Renardet called from the distance: 

“You will lunch with us, Monsieur l’Abbe—­in an hour’s time.”

The priest turned his head round and replied: 

“With pleasure, Monsieur le Maire.  I’ll be with you at twelve.”

And they all directed their steps toward the house, whose gray front, with the large tower built on the edge of the Brindille, could be seen through the branches.

The meal lasted a long time.  They talked about the crime.  Everybody was of the same opinion.  It had been committed by some tramp passing there by mere chance while the little girl was bathing.

Then the magistrates returned to Rouy, announcing that they would return next day at an early hour.  The doctor and the cure went to their respective homes, while Renardet, after a long walk through the meadows, returned to the wood, where he remained walking till nightfall with slow steps, his hands behind his back.

He went to bed early and was still asleep next morning when the magistrate entered his room.  He was rubbing his hands together with a self-satisfied air.

“Ha! ha!  You are still sleeping!  Well, my dear fellow, we have news this morning.”

The mayor sat up in his bed.

“What, pray?”

“Oh!  Something strange.  You remember well how the mother clamored yesterday for some memento of her daughter, especially her little cap?  Well, on opening her door this morning she found on the threshold her child’s two little wooden shoes.  This proves that the crime was perpetrated by some one from the district, some one who felt pity for her.  Besides, the postman, Mederic, brought me the thimble, the knife and the needle case of the dead girl.  So, then, the man in carrying off the clothes to hide them must have let fall the articles which were in the pocket.  As for me, I attach special importance to the wooden shoes, as they indicate a certain moral culture and a faculty for tenderness on the part of the assassin.  We will, therefore, if you have no objection, go over together the principal inhabitants of your district.”

The mayor got up.  He rang for his shaving water and said: 

“With pleasure, but it will take some time, and we may begin at once.”

M. Putoin sat astride a chair.

Renardet covered his chin with a white lather while he looked at himself in the glass.  Then he sharpened his razor on the strop and continued: 

“The principal inhabitant of Carvelin bears the name of Joseph Renardet, mayor, a rich landowner, a rough man who beats guards and coachmen—­”

The examining magistrate burst out laughing.

“That’s enough.  Let us pass on to the next.”

“The second in importance is Pelledent, his deputy, a cattle breeder, an equally rich landowner, a crafty peasant, very sly, very close-fisted on every question of money, but incapable in my opinion of having perpetrated such a crime.”