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Updated: June 21, 2025
You are even able to recognize my handwriting. I tell you I want that paper." "I can't." "Look here, Mederic, you know that I'm incapable of deceiving you I tell you I want it." "No, I can't." A tremor of rage passed through Renardet's soul. "Damn it all, take care! You know that I don't go in for chaffing, and that I could get you out of your job, my good fellow, and without much delay either.
You are even able to recognize my handwriting. I tell you I want that paper." "I can't." "Look here, Mederic, you know that I'm incapable of deceiving you I tell you I want it." "No, I can't." A tremor of rage passed through Renardet's soul. "Damn it all, take care!
Renardet said to him: "Good morrow, Mederic." "Good morrow, M'sieu le Maire." "I say, Mederic, I threw a letter into the box that I want back again. I came to ask you to give it back to me." "That's all right, M'sieur le Maire you'll get it." And the postman raised his eyes. He stood petrified at the sight of Renardet's face.
She advanced quietly, passing straight across the grass, and over the border of withered flowers. Then she rose up into the air towards Renardet's window. She came towards him, as she had come on the day of the crime towards the murderer.
This abrupt action convinced Mederic that some important secret was at stake and made him resolve to do his duty, cost what it may. So he flung the letter into his bag and fastened it up, with the reply: "No, I can't, Monsieur le Maire. As long as it is for the magistrate, I can't." A dreadful pang wrung Renardet's heart and he murmured: "Why, you know me well.
Since Madame Renardet's death he had suffered continually without knowing why, he had suffered at not feeling her dress brushing past him, and, above all, from no longer being able to calm and rest himself in her arms.
It was icy cold, with the terrible coldness of death which leaves us no longer in doubt. The letter carrier, as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he said himself afterward, and his mouth parched. Rising up abruptly, he rushed off under the trees toward Monsieur Renardet's house.
And when the little body, rolled up in blankets which had been brought out from Renardet's house, had disappeared in the vehicle, the old woman standing under the trees, sustained by the mayor and the captain, exclaimed: "I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world, not even her little cap her little cap." The cure, a young priest, had just arrived.
Renardet said to him: "Good-morrow, Mederic." "Good-morrow, Monsieur le Maire." "I say, Mederic, I threw a letter into the box that I want back again. I came to ask you to give it back to me." "That's all right, Monsieur le Maire you'll get it." And the postman raised his eyes. He stood petrified at the sight of Renardet's face.
Then the dead girl rose up and came toward him with little steps just as the child had done when she came out of the river. She advanced quietly, passing straight across the grass and over the bed of withered flowers. Then she rose up in the air toward Renardet's window. She came toward him as she had come on the day of the crime.
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