"Just now, at the foot of the park, as we were going to take up our nets."
"It is horrible!" exclaimed the good M. Courtois; "what a calamity! So worthy a lady! But it is not possible—you must be mistaken; I should have been informed—"
"We saw it distinctly, Monsieur Mayor."
"Such a crime in my village! Well, you have done wisely to come here. I will dress at once, and will hasten off—no, wait." He reflected a moment, then called:
"Baptiste!"
The valet was not far off. With ear and eye alternately pressed against the key-hole, he heard and looked with all his might. At the sound of his master's voice he had only to stretch out his hand and open the door.
"Monsieur called me?"
"Run to the justice of the peace," said the mayor. "There is not a moment to lose. A crime has been committed—perhaps a murder—you must go quickly. And you," addressing the poachers, "await me here while I slip on my coat."
The justice of the peace at Orcival, M. Plantat—"Papa Plantat," as he was called—was formerly an attorney at Melun. At fifty, Mr. Plantat, whose career had been one of unbroken prosperity, lost in the same month, his wife, whom he adored, and his two sons, charming youths, one eighteen, the other twenty-two years old. These successive losses crushed a man whom thirty years of happiness left without defence against misfortune. For a long time his reason was despaired of. Even the sight of a client, coming to trouble his grief, to recount stupid tales of self-interest, exasperated him. It was not surprising that he sold out his professional effects and good-will at half price. He wished to establish himself at his ease in his grief, with the certainty of not being disturbed in its indulgence.
But the intensity of his mourning diminished, and the ills of idleness came. The justiceship of the peace at Orcival was vacant, and M. Plantat applied for and obtained it. Once installed in this office, he suffered less from ennui. This man, who saw his life drawing to an end, undertook to interest himself in the thousand diverse cases which came before him. He applied to these all the forces of a superior intelligence, the resources of a mind admirably fitted to separate the false from the true among the lies he was forced to hear. He persisted, besides, in living alone, despite the urging of M. Courtois; pretending that society fatigued him, and that an unhappy man is a bore in company.