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. THE DONKEY 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. On the other side of the river, hidden behind the fogs, just opposite Frette, a slight noise from time to time broke the dead silence of the quiet morning. At times it was an indistinct plashing, like the cautious advance of a boat, then again a sharp noise like the rattle of an oar and then the sound of something dropping in the water. Then silence.