was not rich. He was an old village druggist, a bachelor, who lived on an income acquired with difficulty by selling drugs to the farmers. He answered: "Yes, my boy.
They, speak louder than I do, louder than the law; they cry: 'Mercy, for the poor wandering mind of a while ago! They implore, they pardon, they bless!" He was silent and sat down. Then the judge, turning to Marambot, whose testimony had been excellent for his servant, asked him: "But, monsieur, even admitting that you consider this man insane, that does not explain why you should have kept him.
What awful scheme could he now be carrying out? What was he doing? Well, he was washing him in order to hide the traces of his crime! And he would now bury him in the garden, under ten feet of earth, so that no one could discover him! Or perhaps under the wine cellar! And M. Marambot began to tremble like a leaf. He kept saying to himself: "I am lost, lost!"
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