"
The officer stooped and drew aside a part of the cloak which hid the
face of the dead man. Then appeared a horrible wound. The sentinel had
been struck in the throat, and the weapon had remained in the cut. It
was a kitchen knife with a black handle.
"Examine that knife," said the officer to Pere Merlier; "perhaps it will
help us in our search."
The old man gave a start but recovered control of himself immediately.
He replied without moving a muscle of his face:
"Everybody in the district has similar knives. Doubtless your man was
weary of fighting and put an end to his own life. It looks like it!"
"Mind what you say!" cried the officer furiously. "I do not know what
prevents me from setting fire to the four corners of the village!"
Happily in his rage he did not notice the deep trouble pictured on
Francoise's countenance. She had been forced to sit down on a stone
bench near the well. Despite herself her eyes were fixed upon the corpse
stretched our on the ground almost at her feet. It was that of a tall
and handsome man who resembled Dominique, with flaxen hair and blue
eyes. This resemblance made her heart ache. She thought that perhaps the
dead soldier had left behind him in Germany a sweetheart who would weep
her eyes out for him.
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