“‘Do not be afraid, papa,’ said
the apparition. ’I was not dead. Somebody
tried to steal my rings and cut one of my fingers;
the blood began to flow, and that restored me to life.’
“And, in fact, I could see that her hand was
covered with blood.
“I fell on my knees, choking with sobs and with
a rattling in my throat.
“Then, when I had somewhat collected my thoughts,
though I was still so bewildered that I scarcely realized
the awesome happiness that had befallen me, I made
her go up to my room and sit dawn in my easy-chair;
then I rang excitedly for Prosper to get him to rekindle
the fire and to bring some wine, and to summon assistance.
“The man entered, stared at my daughter, opened
his mouth with a gasp of alarm and stupefaction, and
then fell back dead.
“It was he who had opened the vault, who had
mutilated and then abandoned my daughter; for he could
not efface the traces of the theft. He had not
even taken the trouble to put back the coffin into
its place, feeling sure, besides, that he would not
be suspected by me, as I trusted him absolutely.
“You see, monsieur, that we are very unfortunate
people.”
He was silent.
The night had fallen, casting its shadows over the
desolate, mournful vale, and a sort of mysterious
fear possessed me at finding myself by the side of
those strange beings, of this young girl who had come
back from the tomb, and this father with his uncanny
spasm.
I found it impossible to make any comment on this
dreadful story. I only murmured:
“What a horrible thing!”
Then, after a minute’s silence, I added:
“Let us go indoors. I think it is growing
cool.”
And we made our way back to the hotel.
As the mayor was about to sit down to breakfast, word
was brought to him that the rural policeman, with
two prisoners, was awaiting him at the Hotel de Ville.
He went there at once and found old Hochedur standing
guard before a middle-class couple whom he was regarding
with a severe expression on his face.
The man, a fat old fellow with a red nose and white
hair, seemed utterly dejected; while the woman, a
little roundabout individual with shining cheeks,
looked at the official who had arrested them, with
defiant eyes.
“What is it? What is it, Hochedur?”
The rural policeman made his deposition: He had
gone out that morning at his usual time, in order
to patrol his beat from the forest of Champioux as
far as the boundaries of Argenteuil. He had not
noticed anything unusual in the country except that
it was a fine day, and that the wheat was doing well,
when the son of old Bredel, who was going over his
vines, called out to him: “Here, Daddy
Hochedur, go and have a look at the outskirts of the
wood. In the first thicket you will find a pair
of pigeons who must be a hundred and thirty years
old between them!”
