And when the little body, rolled up in blankets which had been brought out from Renardet’s house, had disappeared in the vehicle, the old woman standing under the trees, sustained by the mayor and the captain, exclaimed: 

“I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world, not even her little cap —­her little cap.”

The cure, a young priest, had just arrived.  He took it on himself to accompany the mother, and they went away together toward the village.  The mother’s grief was modified by the sugary words of the clergyman, who promised her a thousand compensations.  But she kept repeating:  “If I had only her little cap.”  This idea now dominated every other.

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.”