And with the end of his stick he touched one after the other the stiffened fingers of the corpse, resting on them as on the keys of a piano.

“Yes, the mother came last night to look for me about nine o’clock, the child not having come home at seven to supper.  We looked for her along the roads up to midnight, but we did not think of the wood.  However, we needed daylight to carry out a thorough search.”

“Will you have a cigar?” said the doctor.

“Thanks, I don’t care to smoke.  This thing affects me so.”

They remained standing beside the corpse of the young girl, so pale on the dark moss.  A big blue fly was walking over the body with his lively, jerky movements.  The two men kept watching this wandering speck.

The doctor said: 

“How pretty it is, a fly on the skin!  The ladies of the last century had good reason to paste them on their faces.  Why has this fashion gone out?”

The mayor seemed not to hear, plunged as he was in deep thought.

But, all of a sudden, he turned round, surprised by a shrill noise.  A woman in a cap and blue apron was running toward them under the trees.  It was the mother, La Roque.  As soon as she saw Renardet she began to shriek: 

“My little girl!  Where’s my little girl?” so distractedly that she did not glance down at the ground.  Suddenly she saw the corpse, stopped short, clasped her hands and raised both her arms while she uttered a sharp, heartrending cry—­the cry of a wounded animal.  Then she rushed toward the body, fell on her knees and snatched away the handkerchief that covered the face.  When she saw that frightful countenance, black and distorted, she rose to her feet with a shudder, then sinking to the ground, face downward, she pressed her face against the ground and uttered frightful, continuous screams on the thick moss.

Her tall, thin frame, with its close-clinging dress, was palpitating, shaken with spasms.  One could see her bony ankles and her dried-up calves covered with coarse blue stockings shaking horribly.  She was digging the soil with her crooked fingers, as though she were trying to make a hole in which to hide herself.

The doctor, much affected, said in a low tone: 

“Poor old woman!”

Renardet felt a strange sensation.  Then he gave vent to a sort of loud sneeze, and, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he began to weep internally, coughing, sobbing and blowing his nose noisily.

He stammered: 

“Damn—­damn—­damned pig to do this!  I would like to seem him guillotined.”

Principe reappeared with his hands empty.  He murmured: 

“I have found nothing, M’sieu le Maire, nothing at all anywhere.”

The mayor, alarmed, replied in a thick voice, drowned in tears: 

“What is that you could not find?”

“The little girl’s clothes.”

“Well—­well—­look again, and find them—­or you’’ll have to answer to me.”