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Updated: June 11, 2025
Then he began looking at it, turning it round and round between his fingers, much perplexed, much troubled by the fear of either committing a grave offence or of making an enemy of the mayor. Seeing his hesitation, Renardet made a movement for the purpose of seizing the letter and snatching it away from him.
Renardet said suddenly: "Do you know that you are to take luncheon with me?" Every one smilingly accepted the invitation, and the magistrate, thinking that the case of little Louise Roque had occupied enough attention for one day, turned toward the mayor. "I can have the body brought to your house, can I not? You have a room in which you can keep it for me till this evening?"
Under his blouse, or under his coat whether he calls himself Renardet, as does the foul assassin in "Petite Roque," or Duroy, as does the sly hero of "Bel-Ami," or Bretigny, as does the vile seducer of "Mont Oriol," or Cesaire, the son of Old Amable in the novel of that name, this degraded type abounds in Maupassant's stories, evoked with a ferocity almost jovial where it meets the robustness of temperament which I have pointed out, a ferocity which gives them a reality more exact still because the half-civilized person is often impulsive and, in consequence, the physical easily predominates.
Well, a hundred thousand I say a hundred thousand francs. Do you understand? A hundred thousand francs a hundred thousand francs." The postman turned back, his face hard, his eye severe: "Enough of this, or else I'll repeat to the magistrate everything you have just said to me." Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over. He turned back and rushed toward his house, running like a hunted animal.
The postman dashed into the kitchen, where the servants were taking breakfast, and exclaimed: "Is the mayor up? I want to speak to him at once." Mederic was recognized as a man of standing and authority, and they understood that something serious had happened. As soon as word was brought to Monsieur Renardet, he ordered the postman to be sent up to him.
The wood, which belonged to Monsieur Renardet, the mayor of Carvelin and the largest landowner in the district, consisted of huge old trees, straight as pillars and extending for about half a league along the left bank of the stream which served as a boundary to this immense dome of foliage.
Renardet, standing up, with his hands behind his back, kept staring with a stony look at the little body exposed to view on the grass. He murmured: "What a wretch! We must find the clothes." The doctor felt the hands, the arms, the legs. He said: "She must have been bathing, no doubt. They ought to be at the water's edge." They must be here within an hour. You understand."
Renardet, as he appeared, thought he heard a light sound, a faint plashing which was not that of the stream on the banks. He softly put aside the leaves and looked. A little girl, quite naked in the transparent water, was beating the water with both hands, dancing about in it and dipping herself with pretty movements. She was not a child nor was she yet a woman.
Renardet said suddenly: "Do you know that I am keeping you to lunch with me?" Everyone smilingly accepted the invitation, and the examining magistrate, finding that the case of little Louise Roqué was quite enough to bother about for one day, turned towards the Mayor: "I can have the body brought to your house, can I not? You have a room in which you can keep it for me till this evening."
There below, under the trees, lay the body of the little girl gleaming like phosphorus, lighting up the surrounding darkness. Renardet uttered a cry and rushed toward his bed, where he lay till morning, his head hidden under the pillow. From that moment his life became intolerable. He passed his days in apprehension of each succeeding night, and each night the vision came back again.
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