As he said these words he hastened to the spot which the servant pointed out to him.  Everybody dismounted and followed him.  Octave and Bergenheim had exchanged strange glances when they heard the servant’s words.

It was, as the servant had announced, the battered body of a man, thrown by the current against the trunk of the tree, and there caught between two branches of the willow as if in a vise.

“It is the carpenter!” exclaimed Monsieur de Camier as he parted the foliage, which had prevented the head from being seen until then, for he recognized the workman’s livid, swollen features.  “It is that poor devil of a Lambernier, is it not, Bergenheim?”

“It is true!” stammered Christian, who, in spite of his boldness, could not help turning away his eyes.

“The carpenter!—­drowned!—­this is frightful!—­I never should have recognized him—­how disfigured he is!” exclaimed the others, as they pressed forward to gaze at this horrible spectacle.

“This is a sad way to escape justice,” observed the notary, in a philosophical tone.

The Baron seized this opening with avidity.

“He must have crossed the river to escape,” said he, “and in his haste he made a misstep and fell.”

The public prosecutor shook his head with an air of doubt.

“That is not probable,” said he; “I know the place.  If he tried to cross the river a little above or a little below the rock—­it doesn’t matter which—­the current would have carried him into the little bay above the rock and not here.  It is evident that he must have drowned himself or been drowned farther down.  I say, been drowned, for you can see that he has a wound upon the left side of his forehead, as if he had received a violent blow, or his head had, hit against a hard substance.  Now, if he had been drowned accidentally while crossing the river, he would not have been wounded in this manner.”

This remark silenced the Baron; and while the others exhausted conjectures to explain the way in which this tragic event had taken place, he stood motionless, with his eyes fastened upon the river and avoiding a glance at the dead body.  During this time the public prosecutor had taken from his pocket some paper and a pen, which he usually carried with him.

“Gentlemen,” said he, seating himself upon the trunk of a tree opposite the drowned man, “two of you will do me the favor to act as witnesses while I draw up my official report.  If any of you have a statement to make in regard to this affair, I beg of him to remain here, so that I may receive his deposition.”

Nobody stirred, but Gerfaut threw such a penetrating glance at the Baron that the latter turned away his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” continued the magistrate, “I do not wish any of you to renounce the sport on account of this untoward incident.  There is nothing attractive about this spectacle, and I assure you that if my duty did not keep me here, I should be the first to withdraw.  Baron, I beg of you to send me two men and a stretcher in order to have the body carried away; I will have it taken to one of your farms, so as not to frighten the ladies.”