"Impossible!"
"I would stake my head on it."
"Well, after all, it is possible, and even probable; it is even certain. I now remember ..."
And again I saw the insulting, ferocious, familiar look which she had given the superintendent.
"And who is la Friezê?" I asked the magistrate "I suppose you know that also?"
"He is a retired butcher, who had both his legs frozen in the war of 1870, and whom she is very fond of. No doubt he is a cripple, with two wooden legs, but still a vigorous man enough, in spite of his fifty-three years. The loins of a Hercules and the face of a satyr. The superintendent is quite jealous of him!"
I thought the matter over again, and it seemed very probable to me. "Does she love la Friezê?"
"Yes; he is the chosen lover."
When we arrived at the host's house a short time afterwards, we were surprised to find everybody in a terrible state of excitement. A crime had been committed in the asylum; the gendarmes were there and our host was with them, so we instantly joined them. La Friezê had murdered the superintendent, and they gave us the details, which were horrible. The former butcher had hidden behind a door, and catching hold of the other, had rolled onto the ground with him and bitten him in the throat, tearing out his carotid, from which the blood spurted into the murderer's face.
I saw him, la Friezê. His fat face, which had been badly washed, was still blood-stained; he had a low forehead, square jaws, pointed ears, sticking out from his head, and flat nostrils, like the muzzle of some wild animal; but above all, I saw Babette.