"I'll go with you," Jacques resumed. "Are you sure he's dead?"
"Well, he looked like it," answered the other. "We shall soon see with the lantern."
"What's your opinion?" inquired Jacques. "An accident?"
"Maybe," replied Misard. "Some chap who's got cut in two, or perhaps a passenger who jumped out of a carriage."
Jacques shuddered.
"Come along quick, quick!" he exclaimed.
Never had he been agitated with such a fever to see and know. Outside the house, while his companion, without any concern, walked along the line swinging his lantern, he ran on ahead, irritated at the delay. It was like a physical desire, the fire within that precipitates the steps of lovers at the hour of meeting. He feared what awaited him yonder, and yet he flew there with all the muscles of his limbs. When he reached the spot, when he almost stumbled over a dark heap lying near the down-line, he remained planted where he stood with a shiver running from his heels to the nape of his neck. And, his anguish at being unable to see distinctly, turned to oaths against the other, who was loitering along, thirty paces behind.
"Come on, come on!" he shouted. "If he's still alive, we may be able to do something for him."
Misard waddled forward in his sluggish way. Then, when he had swung the lantern to and fro, over the body, he muttered: