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Updated: May 21, 2025
Since Madame Renardet's death, he had suffered continually without knowing why, he had suffered from not feeling her dress brush against his legs every day, and, above all, from no longer being able to grow calm and languid between her arms.
The letter-carrier, as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he said to himself afterwards and his lips were parched with dry spittle. Rising up abruptly he rushed off under the trees towards M. 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, held up by the Mayor and the Captain, exclaimed: "I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world, not even her little cap her little cap." The curé had just arrived, a young priest already growing stout.
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.
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.
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, M'sieur le Maire. From the moment it goes to the magistrate, I can't." A dreadful pang wrung Renardet's heart, and he murmured: "Why, you know me well.
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, 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.
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.
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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