“No, I can’t, Monsieur le Maire.”
Thereupon Renardet, losing his head, caught hold of
the postman’s arms in order to take away his
bag; but, freeing himself by a strong effort, and
springing backward, the letter carrier raised his big
holly stick. Without losing his temper, he said
emphatically:
“Don’t touch me, Monsieur le Maire, or
I’ll strike. Take care, I’m only
doing my duty!”
Feeling that he was lost, Renardet suddenly became
humble, gentle, appealing to him like a whimpering
child:
“Look here, look here, my friend, give me back
that letter and I’ll recompense you—I’ll
give you money. Stop! stop! I’ll give
you a hundred francs, you understand—a
hundred francs!”
The postman turned on his heel and started on his
journey.
Renardet followed him, out of breath, stammering:
“Mederic, Mederic, listen! I’ll give
you a thousand francs, you understand—a
thousand francs.”
The postman still went on without giving any answer.
Renardet went on:
“I’ll make your fortune, you understand—whatever
you wish—fifty thousand francs—fifty
thousand francs for that letter! What does it
matter to you? You won’t? Well, a hundred
thousand—I say—a hundred thousand
francs. Do you understand? A hundred thousand
francs—a hundred thousand francs.”
The postman turned back, his face hard, his eye severe:
“Enough of this, or else I’ll repeat to
the magistrate everything you have just said to me.”
Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over.
He turned back and rushed toward his house, running
like a hunted animal.
Then, in his turn, Mederic stopped and watched his
flight with stupefaction. He saw the mayor reenter
his house, and he waited still, as if something astonishing
were about to happen.
In fact, presently the tall form of Renardet appeared
on the summit of the Fox’s tower. He ran
round the platform like a madman. Then he seized
the flagstaff and shook it furiously without succeeding
in breaking it; then, all of a sudden, like a diver,
with his two hands before him, he plunged into space.
Mederic rushed forward to his assistance. He
saw the woodcutters going to work and called out to
them, telling them an accident had occurred. At
the foot of the walls they found a bleeding body, its
head crushed on a rock. The Brindille surrounded
this rock, and over its clear, calm waters could be
seen a long red thread of mingled brains and blood.
There was not a breath of air stirring; a heavy mist
was lying over the river. It was like a layer
of cotton placed on the water. The banks themselves
were indistinct, hidden behind strange fogs. But
day was breaking and the hill was becoming visible.
In the dawning light of day the plaster houses began
to appear like white spots. Cocks were crowing
in the barnyard.
